I put the pad of my thumb to my lip and Aattened it. Pulled it back. Stared. No blood, though it felt like there should have been. Not even the sensation of burning. The kiss had gone with the dawn.
โDonโt,โ murmured Adela. โI wasnโt biting.โ
She made a conciliatory noise in her throat, the sort you make to ratty old cats who are trying to climb up the stairs. It was the closest sheโd ever come to kindness, and it bowled me over, literally. My forehead bounced gently oP my knees.
I was sitting on a horrible, cheek-thin mattress in a Ministry safe house. After Iโd heard Grahamโs door lock, Iโd shivered dumbly against the wall until a handful of brain cells formed a committee to remind me that the man my boss had identi1ed as a spy had tried to assassinate us in broad lamplight, using a futuristic weapon that put the late Quentinโs cryptic hint about โnot the pastโ into perspective.
Iโd called Adela, who had answered immediately and stepped in to 1x things. The night had teemed. There had been some logistical kerfuAeโvans with blackout windows, decoy vehicles, even a brief but impressive subterranean roadway. I was given to understand that the other bridges and expats were also being moved, into oP-the-books safe houses in considerably worse nick than our original abodes. Graham and I had been placed in a knackered Aat in the garret of an old government building, stiAed from all sides by the city. The beautiful heath where Iโd taught him to ride a bike was far away. The window in my room looked out onto a jungle of chimneys and vent fans, turning silvery in the
proleptic dawn light. I could hear something dripping and I knew, with resignation, that I would always hear something dripping for as long as I lived here. The adrenaline high had worn oP, and I was feeling tired to my marrow.
Grahamโs room was along from mine, reached via a long corridor that had abandoned-asylum energy. Back at our old house heโd been bundled into a separate van with his motorbike and a shoulder bag of clothes. Heโd glanced at me once, a quick searching look to check that I was being wrangled, and then he hadnโt been able to meet my eyes again. As he ducked into the car, I saw how slight he was, how much shorter than the 1eld heavies theyโd sent into my now ex-neighborhood. He was diminished in some way; heโd seemed to hold his charm close to his body, like a broken arm. I hadnโt seen him since weโd been brought to the safe house.
Adela was opening the top drawer of the bedside table. It was old, and it stuck. She coaxed it out with far more patience than I had ever seen her exhibit.
โYou trained on a Walther?โ she asked.
I turned my head, on my knees, to look. She was holding a handgun. I noted this with the same resignation as Iโd noted the dripping.
โWhen I failed the 1eld exams, I was using a Walther, yes.โ โThis is yours now.โ
โOh. Cool.โ
โIโm putting it in this top drawer.โ โOkay.โ
โBut 1rst Iโd like to see you unload and reload,โ she added, passing me the handgun.
It weighed as much as a gun did, neither heavier nor lighter than what I was expecting.
โI havenโt done this for a while,โ I said, but I did it anyway.
Adela nodded approvingly and took it back oP me to settle it in the drawer.
My thoughts 1red sluggishlyโelectricity through ooze. โMaโam. The Brigadier. I think heโs from the future.โ โYes.โ
I didnโt know what to do with myself, so I lifted my face to drop it into my handsโa childish urge to vanish my problems by shutting oP my eyes.
โWhat do you mean โyesโ? You knew? The Ministry knew?โ
โWeโll talk about this the day after tomorrow,โ she said. โIโll send a car. Youโll receive a phone call from a withheld number to let you know when itโs coming
โโ
โDay after tomorrow? After Iโve been shot at? Why not tomorrow? Why not now?โ
โBecause I said so,โ snapped Adela, so quickly she canโt have intended to say it. She sucked her teeth and her strange face wobbled. โYou need to rest,โ she added, more neutrally.
โYes, Mai.โ
We sat in a rubble of silence. โA joke,โ I mumbled. โIt means โMumโ in Khmer.โ
She rocked back like Iโd spat at her, then got up quietly and left the room.
I slept deeply and brieAy, a plunge pool of REM. I was not familiar with how people sleep after someone has tried to kill them, so I assumed this was within the bounds of normal. When I woke up, it was already the afternoon, and Graham was gone. The Aat held his absence like a hole in the earth.
I reloaded the Walther, stuck it into a coat pocket, and sat in the mold-framed window of my bedroom like a gargoyle, staring at the view.
The local area felt hostile to human engagement. There was not much space for pedestrians and far too many cars. Every other turning gave onto the blank stare of concrete or glass buildings. It was the kind of area that makes pigeons extra ugly. But it was crowded with people, living on top of one another, working around one another, some in suits and some in uniforms. I could see why the Ministry thought weโd be hidden here. There were so many unhappy people that a gun wouldnโt suffice. Youโd have to drop a bomb to ensure I was the right sad soul to die.
I knew heโd come back when the rich emerald smell of tobacco 1lled the hall. Something twitched in my chestโa muscle, a nerve, I wasnโt sure, but it hurt.
He was sitting at the noisome kitchen table, staring at nothing.ย Rogue Maleย was lying splayed and face down by the ashtray. The thing in my chest kicked again as I realized he must have grabbed it as we left our home. When I came in, he didnโt move anything but his gaze, which swung up like a whip.
