The Bone Yard (40 page)

Hamilton looked at me curiously and made a note. “It's not exactly your jurisdiction, Dalrymple, but we'll take your view into account. Anything else?”

“The prisoner known as Leadbelly,” I said.

“Number 35 in Cramond Island,” Davie put in, going for broke in the efficiency stakes.

“I offered him an amnesty.”

Lewis Hamilton looked like he was about to explode, but eventually he made another note. Two down, one to go.

“And finally, there's Katharine Kirkwood.”

“Don't tell me,” the guardian said. “You want her desertion charge removed from the guard register.”

I nodded, running my eye round the so-called iron boyscouts. Their faces were slack and pale, but whatever happened to them, they had a future, unlike the radiation victims from the Bone Yard. Katharine had done a hell of a sight less harm than the guardians and I'd have pointed that out if any of them had objected. They kept their mouths shut.

“Very well,” Hamilton said, nodding and closing his notebook. “It only remains for me to offer you the thanks of the Council and the entire city for your good work, citizen Dalrymple. Should you desire to return to a senior post in the Public Order Directorate  . . .”

I raised an eyebrow at him and turned away. Then they started to applaud, which got me to the door even faster.

Outside the Assembly Hall I leaned against the railings and looked out across the city. The lights of the centre blazed as much as ever, burning up the city's precious coal reserves. The idea of bringing Torness back into service wasn't a bad one but anyone can have good ideas. It's how you put them into action that's difficult. I glanced to my right. A few yards in that direction the senior guardian had skewered himself. Thinking of Roddie Aitken and William McEwan, I didn't have it in me to feel regret for his suicide.

I heard voices from round the corner. A squad of cleaners appeared. Most of the citizens were laughing and joking despite having drawn the much hated night shift. All of them looked thin and drawn, clothes loose on their undernourished limbs. I thought of the Bone Yard. It wasn't just the place where the city's untouchables had been confined. The Bone Yard was Edinburgh itself. The citizen body was skin and bone, struggling to survive. But people still seemed able to make something of their over-regulated lives. They deserved better than they'd been getting from the guardians. But would the next Council improve anything? And did I have a part to play in the “perfect” city any more?

There was a rustle of clothing at my side.

“What are you doing out here, Quint?” Katharine's voice was hoarse, still affected by the bruising to her throat.

“I walked out on the tossers,” I said without looking round. “Don't worry. You're in the clear.”

I felt her eyes on me.

“I don't care about that.” She laughed softly. “Anyway, I've still got my ‘ask no questions'.”

“You're all right then.”

“Don't be like this, Quint,” she said desperately. “I told you the truth. Okay, I didn't only come back for you.” She moved up against me. “But the case is finished, isn't it? And I'm still here.”

I turned to look at her. “Yes, I suppose you are.”

She leaned forward and kissed me once on the lips.

“It's not you, Katharine,” I said. “It's Edinburgh. Deep down inside I love this city. But it's the kind of love that makes you suffer and I don't know if I can take it any more.”

“So come back to the farm with me,” she said, touching the back of my hand with her fingertips. “There are none of the city's problems there. Just hard work and home-grown food.”

“It's an idea,” I said, nodding. Then I looked back out over the lights of Princes Street. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't conjure up fields of potatoes and kale. I kept thinking about the chief boyscout and the noble lie he'd quoted from Plato; that people's natures are predetermined and that their rulers have the right to lie in the interests of the state. It's a myth but like all myths there's some truth in it. In which case the next Council would be just as dangerous as the last one. There was one difference though. I wasn't going to get fooled again.

“Why are you smiling?” Katharine asked.

“I may just have rediscovered my vocation,” I replied, turning to face the blackened Gothic façade behind us.

She looked at me, a smile gradually fading from her own lips like the winter sun's last glow over an icy lake. Fire and water, I thought.

Davie ran down the steps and came towards us, his arm raised.

Katharine squeezed my hand once then walked slowly away, her long coat flapping in the wind. At the corner of the lane she stopped and looked back at me for a second before pulling up her hood and disappearing into the night.