Third Solstice Page 6

  He covered the barren ground in less than a minute. Back on Tolver Road, he had to ease his pace: frightened revellers, parents with kids, lanterns and banners trailing, were making their way uphill away from the blaze. He wove a path amongst them, barely aware of how he dodged them or gently put them aside. He had one thought, one goal only.

  No. He was a copper as well as a husband and a dad. He rounded the corner into Chybucca Square and saw that his duty lay everywhere, scattered about him in flaring rags. Two fire trucks were parked outside the bank, bringing that blaze under control, but the stiff sea breeze was feeding every torch that had been dropped or thrown. Gideon caught sight of a couple of uniformed constables running from one fire to the next, trying to stamp out the brands and only getting their trousers singed for their pains. “Hoi,” he yelled, pulling his ID. “Never mind that. Go into the open shops and get their fire extinguishers. The chippy over there will have a couple.”

  He waited until they’d run to obey him, then he darted across the flame-lit green. Most of the troublemakers had vanished at the sound of the sirens, but a little group of them—too drunk or high for caution—were still at work, gleefully chucking torches through the broken windows of the photographer’s shop and helping themselves to the equipment on display. He waited until he was right in the middle of the shrieking, laughing mob before letting loose his law-enforcement bellow. “Police!” Before they could react, he reached in amongst the bodies and accurately collared the ringleader. He used the lad and his own bulk to corner the gang in the shop doorway. “How do you like it?” he demanded, as one pale face and then another fixed on his. “How do you like being stuck in a burning bloody building?” He shook the kid he was holding like a rat. “Wow, Saul Priddy, is that you? Didn’t I arrest you just last year for a spot of B and E in Liskeard? This has got to be parole violation of the century.”

  The boy went the colour of cottage cheese. “Don’t tell! Don’t tell, or I’ll go down proper.”

  “You will. Adult jail for you this time, too.” Gideon glanced across the square. His two constables were doing a lot better now, and the Penzance citizens were stepping up, passing buckets, washing-up bowls and any other container they could find in a human chain from the fountain. “I will tell, you little sod, but if you get your pack of hooligans to help those people over there, I’ll tell that too. All right?”

  “All right, all right. Just let me—”

  Gideon tossed him aside, forgetting him. A figure had appeared behind the shop’s glass door, half-wrapped in flames, staggering and pawing at the handle. Gideon grabbed it from the outside and discovered for himself that it was searing hot. The pain shot through him and vanished in adrenaline. “Get back!” he roared, hoping the terrified shopkeeper could hear him. He took three backward strides, braced up and rammed the door with his shoulder.

  He tumbled into the shop. The burning man was still on his feet but beginning to shriek in panic. One glance around the flame-lit interior showed Gideon what he wanted: a thick baize cloth in the window, with the remains of the display merchandise still on it amidst the pieces of broken glass. He snatched the cloth free. The shopkeeper was far enough gone to try to fight off his saviour, but Gideon didn’t give him the chance: grabbed him, bundled the cloth around him and hoisted him out onto the green.

  He knelt beside him, beating out the last of the flames. “You’ll be all right,” he declared when the shock-blanked stare met his. He had no idea, but he’d learned that convincing a survivor he’d make it was half the battle. “Lie still. I’ll get an ambulance for you.” By a miracle, a vacant one was pulling up by the kerb. Frantically Gideon waved, and a pair of paramedics scrambled out and came racing across the green. “Burns victim,” he said, falling back to give them room. “I don’t know how bad.” He wrapped his arms around himself. His hand hurt like hell, and there was nothing in all the burnt-out darkness of his mind to tell him what had happened to his husband and his little girl. “I’ve got to go.”

  One of the paramedics glanced up, grinning. “Yeah, of course. It’s Sergeant Frayne, isn’t it, from over in Dark?”

  “Er... yes.”

  “You won’t remember me. My team and I picked you up after you got stabbed in Bodmin town. Nice to see you on your feet again. And don’t worry about this chap—his burns look superficial.”

  “Thank God.”