โWhere have you been?โ I asked sharply. โI went out on the bike.โ
โI donโt know if this is some kind of shock reaction, or if youโre just completely bloody-minded, but are you aware two people from the future tried to kidnap you and kill me yesterday?โ
โIt did not escape my notice.โ
โAnd you went on a solo road trip?โ
He had the grace to look embarrassed, though the expression was half shielded by the hand that held the cigarette. โI needed to think,โ he said carefully. โAnd I do not think so well when I am static.โ
I walked four trembling, stork-stiP strides to stand in front of him. His gaze wavered again. I vibrated furiously. My knees were jumping like a pair of boxed frogs. I said, โWe were almost murdered, in cold blood, in the street, and youโre acting weirdly because you regret kissing me. Is that right? Have I got it right?โ
He cleared his throat awkwardly and ashed without looking, missing the ashtray. โI rather think you kissed me,โ he suggested.
โWhatever. Youโre about to tell me that it was an awful mistake, that it shouldnโt have happened, et cetera.โ
He pulled hard on the cigarette, so that its tip glowed like a warning signal, then plucked nervily at his packet for another. He used the burning cigarette to light the next one and glumly swapped them. At length he said, โIt should not have happened. And Iโm terribly sorry for the way that it did.โ
โRight.โ โYouโre angry.โ
โNo shit. Itโs humiliating to be treated like a child after being kissed like aโโ โPleaseโโ
He colored and blew a long stream of smoke at me. At length he muttered, โI have beenย tryingย to court you.โ
I blinked. โWhat?โ
He frowned at me over the cigarette. โEvidently I mismanaged this. I donโt have very much experience in courting.โ
โI donโt understand.โ
โNeither, it must be said, do I. I donโt understand what you want, nor what any woman of this era wants. I donโt know what I have to oPer you. You are perfectly independent. Youโre occupied to an almost violent degree by your own career. But, well, I thought, youย doย eat everything I cookโฆ so perhapsโฆโ
โYou were planning on feeding me until Iโฆ what?โ
He frowned more deeply. He looked as if he was having a bad time.
โI was hoping you might be able to explain that to me. If you found me suitable.โ
โSuitable for what?โ I exclaimed, exasperated.
โWell, I thought, maybeโI donโt know. In my time, you know, things progressed very diPerently. I didnโt know what you wanted.โ
I gawped at him. I said, โGraham. Not to labor the point here. But I kissed you. Very enthusiastically. Is that not maybe the tiniest hint about what I wanted?โ
โWe were in our cups, and you were frightened. I took advantage of your reaction, and the time it took to bring myself under controlโโ
โIn this era, you donโt have to go around controlling yourself if itโs coming at you on a silver platterโโ
โI am notย fromย this era!โ he criedโone of the very few times I ever heard him raise his voice. He leaned forward, gesturing agitatedly with the cigarette. โUnderstand that, as far as Iโm concerned, you would have been in your rights to strike me, or chase me from the house, or vanish without a traceโโ
โWell, I donโt want to. I certainly didnโt want you locking yourself in your room. What the hell? What were you doing in there?โ
โPraying.โ
โYouโve got to be kidding me.โ
He leaned back. He was wildly Aushed, but heโd brought his voice under control, and his smoking hand hid the lower half of his face. โWell, yes, โkiddingโ somewhat,โ he muttered.
We stared at each other. The room was embarrassingly quiet after our joint outburst. I said, as levelly as I could manage, โTell me what you want. Not what might or could happen or go wrong. Just, right now. What do you want?โ
I watched the smoke beckon the air. He took a slow, deep breath, like a man preparing to leap from a windowsill.
โWill you take oP your gansey,โ he said.
I pulled my wool jumper over my head. Its neck was narrow and on its departure it disarrayed my makeshift chignon. I felt my hair unsettle slowly down my neck.
โYour chemise.โ
It was a T-shirt. I removed that too, dropped it to the Aoor.
He cleared his throat nervously and said, โYour, uh,โ then gestured at my bra with the nonsmoking hand.
I took oP my bra.
Heโd only moved to pull on the cigarette. His head was wreathed in the smoke. I could just see that his eyes were bright and feverish.
โI wonderedโฆโ he murmured. โYes?โ
โIf they would be the same color as your mouth.โ โThey?โ
He leaned forward and quickly pinched one of my nipples, hard, between the knuckles of his middle and fore1nger. I made a noise like a slapped canary.
He leaned back and took another drag on the cigarette, staring thoughtfully.
The 1ngers that had pinched me trembled, almost imperceptibly. โTake oP your shirt,โ I said.
He raised his eyebrows, and for a moment, I thought he was going to refuse. But he put the cigarette between his lips and began to unbutton the serge shirt. He shrugged himself out of it without looking at me.
โPut out the cigarette.โ
He ground it into the ashtray.
โStand up.โ
I was talking very softly. I gave this last instruction at such a volume I could hardly hear it myself. But he stood. He was close to me. I didnโt need to straighten my arm to touch him, which was the next thing I did. I Aattened a hand on the middle of his chest. He was looking at me with the same mild, politely engaged expression that he always woreโas if this was a moment of no more import than any moment pulled from the pocket of our yearโbut his heart gave him away. Under my hand, it was pounding.
He had a cumulonimbus of black curls across his chest. I ran my hands over his ribs, white as bleached stone, scattered with brown moles. I scrubbed my thumbs across his nipples and he swallowed.
โOkay?โ
โYes.โ
I moved my hands round and clasped the bookends of his back muscles, his winged bones.
