The Blood Tree (23 page)

“Aye,” Tam said, “you'll survive the drive all right, pal.” He laughed emptily. “I wouldn't put money on you surviving Glasgow though.”

Great. I stuck to looking out the window. Fields grown high with thistles and weeds were interspersed with devastated towns and empty villages. My first impression was that there was no one living in the roofless houses, many of which had walls holed by the anti-tank shells favoured by the drugs gangs. Then I realised that some of the windows had been covered by plastic sheeting and that patches of land had been dug out into vegetable gardens. But the inhabitants were keeping their heads down. What Haggs called the desert was no doubt scoured by raiders desperate for anything to eat.

I sat up with a start. “Jesus, what was that?” The sound I'd heard above the faint purr of the Llama's engine made my hair stand on end.

Hyslop was unperturbed. “Wolf.”

“There are wolves out here?” I said incredulously.

“Oh aye,” Tam Haggs put in. “They escaped from the zoos during the break-up of the UK.” He grunted. “The fighting gave them plenty to eat. I suppose you don't have trouble with them in your perfect city.”

I shrugged. “I've never heard of any, not even on the farms.”

“Wolves know what's good for them,” Hel Hyslop said. “They don't bother with underfed philosophers.”

Haggs guffawed.

Then the sun burned off the last of the cloud and everything changed. We stopped at a checkpoint. Lines of wire fencing stretched out on both sides and there was a fortified guardpost by the roadside. That wasn't what caught my eye though. Ahead of us a vast expanse of cultivated land stretched away. There were large modern tractors ploughing and sowing the fields all around. That was when I began to wonder how much the Council in Edinburgh really knew about the world beyond the city line. Maybe the guardians had even been spreading baseless rumours. For years we'd been told that Glasgow was falling apart, its citizens starving and all but the centre plagued by warring drugs gangs. With its supposedly reckless attempts at democracy, Glasgow was the guardians' number one hate object, responsible for all the dissidents and criminals who sneaked into Edinburgh. Suddenly I felt more gullible than a jackass in one of Aesop's fables.

While Hyslop was talking to the sentry, I read the sign on the guardpost wall. “Banknock Checkpoint”, it proclaimed in green and yellow lettering. “Welcome to the Democratic Free State of Greater Glasgow – Let Glasgow Flourish!” Underneath there was a smaller sign directing prospective immigrants to a reception centre down the road. I looked ahead and saw a queue of ragged families. Apparently Glasgow was doing well enough to attract people from the outlying regions. Not many people had volunteered to enter Edinburgh in recent years.

“Right,” said Hel. “The road's better now. We'll be able to go even faster.”

“Brilliant,” I said under my breath, clutching the seat as the Llama did a passable imitation of a missile being launched at Serbia before the millennium.

Haggs had been handed a bag at the checkpoint. “Here,” he said. “Have a sandwich.”

I opened the package he gave me and discovered a plaited roll that smelled better than any bread I'd ever had. There was a thick layer of smoked salmon and sour cream inside. “Christ, I haven't had salmon for a long time,” I said, taking a large bite.

“Really?” said Hyslop. “There are fish farms in the Clyde. We can have it every day if we like.”

I tried to hide my envy by asking about the surrounding countryside. “So how far does Glasgow territory extend?”

“Twenty miles to the south and over thirty to the west,” she replied. “All the way to Dumbarton and Beith.”

“We're looking to expand as well,” Tam Haggs put in. “Except there are some serious headbangers on the coast who're giving us a hard—”

“That'll do, sergeant.” The inspector gave him a look that made his ears burn. “Security information is not to be divulged to non-citizens.”

Haggs bowed his head and bit his lip like a schoolboy who'd been caught with his hand down his shorts.

So I was a non-citizen, was I? That didn't make me feel optimistic about the treatment I could expect in Glasgow. Why was there a warrant out for me? It must have been something very hot for the city's leaders to authorise a snatch mission. What did they have on me? I almost asked the inspector but stopped myself in time. I had the feeling that she'd be enormously gratified if I showed any more nerves.

“How many people live inside the wire?” I asked. “If that information isn't classified.”