  “More a case of thank the local bobby, if you ask me. Another thirty seconds and he would’ve been fried. If you’re looking for your other half, by the way, he’s down on the quayside. Saw him two minutes ago.”

  Air rushed into Gideon’s lungs, sweet and pure with relief. He couldn’t find his voice to thank the medic, who had turned her attentions back to her patient anyway. He turned and stumbled away. If anything further needed doing here tonight, any more fires doused or hoodlums arrested, someone else would have to manage it, at least for now. Gideon would return to the fray and gladly, but not before he’d set eyes on Tamsyn and Lee.

  An odd hush had descended on the town. Saul Priddy and his mates had vanished, of course, seeing a charge of manslaughter in their shared futures. The crowd in the square was thinning. Gideon didn’t quite get it. He couldn’t work out how the promising riot he’d observed from Gwidder Hill had dispersed so fast. Either the Penzance coppers had done a phenomenally good job, or...

  Or somebody had ordered up a miracle. He emerged from Quay Street onto the sea front. Battery Road, normally thronged with harbour traffic, was closed off and silent. People were coming from all directions to the open space in front of the Dolphin Tavern. Among them Gideon saw faces he would store away for later identity parades, feral or idle or just plain thick, the very lads who’d been wreaking havoc in the town. His fingers itched to collar them, but he was on his own, and anyway they’d ceased to behave like thugs. They were just walking in silence, some of them with torches still borne aloft, joining the outskirts of the crowd.

  The crowd had a centre. Gideon couldn’t quite see it, but the people flowing in were moving clockwise around it, each one dropping to a slow, almost stately pace, like a dustcloud around a newly formed star. A couple of the crowdy-crawn drummers were giving them the beat. Round and round they circled, expressions becoming young with wonder as they drew closer to the core, torchlight mingling with moonlight in the clearing sky, boats gleaming on the high-tide waters in the harbour beyond.

  Compelling and beautiful, and if Gideon could get enough uniformed muscle down here, easy pickings. Fish in a trawl net. He had no idea what had drawn the little bastards’ attention, what was holding it now, and he didn’t care. He pulled out his mobile.

  Lee met his eyes through the crowd. It was a glimpse only. He was in the inner circle, walking clockwise with the rest, the baby in his arms. Gideon forgot the kids and his potential arrests with perfect totality. That look, brief though it had been, meant get your arse here right now. The serenity Gideon had read through their strange link had been a front. Beneath it Lee was terrified, elated, holding back fireworks by a pure effort of will. Gid, come here!

  He went. He was good at parting crowds without disturbing them. Even out of uniform, when he pushed, people moved. He accepted the circular current, spiralled in through it and joined Lee with a gasp of relief. “There you are. Are you both all right?”

  “Fine. Just walk with us, okay? Don’t say anything.”

  “About what?”

  Lee made the smallest gesture. “That.”

  In the centre of the circle, fire was floating in mid-air. Gideon’s eyes were sore and stinging with smoke. He blinked and focussed, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “Keep walking,” Lee said softly, an edge of warning in his voice. “They think it’s the Candle Dance.”

  “Doesn’t that happen later, with the Montol ’Oss?”

  “Yep.”

  “And... what is it really?”

  “It’s Tamsyn.”

  Nobody was looking at her. She was doing nothing to d
raw attention to herself, sitting crooning in Lee’s arms. Only her hands were busy, pushing and shaping the air. She was making a pattern. Gideon recognised it—the Christmas-tree ornament she liked best, the sphere with its array of little lights. Saul Priddy had worked his way to the front row. He gave a faint squawk as his torch went out, the fire lifting from its head and floating to join the others in the sphere. A look of wondering innocence overcame him, a face Gideon doubted even his mother had seen. “I have to nick that lad.”

  “I know. Not yet.”

  No. It was very important that Gideon didn’t disturb any aspect of this. He noticed that people were pacing in pairs to the beat of the crowdy-crawn drums, so he tucked his arm through Lee’s, shivering in pleasure as Lee drew him close. “I see why you weren’t answering your phone.”