โMay I touch you? The way you areโlike thisโโ โLikeโ?โ
โAll over.โ โYes. Please.โ
He ran his 1ngertips up my arms, stroked my neck. His touch was frustratingly light. He let his 1ngers rest on my collarbones. We met each otherโs eyes. He moved his hands down, abruptly, over my breasts. It was such a blunt motionโso much that of a man who had really, really wanted to touch my breastsโthat I scoPed, then grinned, and he lit up with a smile as sudden as the winter sun. He looked relieved.
โIs thatโ?โ
โPlease justโkiss me.โ He pulled me into him.
It was a much better kiss than last time. I clung to him while pinwheels dazzled and spun in my skull. His skin was hot.
He kissed me so hard and with such tempestuousness that it bore me back across the kitchen. I hit the fridge and he broke from me, breathing unsteadily.
โOof. Cold.โ
โSorry.โ
โDonโt be. Kiss me again.โ
He started to kiss me but then stopped to make a small, seared noise when I slid my thumbs under his waistband and curled them.
โShould we go somewhere else?โ โYes.โ
He didnโt move, though. I was starting to tremble, out of need, which was thrilling and embarrassing. Also because the fridge was against my back.
โYou may have someโฆ expectations,โ he murmured. โHm?โ
โThat I donโtโฆ that I have little experience in meeting. As Iโฆ as men of my timeโฆโ
โYouโre worried you wonโt make me come.โ โGood grief.โ
โIs that it?โ
โYes. Is that how you would say it? โMake me comeโฆโโ
โGod,โ I mumbled, because even hearing him say it experimentally, like a vocabulary exercise in a foreign language, was a lot to handle. โYes. Donโt worry. Iโll teach you.โ
โI would like that,โ he said earnestly, and I covered my face.
โTake me to bed, then,โ I said. He quite literally picked me up and carried me down our dreary Aat. He chose my room and put me down on the bed, like a parcel.
โYou have a very modern body,โ he said.
โWhat does that mean?โ I asked. I was wrenched by burst upon burst of tiny convulsions. I wondered if I was visibly shaking.
โI can see how you are put together.โ
He didnโt elucidate, just dropped his head onto my chest. I felt the rough paddle of his tongue then the edge of his teeth against my nipples. He pushed his face against my neck and found the place where the skin streamed with nerves. His head was heavy and warm.
โI want to โmake you come,โโ he murmured, and it was exciting even with the inverted commas around it.
โYouโll have to get your face wet.โ
He laughed and blushed ferociously. Even his shoulders heated under my hands. โOh, Iย see.โ
He stripped me of my skirt, tights, and underwear in a few neat movements. โShow me where.โ
โHere.โ
โShow me how. Slowly.โ
He came down of his own accord. I tangled my hands into his hair. He worked well on both instinct and instruction. He learned fast.ย A very good o๏ฌcer, and the sweetest of tempers.
He lifted his head to say something to me. I was not in a state to hear it. I pushed him back down, and I felt him laugh again. He worked on me, 1rmly and seriously, until my thighs started to shake. When I came, my back arched oP the bed. I pulled his hair, I think, and I made a fair amount of noise, I think, though I am hazy on detail.
He cupped me gently and waited for the aftershocks to pass. When he saw me refocus my eyes, he nuzzled my stomach, smearing it.
โThat wasโฆ pretty good.โ โGlad to hear it.โ
โWhat did you say, when you wereโ?โ
โI said that you taste like the sea.โ He smiled up at me, then added, โI could feel you.โ
โOh?โ
โIs it possible to make you do that when Iโwhen I am with you?โ โโWithโ me, eh.โ
โDonโt be saucy,โ he said, and twisted one of my nipples. I gasped and tugged him up by his arms.
โItโs possible. Doesnโt always work.โ โWhat needs to be done for it to work?โ
โFor a start, youโll need to take oP the rest of your clothes.โ
He rolled his eyes and started to fumble, one-handed, with the button and zipper of his Ay.
โDonโt stare,โ he murmured.
โI want to see.โ
He leaned down and kissed me so that I couldnโt raise my head. The bed jounced under the movement of him kicking his trousers oP.
I reached down, Aoundering a little because he still wouldnโt let me lift my head to look properly, and wrapped my hand around him. He groaned before he could clamp his mouth shut.
โWill youโโ โYesโโ
โThereโโ
โIs thatโyesโ?โ
He started slowly, watching my face. It was if he was using a machine on me, and he was testing its efficacy by my reaction. That the machine was his body didnโt appear to move him. But I tilted my hips and started to match him, meet him. His expression tightened.
โPleaseโโ
โThisโlike thisโyou want thisโโ โYesโโ
โDid youโthink about thisโtell meโโ โYesโI wanted toโwatch youโgive inโโ
He bit me sharply on the shoulder and some other animal noise escaped me. He started to dig his thumbs into tender places while he moved in me. I bucked insistently into the pressure. A certain thrilling pain, which lived in my body like another body, woke and opened its long series of tributaries through my ribs. He put his lips to my ear:
โI used toโhear youโtossing and turningโat nightโI couldnโtโsleepโ your bodyโa wall awayโโ
โYou wantedโto doโthisโto meโโ โYesโโ
โTell meโwhat you didโโ
Into the wet heat between us, in jolts and gasps, he started to tell me about those nights, when God and the world felt far away and I felt so dangerously near, and neither prayer nor reciting the Articles of War nor squeezing his eyes
shut stopped his mind from brimming with the thought of me, and heโd have to do to himself the only thing he could think of to help him sleep.
He said, softly, as if surprised by a sudden burst of rain, โOh. God.โ
Later I examined my body and saw a line of thin crescent moons where heโd dug his nails in, Aushed the same color as my mouth.
