Queen High: Thrilling dystopian fiction from the acclaimed author of WIDOWLAND by C J Carey

Author:C J Carey [Carey, C J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2022-10-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Everything about Bruno Schumacher, from the five o’clock shadow on the pitted face to the skewed tie and shabby suit, was instantly familiar. Just as when they had first met, he seemed to Rose more like an unkempt Englishman than a polished German.

‘Herr Schumacher!’

‘Sorry to startle you,’ said Bruno Schumacher. ‘My office has been trying to reach you about an investigation. We’re interviewing all females in the Culture Ministry. Since you seemed reluctant to come to us, I thought I should come to you.’

‘I wasn’t reluctant. Just busy. I got the note last week and I’ve been meaning to make an appointment.’

‘Then I’ve saved you the trouble.’ He fell into step beside her. ‘We’ll talk in my office, shall we? It’s not far.’

Five minutes later they were standing outside the Alliance police praesidium in Aldwych, a brutal citadel faced with blood-red marble imported from the Italian colonies. The building had been among the first fruits of Albert Speer’s great redesign. Ensuring a top-class security organization had been a priority in the early, uncertain days of the Alliance. As well as importing some of the mainland’s highest-ranking personnel, all resources available had been focused on creating a security service that was, quite frankly, the envy of the world. A filing system, modelled on the one in Berlin, ran through eight miles of tunnels beneath London’s streets, and was said to hold the details of nine in ten Alliance citizens. Compressed into millions of manila files were names, caste and family, relationships, social attitudes and ideological tendencies. If you forgot your shoe size, so the joke went, just ask at the ASO. They knew everything from the date of your sister-in-law’s birthday to how you liked your eggs.

Schumacher ushered Rose through the heavy brass doors and flashed his pass. Before them a vast lobby stretched, bustling with activity, Alliance officers and British policemen striding two abreast; Lenis, laden with files, clip-clopping in their heels; a Gretl traversing the marble expanse with a tea trolley that, with its rattling cargo and boiling steel urn, resembled a steam ship crossing the ocean.

‘Second floor,’ he said. ‘I’m lucky. I get a room with a view.’

He loped ahead of her up the stairs and along a series of corridors. Despite the modernity of the building, the atmosphere was the same as in every government department, institutional and sunless, the stagnant air scented by disinfectant and typewriter ink.

They passed a dozen men lined up outside a door. They were whey-faced and cadaverous, with shifty, hangdog expressions, and they lounged, hands in pockets, leaning casually against the wall or staring into the distance. All were unprepossessingly ordinary, apart from one unusual aspect: they all looked the same. Not just like each other, but like someone else too.

The Protector.

‘Doubles,’ commented Schumacher briefly. ‘For the state visit.’

Since the Event, the Protector, terrified that he might be next in line for assassination, had resorted to a string of impersonators to be inserted into public occasions to salute, shake hands and perform a variety of official duties.

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