The Dark Chronicles by Jeremy Duns

Author:Jeremy Duns [Duns, Jeremy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101589441
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2012-05-28T16:00:00+00:00

My vision gradually began to clear, and I looked around. It looked very similar to the first cell, only the dimensions seemed slightly different: a little squarer. There was a pile of grey matter in one corner of the room, and I crawled towards it frantically, hoping it might be food or drink. But as I got closer, I saw with horror that it was a body, laid out like a corpse. At first I thought it might be Pyotr, but then I saw a curl of blonde hair, and realized it was her.

XIII

‘Sarah,’ I whispered.

No response.

I lifted myself onto my elbows and slowly crawled nearer, willing the pain in my neck and spine away. Her nostrils flared as the breath came in and out: she was alive, but either in a deep sleep or unconscious. She was wearing the same clothes I’d last seen her in, back at Pyotr’s flat, only they were now torn and spotted with blood. Her skin was yellowish, and mottled and dark under her eyes. Finally, I saw the deep welts that criss-crossed her shoulders and neck. He had used the cat on her, too. A wave of revulsion swept over me, which swiftly turned to a cold rage. He had tortured his own wife.

I retreated slowly to the nearest corner to gather my thoughts. I wondered how many Severn and Zimotti would kill to get their way. Hundreds? Thousands? The goal would be a dictatorship, with Zimotti either the head of it or part of the leadership. It would be a coup, effectively, albeit a gradual and undeclared one. Italy had seen coups before, of course, but nothing like this. After a few large-scale attacks and swift arrests, Zimotti and his men would be able to introduce whatever measures they felt necessary, while a pliant and terrified public would greet them with open arms. And the British were apparently lending a hand, through their man in Rome. It seemed extraordinary, but I realized that I hadn’t been paying close enough attention. There was a very powerful right-wing faction operating within the Service. Perhaps more of a movement than a faction. They had tried to take control of the government but failed – because of me. Perhaps they were planning a similar series of attacks in England, blaming everything on the First of May or similar groups. Perhaps Italy was just the beginning…

Something in me turned. This wasn’t where my life should end. I hadn’t helped. I had spent it trying to divine the difference between causes, but I hadn’t seen the forest for the trees. East and West, I now knew, were just two frightened children spurring each other on to greater and greater acts of excess. But I was no better, standing on the edge of the field pointing out their mistakes. I had to get onto the pitch, into the game. I had to put aside all my cynicism and stupid bloody English pride and admit that there were choices here, and that I could make a difference to the situation.

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