Afterward, we lay on our sides, facing each other. The clumsy metallic bonking of the radiators announced the arrival of the central heating. It was very darkโ the sun had dissolved, and I hadnโt yet turned on my lampโbut I thought his eyes were twinkling.
โWell,โ he said, โthat was interesting.โ โHa!โ
โWill you turn on the lamp, please?โ
โYesโฆ there. Hello. So youโre veryโฆ talkative.โ
His earsโnow visibleโturned red. โYes, well,โ he muttered. โYou make terrible noises. Like an alley cat.โ
โYou didnโt seem to mind.โ
โItโs an amusing way to go deaf. Would you mind if I smoked?โ โOnly if I can have one.โ
โA fair trade. My cigarettes are in my pocketโโ
I reached over the bed and 1shed his cigarettes and lighter out of his discarded trousers. He lit two and handed me one.
โGraham, can I ask you a question?โ โYou may. I reserve the right to dodge it.โ
โDo youโhmm. Trying to think of a way to put this subtly. When you said you didnโt have much experience with courtingโฆโ
โI donโt.โ
โYou donโt strike me asโฆ inexperienced.โ
He shrugged and settled back on the pillows, ashing into the mug on the bedside table. I rummaged around the scant supplies of my diplomacy.
โWhat did you usually do when you, er, if you got interested in a woman?โ
โI would break into a cold sweat and put myself on the nearest ship.โ โWere youโI mean, was there anyoneโฆ?โ
He continued to smoke reAectively. Then he said, โYou understand that, in my era, a man would have to be a villain and a scoundrel to doโany of thisโ with a woman he wished to court.โ
โAre you a villain and a scoundrel?โ
He raised his eyebrows. โI am hurt that you have to ask.โ โWasย there someone?โ
โNot in a way that would have tarnished either of our reputations.โ โAh. So. Right. Who?โ
I puPed crossly on my cigarette. My heart had dropped two inches down my chest, or so it felt.
โIt simply didnโt progress that farโโ
โWhat was her name?โ I said, louder than I would be able to bear when I remembered this conversation later.
He frowned at me. At length he said, โSarah. Please donโt feel the need to oPer me the names of any of your ghosts. I donโt want to know.โ
He cautiously proPered the mug. Iโd been drawing so hard on the cigarette that there was a precarious worm of ash hanging oP it. I tapped, and it dropped into the thin scum of old tea still silting the bottom of the mug. These details were large and terrible to me. I said, โThe two of you neverโ?โ
โLittle cat. Please.โ
โYouโre dodging this question veryย strenuouslyโโ
โBecause itโs making you upset. No, we did not. At most I may have kissed her hand, and even that would have been rather giddy and ill-advised.โ
I hated hearing this. I said, โYou strike me as someone whoโs done a fair bit more than that.โ
โWhat a threatening observation.โ โWell?โ
โI suppose so. Not withโwomen I would have wished to court. My experience with women generally is limited.โ
I was almost at the 1lter and my throat hurt. โAnd with men?โ I said, more because I felt like being annoying than because I had noted his wary syntax.
To my surprise, he went quiet again, and regarded the end of his cigarette.
Eventually he said, โWell. One is a long time at sea.โ โWhat doesย thatย mean?โ
โEnough,โ he said, suddenly sharp. He Aicked his stub into the mug and pinched mine, damp with the sweat of my 1ngers, out of my hands. I could see in the momentum of his movements that he was one twitch away from getting out of bed, leaving the room, pretending none of this happenedโbut then he jolted toward me, took me by the shoulders and pulled my head onto his chest.
โPut your arms around me,โ he instructed.
He held me 1rmly. My nose was squashed against him, tickled by the black curls over his sternum. He smelled, attractively, of sweat. I folded the arm not crushed between us over his back.
โIโm not trying to keep secrets from you,โ he said quietly. โItโs simply thatโ these mattersโI have tried to separate from the rest of my life. Had I ever married, I imagine I would have kept up the 1ction of a perfectly chaste life, if only not to humiliate my wife. You will learn nothing special or important about me from asking me questions that can only hurt you.โ
โIn this era, I think weโd call that โdishonest.โโ
โIn my era, it might have been considered a kindness.โ
I ran my 1ngertips over the white, curved place between his shoulder blades. I could just feel, below the skin, the toothy fragment of the microchip the Ministry had implanted in him when he 1rst arrived, which had enabled them to monitor his movements with the closeness heโd found so inexplicable.
โPerhaps youโre right,โ I said. I kissed him.
Axioms have us sealing all sorts of things with kisses. Vows. Envelopes. Fates. But parents donโt always tell their children what the slurs and curses mean, for their protection. I thought it would be better, for now, that I didnโt mention the microchip. To tell you the truth I tried not to think about it at all.
The next morning, when I woke up, I was alone in the bed. I lay there feeling bereft and sorry for myself until I heard a gentle knock at the door.
โAre you awake?โ โOh. Hi. Yes.โ
โWould you like a cup of tea?โ โYes. Thanks.โ
He brought the tea up and put it on the bedside table, rather than approach the bed and hand it to me. I wriggled upright. I was naked under the bedsheets. He didnโt move to touch me, but he didnโt leave the room or look away either.