Hel Hyslop glanced at me. “Why should it be? The population of greater Glasgow is nearly one-and-a-half million.”

“Jesus,” I said. Edinburgh's population had dropped by half since the turn of the century. “And you manage to feed them all?”

“Of course we do. Glasgow is a thriving modern state, not a decrepit tourist trap like Edinburgh.”

I was about to argue with that description of my home town but, looking at the pristine machines in the fields and the well-maintained highway, I decided to hold my peace.

“That's right,” Tam Haggs said. “And you haven't seen the half of it yet.”

I had the feeling I was about to be even more surprised. Edinburgh already seemed to be on the other side of the world. As did my old man and Katharine. I wondered if Hector was all right. Then I remembered what Katharine had said about my last chance. I wanted to see her again very badly. But every mile that the Llama went was taking me further away.

“What the hell . . . I mean, what are those?” I said, peering through the windscreen.

“Thank you,” Hyslop said primly. “They're the Glasgow balloons. Haven't you heard of them?”

“Obviously not.” I peered at the large coloured shapes in the sky ahead. There must have been at least thirty of them, some round, some cigar-shaped, one even fashioned like a star. I could just make out cables tethering the balloons to the ground. They were floating above the tower blocks like thought bubbles above cartoon characters' heads.

“Each ward of the city has its own balloon in a colour they choose themselves,” Haggs said. “In Govan it's blue.” He nudged me in the ribs. “Remember Rangers? The football team?”

“Vaguely,” I replied. I wasn't going to give him the pleasure of a positive answer. In fact I had very clear memories of Old Firm matches between Rangers and Celtic in the early years of the century. The riots had been so bad that the army had been sent in. The clubs claimed that drugs gangs infiltrated the grounds – maybe they did, but relations between the two sets of fans had never been what you'd call problem-free.

“Each ward is autonomous,” the inspector said, stopping at a traffic light on the outskirts of the built-up area. “The idea came from the devolution movement at the end of the last century.”

“I hope your system runs better than the Parliament Scotland got then,” I said. “It caused a lot more problems than it ever solved.” That reminded me of the break-in at the Parliament archive and the subsequent murders. Hamilton and Davie would have to cope with all that on their own now.

I looked out at the street. There were plenty of cars, most of them in brighter colours than the official green of the Llama. “Citizens are allowed their own transport, are they?” I asked.

They both looked at me as if I were crazy. “Course they are,” Tam said contemptuously.

“And they can afford cars?”

“The city offers low-interest loans for car and house purchase,” Hyslop said.

I tried to hide my amazement. On the streets, people were dressed in clothes that were brightly coloured and – by Edinburgh standards – well-cut and stylish. Kids on expensive-looking bikes were riding on cycle tracks between the road and the pavement. Behind them the shops were crammed with merchandise and customers. Even the blocks of flats were in good nick, paint fresh and balconies overflowing with flowers and plants. It was hard to believe that the grimy, dilapidated citizen housing of Edinburgh was less than fifty miles away. And there weren't any obvious signs of the crime we'd been told bedevilled Glasgow. No steel shutters, no junkies, no vandalism – and only a few officious-looking sods in green outfits and peaked caps. Even the pubs looked salubrious.

“Now we're getting to the best part,” Haggs said, leaning forward in his seat.

Hel Hyslop pointed to her left. “Just in case you were wondering, free-thinking is encouraged in this city.”

I looked up the slope and made out the crosses and memorial stones of the necropolis, Glasgow's version of the Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris. It had been fully kitted out with neo-classical temples and catacombs in the 1800s, but now it made me think of a time several centuries before that. Draped across the incline was a huge white banner which proclaimed “Macbeth Has Returned! Share the Experience!” The letters were surrounded by lifesize colour paintings. There was a saturnine Macbeth wearing a crown, a supercilious queen and several trios of witches, all of whom were younger than my readings of the play at school suggested.

“What's all that about?” I asked. “Have the city fathers turned the graveyard into a theme park?”

The inspector slowed to let a group of Middle Eastern tourists in full robes and head-dress cross – a year or two ago they'd have been staying in Edinburgh.