  “I knew you’d be worried. I’m sorry. A group of kids were trying to set fire to a boat down here, and she just... took their torches from them and started doing this. And everyone came drifting down to watch.”

  “Why aren’t they freaking out?”

  “Don’t know. They’ve seen Derren Brown, I suppose. Maybe they think it’s all done with mirrors.”

  Whatever they thought, they were peaceful. Gideon had never been part of a crowd so united, so surrendered to its central focus. No-one who came here could be harbouring thoughts of destruction, and half Penzance was down on the quayside now, swirling slowly around the sphere of fire. Tamsyn was making it big enough for all of them to see, stealing light after light from the torches and setting them in her display. Her face was rapt, the dark curls escaping from under her woolly hat dancing in the breeze. Lee held her more closely. “What are we going to do with her, Gid?”

  His eyes were full of tears. Gideon tightened his grip on his arm. “Everyone’s becoming what they should be. She will, too—whatever she has to be, sweetheart, no matter what you and I think about it.”

  The pattern was done. The sphere stopped its rotation. All the people gathered round came to a gentle halt as well, and a ripple of laughter and applause rose up, praise for the unseen magician who’d arranged this new Montol delight. Gideon lifted Tamsyn carefully out of Lee’s arms. “Give me that heavy kid,” he said, smiling. He was father to the child. Whatever she became, he had to guide her. He kissed her, and she gave her usual squawk of delight at the sight of him. “Tamsyn. Put the fire in the water. Can you manage that?”

  The words on their own were no good. The places she tugged in his head were tough fibres, strong ropes of love. He could tug back without hurting her. Holding her lambent gaze, he showed her what he wanted—like any father, told her what to do.

  The sphere shot into the air. She gave it one last spin for the hell of it, and then effortlessly fired the whole structure off like a meteor shower, far out into the waters of Mount’s Bay.

  ***

  Gideon steered his family back towards the car. He met DI Lawrence outside the police station, and paused by her patrol car long enough to get signed off duty for the night. He sidestepped her questions as best he could. She looked dazed, clearly unable to believe how the town she’d been supervising had exploded under her hands, or how eerily it had calmed down afterwards. The fires were out, Saul Priddy and his gang rounded up, the Montol celebrations continuing as if nothing had happened. An officer had been dispatched to the Gwidder Hill to check for any signs of Jana Ragwen, and had reported the warehouse empty. Lawrence thanked Gideon for his services, wished Tamsyn a happy birthday, and motioned to her sergeant to drive her on.

  Tamsyn’s head was drooping on Gideon’s shoulder. Lee rearranged her scarf to keep out the cold night wind, then took off his own and gave it to Gideon. “Well,” he said, drawing them both into an embrace. “You’d be sleepy too, if you’d had to stop a riot.” He paused, and Gideon felt the indescribable shimmer of contact renewed. “Oh, wait. You did.”

  “Not really. Just a scuffle or two.”

  “Bollocks. You came down off the hill, and Chybucca Square was on fire. Kids everywhere chucking torches, and... a burning man. Oh—your poor hand.”

  Gideon had forgotten. Lee detached his grip on Tamsyn and opened out his palm in the streetlight. They both stared at the mark of the photographer’s door handle seared into his skin. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  “It’s not. It really hurts.”

  “Get out of my head, then you won’t feel it, will you?”

  “Come on. A&E.”

  “Ah, no. We’ll be in there all night while they patch up everyone’s bumps and scrapes. Just get me home, and I’ll let you play doctor there.”

  Lee’s eyes met his with a promise that no night was too long or weird for mischief. “Really?”

  “Yes, you kinky sod.” Gideon leaned over their sleeping daughter’s head and kissed him. “Man, I was worried about you. Look, she’s out cold. Don’t suppose we could tuck her into her baby seat and grab a quickie in the—”

  “In the police car park?” Lee pushed him back, snorting with laughter. “I tell you what, big man—I’ll actually consider it, if you can tell me you’ve phoned your bloody brother.”