โAdelaโs sending a car from the Ministry. I need to get dressedโฆโ โIf you would prefer not to travel alone, I can come with you.โ โIโm all right, thanks. She and I need to talk.โ
He nodded. He looked awkward. I was moved to wonder whether he had ever actually had a โmorning after,โ or whether he was improvising action and reaction, caught between his eraโs expectations and mine. If you are surprised that, so soon after a secret agent tried to kill me, I was wondering whether the man with whom Iโd had sexย likedย liked me, remember that being in love is a form of blunt-force trauma. I was concussed with love for him. I bent my head to the cudgel.
I was not such a fool as to imagine the Vice Secretary for Expatriation had become my handler because she liked me. Adela had a plan that had something to do with Graham. Her brusque mentorship, its delineation uncanny but forcibly indicated, suggested that she wanted a workplace proxy, a daughter-in- case-1le. It looked like she wanted me to be Grahamโs handler, and for Graham to beโwhat?
I arrived at the Ministry sweaty and vibeless. It was another dank toothache of a day, barely qualifying in its chromatic dullness for โgray.โ
Adela was sitting at her desk, hands stacked. She was so neatly posed that I found myself wondering what meme she was referencing. She didnโt look at me, but through me. Instead of her usual abrasion, she spoke with cool diffidence. She acted like I was an ex she hadnโt seen in a very long time, one engaged to a much younger woman.
โMaโam. The Brigadier. Did he murder Quentin?โ โInquiries are ongoing.โ
โWhy,โ I said, โdoes the Brigadier want Commander Gore?โ โHe wants to go home.โ
โEh?โ
The time-door, explained Adela, supported a limited number of what the Brigadier called โfree travelers.โ That was why the Ministry lost two of the seven original expatsโthere wasnโt enough capacity for them to be moved through time, it was like theyโd tried to breathe through oxygen masks after other people had depleted the tank. But it was possible to make a space in the doorโre1ll the tank, as it wereโby taking a free traveler โout of time,โ viz, killing them.
โHow does the Ministry know that?โ I asked.
โThat information was extracted by the intelligence agents.โ โTorture.โ
โYou know we donโt use that word.โ
โThat means there are other โfree travelersโ from the future around,โ I said. โIf you found one to torture.โ
Adela gave me a ghastly grin. โOh yes,โ she said. โNot just the Brigadier and Salese, I mean. They already know about the doorโs operational capacities. It was made in their era. Those two were never equipped for a long stay in the twenty- 1rst century, incidentally. I believe they were part of a blitz assassination campaign.โ
I tore a 1let from my thumb with my teeth.
โThe Brigadier used my 1ngerprints to access and disable the CCTV system at Parry Yard,โ I said. โThatโs why thereโs no CCTV footage of Quentinโs assassination.โ
Her one eye clicked into focus like a camera.
โThat is a serious breach,โ she said slowly. โOne that I had not anticipated. Iโll deal with it. Iโve signed you up for a 1rearms refresher course. As a preventative measure. You ought to be able to bring your score up quickly. After all, you still have your depth perception.โ
This was a macabre joke, and even Adela seemed to sense that. She lifted her hand self-consciously to her eye patch. I stared at her slender hand, its narrow
ropes of vein. Her hand looked older than her faceโaround a decade older, in fact. She noticed me noticing.
โBotox,โ she said dryly. โMy jawlineโs been shaved. Nose job, thatโs a few years old now. Had my tear troughs and my cheeks done. This isnโt my natural eye shape either. Brows are microbladed.โ
โOh,โ I said. โI always assumed it was reconstructive rather than cosmetic. Not that itโs any of my business. Everyone should get to do what they want with their face.โ
Whatever the test was, I failed it. Adelaโs face misted with disappointment. โIโll handle the CCTV breach,โ she said. โUntil I have personally lowered the
security status, all bridgeโexpat teams are con1ned to their safe houses. Journeys to and from the Ministry must be taken in Ministry-issue vehicles, accompanied by an armed guard. Any communication or movement between safe houses needs sign-oP from both halves of Control.โ
She gave me an almost maternal look and added, โThough, as your handler, all of your requests need be signed oP only by me. Donโt worry about the Secretary.โ
A Ministry car took me back to my new, horrid home. I heard Graham call, โWhat are your orders?โ before Iโd even taken oP my coat. I scrubbed at my face, pushed to 1dget by his rare urgency.
โNone. Sit tight. Weโre con1ned to the house, except for Ministry business.โ โSurely not. You are in danger!โ
โYeah. Iโm taking a 1rearms refresher course. They know, Graham. Theyโve known all along. They were trying to keep an eye on him.โ
I Aopped onto the sofa. He came to sit beside me, leaving a careful and charged channel of two feet between us.
โI am reluctant to ask you my next question,โ he said, โsince it seems so comparatively trivial. But.โ
I waited. He sighed.
โWell. Some time ago, I asked Maggie about โdating.โโ (He said this in the same disdainful way he once said โhousemate.โ)
โYou asked the lesbian from the seventeenth century about modern-day dating.โ
โYes. I am aware of the irony of the situation.โ โWow. What did she say?โ
โWell, she laughed at me for a while. But. My understanding of โdating,โโ he said, โis that it is like trying on clothes for 1t, except that the clothes are people.โ
โThatโs a pretty brutal way of putting it, but I suppose so.โ โWhat happens if the 1t is wrong?โ
โWell. People break up. They stop seeing each other. And start over with someone else.โ
โAnd if the 1t is right?โ
โDepends on what the people involved want, I guess.โ โAt what point is that discussed?โ
โThereโsโฆ not really a set timeframe. You just feel your way along. Even as I say that I can see how deeply messed up modern dating must sound. But itโs supposed to grant more of a sense of freedom and personal choice. No one has to commit to anything they donโt want.โ
He ran his hands through his hair. The curls Aattened and sprang back. I was overwhelmed with the desire to touch him. So it was a shock, the psychic equivalent of biting down on bone, when he said, very quietly, โI want to touch you.โ
โJesus,โ I said, and surged across the sofa.
