I of course am but a little maid who all unwary/Came from a ladies’ seminary – I say, didn’t you previously have two legs? A word of thanks is undoubtedly due to Dr Eva Jacobs, my tutor, whose capacity neatly to remove limbs while naturally attenuated in seminars in the Reid Building provided an excellent role model.

All most pernicious, is it not, the taking of sweet innocent young women and turning them into lean, mean, killing-machines, destructive of the fabric of society aka male power. Really, it shouldn’t be allowed, so for most of 2000 years it wasn’ t.

You are so evil, Blair.  Wouldn't Ratzupthearse have you in his club otherwise?  You are, however, no longer Prime Minister, nor even an MP.  There is no legitimate reason why anyone should have to pay the faintest attention to anything you say,  let alone when you dribble infected shit out of your arse.

So I have killed everything in sight and out of it, in return for which I have been buried alive and screaming.  Isn't life a ball.  Fuck the lot of you.

At 20 I had little idea of my future besides that I wanted to write and go for long walks and it would be necessary to find some reasonable employment to fund this quiet life.  There was however that which was inconceivable.  Inconceivable the so-called cream of London medicine watched my spinal fusion being abused, inconceivable no-one would uphold the norms of democracy, inconceivable no-one would interfere even when I became crippled, inconceivable subnormal criminal animal-women pretending to be nurses would jeer at me openly for insisting I live in a free and democratic country and objecting to having been crippled.  Inconceivable the degree I was doing would be considered meaningless.  Inconceivable all fact, reason and morality would be rejected out of hand.  Inconceivable that, having upheld a rational and democratic society, I be thrown on the scrapheap severely disabled at the age of 64.  Inconceivable I should be treated as a nasty, naughty, wilful, insolent, disobedient little slave-girl rightly beaten in punishment for her crimes and now ridiculously wailing about it, whom it is kindest to ignore or I should have to be beaten again.  Inconceivable, education, reason, integrity, literacy, honesty be regarded as crimes.  Inconceivable my body be used as punchbag for perverted inadequates and my mind regarded as a joke.  Inconceivable no-one would think it necessary to pay any attention to a woman.

I have been treated obscenely and repulsively by the insolently criminal, insolently corrupt, insolently psychotic, insolently treasonous, insolently evil, from top to bottom from low-life nurses and managers to joke professors to politicians and MI5.  They probably whine I have a sense of entitlement.  Indeed I do: I am entitled to possession of my own mind and body, I am entitled to be treated like an autonomous adult human being, an equal and an individual.  Clearly I have trodden not only on toes, but on a consortium of toes, generally known as the Establishment, who have decided in of course their wholly criminal, corrupt, psychotic, treasonous and evil lairs untroubled by the electorate that I, a highly intelligent, highly literate, highly educated, rational, free, democratic, moral, atheist feminist grand-daughter of Labour pioneers, daughter of Marxist-Leninism, student of Voltaire, child of Woodstock, amateur classicist, even more amateur physicist, am profoundly 'unacceptable' in their New Model England, a fascist feudal state, mentally in about the year 1200, certainly pre-dating Magna Carta, governed not by us the people, not by the rule of law, but by the unproven and unprovable ravings of religion.  But such sick fools can be ignored in a democracy.  That is the point of democracy, to keep people safe from the rabid ravings of psychopathic morons. 

The problem is not with the few but with the many who prostrate themselves before psychopathic morons.  If everyone had loudly upheld the norms of a democratic society, had howled in outrage at the assault on my spinal fusion, if the Press and other media had hunted down the criminally insane, none of it could have happened.  Despicable repulsive filth, the whole lot of them, guilty of conspiracy to pervert the course of justice, the overthrow of democracy, giving aid and comfort to the enemies of the Queen, causing grievous bodily harm, suppressing material fact, attempting my mental and physical destruction and numerous offences under the heading of gender discrimination, filth who hate anything clean, upright, open, who crawl to power.

The problem is that intellectual and moral corruption, total contempt for fact and reason, total contempt for the rights of others, the assumption others are property to be treated with as much concern as sacks of potatoes, that my body is a toy for my masters to play with and break as they please, that we are to do and be what we are told to do and be are now endemic.  This is no longer England.  For laying the foundations of this, we have to look no further than the Blair government.  Thus my grandfather, socialist, Fabian, atheist, responds from beyond the grave, and my grandmother, socialist, feminist, Unitarian is beyond words.  My other grandparents were Labour too.  All four spin in their graves.  My parents were also Labour until late in life when faced with Labour's increasing insanity, intellectual corruption and sheer puerility. 