“That's the kind of shite your home town unloads on its visitors, isn't it?” Hyslop said. “We're not like that. We assume our tourists have minds as well as wallets.”

“Is that right?” I asked sceptically. “So what's the game with Macbeth?”

“It's a cult,” Haggs said.

“A cult?”

“Yes, a cult,” the inspector said irritably. “Aren't you familiar with the word? I suppose it's been proscribed in your glorious city.”

“True enough, the Council is pretty keen on atheism,” I said, glancing up at the necropolis again. Figures in medieval costume were dancing around the gravestones. “They do tolerate people with genuine religious beliefs though. Believe it or not.”

Haggs swallowed a laugh when he saw the inspector's expression.

“In this city,” Hyslop said, “there are dozens of religious sects and cults. Some of them are versions of the organised religions of the late twentieth century and some of them are more recent. We allow people to believe what they want – no matter how off the wall it might be.”

“And how off the wall is the Macbeth cult?” I asked.

Hel gave a humourless laugh. “As off the wall as a free-standing mirror.”

Tam Haggs was shaking his head. “Aye, those lunatics actually believe that the guy in charge is a reincarnation of Macbeth. Apparently he's come back to make Scotland a nation again.”

I could remember a lot of stuff in that vein at the turn of the century. Most politicians who spouted about nationhood ended up dead in the riots. “Harmless, are they?” I asked.

Hel raised her shoulders. “Not my squad's brief.” She sounded unhappy about that. “They put on productions of the play for the tourists as well as the locals.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Culture on the streets.”

The inspector nodded. “This city's always been good at that.”

We drove past Queen Street railway station and I watched crowds of people passing in and out the doors. Obviously Glasgow's trains were still running – I hadn't seen one in operation since the early years of the Council. Then we moved into the commercial centre of the city and I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. The streets were packed with shoppers, some of them tourists but the majority Glasgow people – you could tell because they were wearing fist-size badges that said “I'm Glaswegian and I'm Proud”. But that wasn't all. I assumed “the best part” that Tam Haggs had been on about was the city itself. It was a revelation. The buildings had been cleaned and the place was resplendent in rosy-hued sandstone and glinting, silvery granite. Anything concrete had been painted in pastel shades and flags and banners were strung across every available space. There was a band on every main junction, some playing traditional Scottish music, some blasting out jazz rhythms the like of which I'd never heard in Edinburgh. There was even a blues combo. They were having a go at David Alexander's “Standing By a Lamp-Post” – they weren't bad either.

“So what do you think?” Tam asked as we pulled up outside a towering Victorian block with grandiose columns and capitals carved all over its reddish-brown façade.

“Neat building,” I said. “What is it? Your kennel?”

“What do you think of the city, arsehole?” he said, dragging me on to the pavement.

I shrugged. “It's not bad. Not a patch on—”

“Bollocks,” he said. “Your place is a midden compared with this.”

“All right, sergeant,” Hel Hyslop said, joining us beside the Llama. “This is your hotel, Quint,” she said, looking up at the magnificent edifice.

“Glad to see you're keeping me in the manner to which I'm accustomed.” I wasn't going to tell them how much I was looking forward to checking in. Now I looked more closely, I could see the place's name. The sign was small, suggesting the owners didn't feel the need to boast. Then again, the hotel's name was the St Vincent Palace.

Hel gave me a frosty smile. “My superiors presumably want to soften you up.” She ran an eye down my undernourished frame. “And fatten you up.”

“Why?” I asked. “Is cannibalism how you keep this wonder city going?”

“You'll soon find that out for yourself, Quint.” The inspector turned away.

Tam Haggs grinned and led me into the luxurious entrance. If eating people was what they were into, who was I to complain? As long as I had the free run of the hotel for a day or two.

The smiling goon in reception knew who we were. There was no messing about with filling in a registration card – that had already been taken care of. My room was on the seventh floor. Haggs took me up, told me I could order anything I wanted from room service – I got the impression he wasn't over the moon about that – and left, locking me in. Fair enough. If this was the Glasgow version of captivity, I could live with it.