In addition to the 1rearms refresher course, Adela also insisted that I sign up for unarmed combat classes, basic cipher, and an international relations refresher for my โregion of expertiseโ that all 1eld agents were required to attend every four months unless in the 1eld. Graham and Cardingham, too, were granted special movement rights and dedicated transport to continue their 1eld training at the Ministry. Arthur and Margaret did not enjoy the same level of freedom. I was
relieved. My work with Adela meant that I soon had access to their safe housesโ whereaboutsโbut I wanted them both stowed away safely until I had the mental wherewithal to work out next moves. In a game of chess, I reasoned, one does not rush the board with all the pawns and burn down the rooks. This analogy tells you everything you need to know about the level of depersonalized detachment I enjoyed after my attempted assassination.
I attended training sessions at the shooting range with Adela. There was an unofficial scoreboard tacked to a wall. It was updated weekly, and I couldnโt fail to notice that โG. Goreโ was always in the top four, clambering over and under the scores of two 1eld agents and one of the quartermasters. It was inevitable that Adela and I were going to bump into the center of our project at the range. Sure enough, one porridge-mild Wednesday, there was Graham and Thomas Cardingham.
โPoxy maumet weapons,โ Cardingham was saying (loudlyโhe was wearing ear muAers). โBetter to break a man with my yard than slay him with this scurvy arm.โ
โYou are a very bad loser, Thomas,โ Graham said. I was amazed he hadnโt told Cardingham oP. Perhaps that was just how men talked to each other when women werenโt listening.
โMarry, sir, with a musket in my hand thou wouldst 1nd me a sweet foe indeed.โ
โYouโre going to fall oP the scoreboard. Oh, except you arenโt on it this week.
Or last week, I seem to recall.โ
โAye, my handโs not oft on such small pieces. Perchance thou art more familiar with the size. I ought to ask your bridge.โ
At this, Graham colored. He said, coldly, โMind how you tread, Lieutenant.โ Cardingham subsided and scowled with boyish embarrassment.
โHello,โ I said, because I wanted to see what would happen. The men turned around.
โWe are graced,โ said Cardingham with vicious irony, and bowed. โThou wast but lately on our tongues. With my full respect to the good commander, thou art often on his tongue.โ
โI hope he has good things to say,โ I murmured, eyeing Graham. But Graham appeared not to have heard me. He was staring, bemused, at Adela. I glanced at her and was baAed to see a sudden softness on her face. Though, knowing Adela, maybe her silicone 1llers were melting.
โThis is Adela,โ I said. โEr. My handler. Adela, of course you know Commander Goreโฆ and probably Lieutenant Cardinghamโฆโ
โYes,โ said Adela hoarsely. โI am aware of them.โ
โItโs an honor to be worthy of the attention,โ said Graham politely. โWill you be joining us?โ
โNo,โ said Adela. Her voice was thick. Pallor strained through her cheeks. โRegrettably, I must be goingโฆ but I expect your score to improve by twentyโฆ.โ โYes, maโam,โ I said, for want of anything else to say. Adela nodded, her stare landing between the three of us. Then she muttered something approximating a
โgood dayโ and stalked out.
โShe isย veryย blond,โ murmured Graham. He seemed confused, as if heโd just been handed an egg and told to hatch it.
โBottle blonde. I think sheโs naturally a very dark brunette, which accounts for the scruAy texture of her hair.โ
โThe women of this era have a certain constant cast,โ said Cardingham. โPerhaps it is the โchemicalsโ iโthโwater. I have heard the ruling powers do 1lter in such poisons as emasculate men and pacify the weak. Perhaps they clone the womenfolk.โ
โArenโt you both training for entry on the 1eld agent program? Youโre part of the ruling power now, Lieutenant,โ I said sweetly.
I glanced at Graham and was surprised and put out when he didnโt say anything.
But for the most part, Graham and I were locked in together. The state of emergency that sealed our doors also had the ePect of truncating our thoughts and plaiting us together with an intensity Iโd never before experienced. All we had was each other and the rooms we had each other in.
At the end of February, arriving with the abruptness of a man walking late into a packed theater, there was an afternoon of vivid light and heat. It was as if a wet towel had been taken oP the bowl of the sky. I stood on the roof between the air vents and turned my face upward.
โYes,โ I said, in a mad personโs monotone. โAhaha. Yes.โ
โDoes summer start in February now?โ he asked, standing beside me.
โNo. We get these unseasonal hot days. Except they happen so often theyโre pretty much seasonal. Do you remember about global warming?โ
โA fever of the earth.โ โMm.โ
โYou look very pleased about this.โ
โTerrible, isnโt it?โ I murmured. โNo, Iโm not happy about the climate crisis.
But I hate the winter so much.โ โYou look livelier,โ he said. โOh?โ
โShall we go back inside?โ he suggested, in the vague way he spoke when he was about to put his hands under my top.
There were some things about sleeping with a Victorian naval officer that didnโt surprise me, and there were others that astonished me. He kept trying to touch the edge of license, but my parameters were so much more capacious than his. I didnโt have the same sense of shame of it, but I donโt think I ever had the same sense of holiness either.