This is now what the 'Left' stands for:

I laugh in their faces, the joke professors who are an offence to the University, a tumour at its heart, the filthy squalid nurses, particularly the two insolent criminals who went under the title 'Chief Nurse', unfit to practise, unfit for authority in a democracy, and the two monsters who continue to masquerade under the title 'Matron', the evil animal Milburn who left me to be crippled when I turned to the government for help, the filthy brute Blair, the squalid offal of MI5 and religion.  Do I not understand knocking around a woman is perfectly normal, nothing anyone would dream of bothering to do or say anything about.   Democracy of course is merely a joke.  There can be no question of accountability or transparency, no question of publicly establishing the facts, no question of demanding all say what their problem is in public where everyone can hear them and anyone can challenge them.

This is how to deal with sexually diseased freaks, throwbacks:

Extract from The Anile Heir ©2006.
I, Ysabel Jehan Howard, hereby assert and give notice of my right under s.77 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this book.

Karula tried to ring Kile, was told Kile was away and discovered ‘away’ meant a month’s cruise. Grandmamma’s enthusiasm for seeing the world in her old age was clearly undimmed. And why should she not! she had cooed at Mitch who having spent his life moving from continent to continent had seemed to think it strange his mother should decide to do likewise. Not if it means leaving Var-segan represented by our two delightful children. She rapped her knuckles. They are no longer children. They are young persons. Better they were children. OK, have it out with the man. “Sit down a minute, Mitch.“ She grinned. “Hearken!” “Hearken? Could this be serious?” “Yes.” He sat. “Well?” “You do not want to go back.” “So?” he said calmly. “Before you were merely close. You are now united in a bond – this presents practical issues.” “Death or victory,” said Mitch. “I also feel that way. It does not, however, include bringing our – our remaining children to Azt.” “What then?” “You will unnecessarily exhaust yourself commuting – really, there is no other word for it – between Var-segan and Azt.” “On the other hand our children are nearly grown. We are committed to my standing for election. You have always known that should I be successful we shall be based in Azt.” “I know I cannot stop – not yet, Mitch.” “Our children have come out well from being carted around the world.” “A little more carting will not dismay them? I do not have a plan.” “We have so far – I do not quite know how we have so far but nonetheless we have so far and to our cost avoided dumping our children while we go off to war.” He took her hands. “We are not perhaps being entirely rational.” “I know.” “Perhaps in the rush of events we do not talk enough.” “I wish to shield them from any inkling all is not well because they know all too well all is not well. How mad is that?” “Sounds like motherhood to me. I’ll talk to Dill.” “I tried to talk to Kile,” admitted Karula. “She’s away again.” “How remiss of her,” murmured Mitch.
And so they flew home and Dill was summoned to Mitch’s study. “Sit down, honey.” “I rack my brains. I haven’t done anything more than usually bad for at least a month.” “We have to have a little talk about the future.” She frowned. “Is that good or bad?” “Good, honey, good. I hope good.” He walked over to her and picked up a soft emerald lock, let it fall gently through his fingers. “I love it!” He put his hands on her shoulders. “You have always understood our lives – all our lives – were to some extent at risk.” “Well – yes…” “Your mother and I are returning to Azt to live. There are arguments on both sides concerning what I have to say to you. You are Var-segan, honey, and your place is here, but – “ he grinned. “Look who’s talking! You may if you wish come with us. Azt is not for the moment the safest place. In order that your mother and I sleep at night, you will not be even mildly idiotic. Nor will you if you stay! Your mother thinks that if you are far from her eagle eye you may behave – inappropriately. I do not mean taking calls on your mobile during dinner! As I understand it, she does not wish to wake to pictures of you on a soap-box. You may say – we do say – that is rich coming from the pair of us. We do not wish you to make yourself more of a target while you are a minor. We understand, as – as Baya and Essa understand, as Pietri and Caluna understood, when you are an adult you will do what you have to do. Do you read me?” She looked at him a moment, then gave a small, slightly puzzled smile and saluted. “Yessir…Dad – is it going to get bad again?” “There is infrastructure in place that should maintain Kadun’s stability. The possibility of chaos, the risk of chaos, I calculate as lower than at any time during the past ten years. The risk of individual casualties of course is something different. Among them may be me. You