  “Shit.” Gideon put a hand to his mouth. Then he checked that Tamsyn was really asleep, and let rip. “Shit, shit, shit. Fuck. I forgot all about him.”

  “Do it now. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s really important. Far more of a big deal than whatever he was upset about before.”

  Gideon took out his phone. He’d forgotten about Zeke, but Zeke hadn’t forgotten him. He’d phoned five times and sent eight texts. Gingerly Gideon opened the most recent. He read it, his mouth going dry. His blood seemed to recede from the surface of his skin. He reached blindly for Lee, who took hold of him anxiously in return, warming him, steadying. “Oh God, Lee. It’s Ma.”

  Chapter Seven

  Trelowarren hospital was a maze of mid-century corridors and modern add-on blocks. Gideon knew two routes through it so well that Lee had to grab his arm and redirect him twice, as shock and muscle memory tried to send him first towards the physiotherapy centre and then the maternity wing.

  At last they found the lift that would take them to the ICU. Lee pressed the button and they stood in breathless silence, listening to the clunk and grind of cables in the shaft. Gideon brushed a strand of hair back from his daughter’s sleeping face. She was blissfully out cold, snoring faintly in her sling around Lee’s shoulders. “It’s a year ago to the day that we were last here, Lee. To the day.”

  “I know.” The lift doors opened and Lee ushered him inside. “To see this one being born.”

  “Is this what the old woman meant by the solstice door? One year someone comes in through it, and the next, someone goes...”

  His voice cracked. Lee took his hand. “I don’t know what she meant, okay? That’s why this is so damn frustrating. Another reason why I don’t want Tamsyn growing up like me. I didn’t feel any of this coming on—just that you should call your brother. I’m sorry.”

  “It isn’t your responsibility to feel things coming on. And if you think about it, if I’d just bloody listened to you about calling my brother...”

  “Don’t.”

  “I’ll be lucky if he ever speaks to me again.”

  “Zeke’s a good guy. He’ll understand.”

  The lift jolted to a stop, depositing them straight into the ICU reception. Ezekiel was waiting, bolt upright, in a chair directly opposite the doors. He got up stiffly and stood glaring at Gideon. “You bastard,” he said icily. “Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  Gideon was all out of excuses. He spread his hands helplessly. “Because I’m a complete dick.”

  “He’s not,” Lee interposed. “He was on duty in Penzance. A riot broke out and he stopped it.”

  The wintry gaze settled on Lee. “You’d defend him if he turned out to be the damned Beast of Bodmin himself, wouldn’t you?”

  “Probably, but—”

  “Be quiet, both of you. Gideon, our mother had a
fall in her room at Roselands. She banged her head, and she hasn’t regained consciousness since. She’s in intensive care because she won’t wake up, and nobody knows why.”

  “Oh, Zeke.” Gideon took a step towards him.

  “Stay there, please. I want you to know something. Matthew Hopkins was a sadist and a brute, well paid to hound innocent girls and women to death on trumped-up charges of witchcraft.”

  “Er... yes.” Gideon had no idea why this had come up now. “So...”

  “How could you call me by that name?”

  He had, hadn’t he? Memories of his last conversation with his brother leapt up like lurid flames. “I’m sorry,” he said roughly. “Truly I am. But—Zeke, Ma’s gonna be okay, isn’t she?”

  “They don’t know. She’s having a brain scan now. They say they need her to come round soon, or... or she’ll lose too much ground.”

  A single tear, unlikely as a violet on the wall of a glacier, fell down Ezekiel’s face. It splashed onto the front of his anorak, and he and Gideon stared at it as if neither of them could work out where it had come from. Lee gave Gideon a little shove, recalling him to life and humanity. “Bloody hell,” he whispered, strode over to his brother and seized him in his arms.

  Ezekiel broke into noisy sobs. Clutching him, Gideon conveyed over his shoulder to Lee his absolute astonishment, then helped him back to the row of seats against the far wall. “Zeke, I’m here now. I’m so, so sorry you had all that to deal with on your own.”