Some things could have been him, or they could have been the era in him. He wouldnโt go to bed with me if we were at all stoned or drunk (I went teetotal). He wouldnโt strike me, even when I pleaded for it, even though I knew he wanted toโfor various reasons Iโm good at assessing thisโand he worked oP his desire to lay forceful hands on me in interesting waysโweird games with bowls of milk and thumb pressure in my hollows. He didnโt seem to want his body involved in sex at all. He always undressed me 1rst and undressed himself afterward. He wouldnโt let me go down on him for weeks after we started sleeping together, and even then I had to do it with the lights out, snuAing about like a randy anteater. โYou shouldnโt,โ he whispered, both hands on the back of my head.
He enjoyed kissing more than any person Iโd ever kissedโnot as a precursor to other acts, but as an act in itself. He kissed me until my mouth burned. He locked my wrists in his grip so that I couldnโt take my hands for a walk below his waist, and kissed me until I was thrumming with need. I got to know his mouth very well. I was on warm terms with his shoulders, his neck, his chest, his arms, his shapely calves, his (very ticklish) feet. But he was shy about everything else, and guarded as a stray cat.
I became demented about his body in nonsexual contexts. If his shirt lifted and his trousers dragged when he was trying to reach a high shelf, revealing a crescent moon of hip bone, my heart would beat so hard I could basically chew it. The mole on his throat had me writing poetry. Watching him fumble for his cigarettes in his pockets was an incredible experience. By contrast, he liked watching me shower, and I just let him. Heโd smoke while he watched, and Iโd come out of the bathroom with my wet hair stinking.
I could tell when he was coming, because he liked to talk to me when he was inside me, but he wouldnโt make much more noise than a muAed groan when he climaxed, and so the volume would decrease the closer he got. He asked questionsโhow it felt, what I wanted, how I wanted itโfor the sheer pleasure of listening to me respond.
And afterward, brief demi-hours of peace. Holding me in his arms, the way that poems hold clauses. Smiling at me, as if to say,ย Well, arenโt you glad we both survived that?ย Watching the sun go down over my shoulder, stroking my cheek with the back of his hand. His pretty dimples, because he was smiling so much, because I think he always felt that we were as divided by passion as propriety, and he was at his happiest when we were quiet and calm.
All this unfolded in what I now know to call our last weeks. Within the action of this story, these memories mean little. After the 1rst time Graham and I went to bed together, they are symbolically all of a piece. I could have written to you without including them; after all, the things that happen between lovers are lost to the work of history anyway. But I wrote it down because I need you to bear witness to it. He was here, by and with and in my body. He lives in me like trauma does. If you ever fall in love, youโll be a person who was in love for the rest of your life.
March came in, mellow and pastel. The air felt washed. The scrubbed newness of the spring gave the rooftops and the street furniture a friendly polish. I was angry, every day, terri1ed of death at the hands of a burst of blue light, and I was also nursing fragile joy. It was disorientating. Sometimes I sat up in bed and stared down at Graham, in his coal-hot, silent sleep in the early hours of the morning, and I wanted to lick him all over. I wanted to put him in a locket by my heart. I wanted to get promoted fast enough that Iโd always have enough 1repower to protect him. And to be senior enough to stop him leaving, but I didnโt like to think about that too much.
One evening, he made an impressive yao hon and then tried to eat his with a knife and fork.
โListen. This is delicious, but I canโt praise you if youโre going to jab at your wraps with cutlery.โ
โWhat on earth are you doing with that innocent lettuce leaf?โ
โWhat Iโm supposed to do. Put down the fork, for goodnessโ sake. Itโs like watching the Spanish Inquisition with the thumbscrews.โ
โYour way seems very messy. Look. There goes your prawn. Goodbye, prawn.โ
โYeah, well, itโs also theย rightย way. Which one of us is โnot entirely an Englishwomanโ here, eh?โ
โWhich one of us can cook?โ he countered.
Afterward, I made a start on the washing up, but he cleared his throat and said, โI thought we might go out. On the bikes. Take a Aask of hot toddy with us.โ
โWeโre not allowed to do that sort of thing anymore.โ
He took my hand, sudsy as it was, kissed a bubble on my knuckle, and said, โSometimes you wake me in the middle of the night because you are grinding your teeth so vigorously. Iโd rather we break a rule than you break your poor molars. Come on. Letโs โlet oP some steam.โโ
I smiled. Graham was an Age of Sail officer who had just witnessed the overture to steam-powered ships. Of all the idioms he absolutely fucking
loathed, โlet oP some steamโ was right at the top. In using it, I suspected he was trying to charm me. In fact his next words were, โBesides, thereโs something special I want to show you.โ
I love to feel special. Of course I was interested enough to break a rule.
I hadnโt used my bike since weโd arrived at the new safe house, and I was electri1ed by the sense of freedom it gave me: movement, in my chosen direction, from the happy ePort of my body. After a half hour of cycling down the bike superhighway, the city receded, and the streets darkened. Soon we were having to pick our way along barely lit residential roads where the houses were squat and sleeping. Then we came to dark blue lanes grasped by the trees, the ground underfoot rustic with pebbles. My bike light bounced oP his back.
โWhere are we going?โ I called to him. โWeโll come to a large 1eld. Very soon.โ
When we reached the 1eld, it was a line of darkness scrawled on the deeper darkness. We stumped our bikes over the wet, breathless earth.
โThere,โ he said. โHmm?โ
โStars.โ
I blinked at him, and then I looked up. It was true. Away from the grubby muslin of Londonโs light pollution, in the fresh March night, the sky was full of stars. I turned back to him. As I adjusted to the dark, I could see he was staring upward.
โI canโt manage it exactly without a sextant,โ he said. โBut I wanted to be able to orient myself.โ
โSo that, in the event of London Aooding when the ice caps melt, you can sail to safer waters?โ
โSo that I will know where I was when I met you.โ
I had always thought of joy as a shouting, Aamboyant thing, that tossed breath into the sky like a ball. Instead it robbed me of my speech and my air. I was pinned in place by joy and I didnโt know what to do.
โCome here,โ he said softly, and pulled me into his arms.
I pressed my face against his neck. My body sparked, and I couldnโt move it, except to lean into him. I was 1lled with happiness, so enormous and terrifying it was as if Iโd committed a crime to get it. No one had given me permission to feel this way, and I thought I might not be allowed it. He combed his 1ngers through my hair and I was frightened with happiness, harrowed by it. There was no way that anyone could feel this much without also knowing they were going to lose it.
8
April 1848. Commander Gore has been missingโpresumed deadโfor eight months. It’s about to begin, though he never witnesses any of it. Instead, he imagines it. He reads books about it, published decades, even centuries after it happens. He takes the dreadful images conjured by scholars and enthusiasts and shapes them into a story.
The crews of *Erebus* and *Terror* struggle through the winter of 1847. Their best hunter is goneโnot that thereโs much game to be found. A single storm on the ice wipes out another hunting party of two officers and three men, whose bodies are never recovered. Others fall prey to the harsh climate, to scurvy, to madness. Men starve and hallucinate, dreaming of rich food. There isnโt enough coal to heat the ships, nor enough candles to light the endless Arctic night. Franklinโs bold explorers lie for hours in the dark, too cold and hungry to move, while the darkness presses against the portholes like ink-soaked cardboard. The ships reek of decay.
Spring arrives. By this time, nine officers and fifteen men are deadโthe highest death toll of a polar expedition in centuries. Crozier, whose spirit barely clings to his weakening, creasing body, orders the ships to be abandoned. Franklinโs expeditionโstill, in 1848, referred to as โFranklinโs expeditionโ and not yet โFranklinโs lost expeditionโโwill march eight hundred miles with provisions that will last barely half that distance, hoping to find game and open water along the way.
They fasten whaleboats onto runners and fill them with what they believe theyโll need. Tents, of course; their sleeping bags made of sealskin and deer hide; their provisions, mostly tinned; one spare set of underclothes per man; guns, for hunting. Other things too. They load the whaleboats with soap, books, candlesticks, journals, and crockery. They fear these items might be needed. They fear everything, so they leave nothing behind. Their backs bruise under the weight of the boats. Their joints crack. They die by inches.
They haul the boats.
The officers pull alongside the men. Even Crozier and Fitzjames help haul. The men are too weak to manage on their own. There is no glory in this, not after the first fifty miles. Only sore bodies, frostbite, and dysentery. The surviving surgeons are assigned a marine guard each, to keep desperate sailors out of the medicine chests. The marines have orders to shoot on sight. Goodsir is, for a time, one of the surviving surgeons, but heโs taken down by a tooth infection and dies from blood poisoning. Heโs fortunate; he gets a proper burial.
They haul the boats.
At first, they bury the dead in shallow graves, then later, they pile rocks over the bodies in makeshift cairns. But soon, there are too many dead. They leave the bodies where they fall.
They haul.
They abandon empty cans, trinkets, clothing. They leave strange oases of clutterโcivilization in its larval form. The idea of expedition, of England, slips away from them. They put one foot in front of the other, trying to keep their minds steady.
They haul.
The landscape around them looks like something suspended in glass. Itโs like walking through a perfect, terrible illusion. Their exhaustion is omnipresent, a god of bones and sinew.
Gore reads that about thirty survivors from the hundred-odd crew reach a final camp. โStarvation Cove,โ later explorers will call it. Theyโre still hundreds of miles from the nearest European outpost.
Gore dreams of his friends. He sees Le Vesconte lying on the canvas of a collapsed tent. โHenry,โ he says in the dream. Le Vesconte doesnโt respond. He has no legs, and half his pelvis is missing. His hip bone juts through torn flesh like the gunwales of a shipwreck. The bone is not white but ivory, speckled gray. Le Vesconteโs mouth hangs open, the dark purple fruit of his tongue lolling out. His eyes are white and slimy, rolled back in his head.
Gore dreams he sees Lieutenant Little of *Terror*, creeping toward the body. Blood trickles slowly down Littleโs face. His eyes are clouded. In the dream, Gore understands that Little can no longer see people, only flesh.
โEdward, listen to me,โ Gore says. Little creeps along the stones. โEdward. That was a man. Not food.โ
Surviving accounts suggest the Inuit tried to help where they could. But over a hundred poorly prepared Europeans, already dying, in a land where the Inuit lived at a level of strict subsistence, in a year where summer never came, were too many souls to save. Franklinโs expedition hadnโt been invited to the Arctic. Why did they insist on leaving their bodies so far from home? This is the rational response.
Gore knows better. He thinks of the face of the woman whose husband he killed. He wakes up with the taste of death in his mouth. Itโs either Godโs love or Godโs vengeance that he survived in this impossible wayโthat he has to remember them all, and her, besides. He will not be responsible for another death, another friend lost. He dreams with the bitter resolve of a man who must reach camp before nightfall.