understand that. That is your worst-case scenario. On the other hand Kadun will come out the other end of this and we shall too.” “What we think – Qirl and I. Now we’re older. We didn’t understand what you were doing when we were home before. They came for us. Now they want Sarat.” “If I am elected, they will want me.” “Oh! I see that.” “You would hack it. You would have no choice.” “You – you’re going back because you have no choice. It’s – what Var-segan means. I understand, Dad. Dad…If something happened, I mean if something really bad happened, if everything…” “I should expect you to fight for the last stone and blade of grass. It is not going to come to that. It is something we have avoided to date. By sheer gall, by raw cunning – and by accommodation. There is no longer space for accommodation.” “It wasn’t a game, Dad!” “I do not understand.” “The picture I’m getting – you and mom think I play at being a stoopid teen to – to pretend everything’s all right.” He was utterly taken aback. “That is not what we think, honey.” “You don’t trust me!” “We know too well what we were at your age. Perhaps that overly colours our judgement.” He put his arms around her. “I think I have not said anything of which you were not previously aware?” “It’s my way of being brave.” “Understood.” “OK, I’m a loud-mouthed brat!” “We love you all the more for it, honey.” She suddenly went on the attack. “And what you’re telling me – I can stay here and be Var-segan only I mustn’t actually open my mouth!” He laughed.. “Did I say that? Would you not acknowledge that you are a little young to be a leader of revolution?” “Old enough to be Var-segan.” “I can’t have it both ways? I shall be frank. Parental dread can have it all ways.” “This is coming from mom – if you became President, you would not think it appropriate to retain the title, you’ve said that.” “If. That is not the immediate future. A year is a long time at your age.” “I can be useful here. But you don’t want that. You are confusing me. I’m not stupid. I mean – that’s not the right word. I guess I seem arrogant? That’s what worries you and mom. But that’s confusing too. It’s what you say. You go out there and busk it.” He grinned. “Here I think myself the model of rational parenthood and I do nothing but sow confusion.” “I’d ask, Dad. There’d – there’d be someone to ask. I mean it’s what you say. I know it already. I’m not saying I’m not a kid. I’m not saying I can’t be an idiot. I’m saying I – saying I know – knew – have known since I’ve been old enough to know something could happen to you and there’d just be me. I’m not claiming to be fit enough or old enough or responsible enough. I’m stating a fact. Just like you said. I’d hack it. I shouldn’t have a choice.” He cocked his eyebrows. “So why shouldn’t you hack it when you do have a choice? You are 16! You are claiming you want to be Steward of Var-segan?” The disbelief in his voice made her giggle. “No! Not tomorrow, anyway! I’m – I’m trying to say - look at it this way. Just about every kid in Kadun is having this conversation! School! Homework! Exams! There’s a revolution going on and it’s our future.” “I seem to remember a well-known young man dropped out…” He grinned again. “Not of course until he had finished school. Revolution? What revolution?” “It doesn’t matter who you are, parental dread’s the same. Though broadly – this is still a very class-based society, you know! Posh folks take the real risks and – non-posh folk make the revolution, are free to make the revolution because posh folks are taking the flak. We talk about these things, Dad. We kids want to make the revolution and you – parents – want to keep us safe. If it’s not that they want things to be normal. Want us to behave normally while you don’t. It’s really unfair.” “I am enjoying this,” said Mitch. “You’ve always found time for us. We think you’re miraculous! When have you talked to our friends?” “Would there be some measure of truth in saying be damned to the age of majority, you are adults, young adults, but adults nonetheless?” She nodded vigorously. “What exactly do you want, Dill? Do you all want, for assuredly Var-segan should take a lead in these matters.” “To be part of the action.” “OK. You’ll come to Azt, at least for a while. Accompany me.” He grinned like a fiend. “Mingle. Suffer gross sleep deprivation. Live on – and this is worst of all – the Hadin Wadud’s catering. There’s qallie soup, qallie mousse, qallie stew… “
He walked in on Karula fresh from the shower. “Remove that towel,” he suggested. “It is unnecessary.” He laughed suddenly and picked her up. “Unhand me, sir!” “Not a chance…Just asserting myself in the face of two of the damnedest females…” He sat her on the bed. “Our daughter…” He laughed again. “I gather it went well.” “It went. Our daughter is entirely prepared to be at least nominally Steward of Var-segan. Like now, man. How old was Sarat? We are screaming idiots.” “Hold on there!” “You keep wriggling.” “Sarat was not in Azt in his mid-teens!” “Different scenario.” “That is true. You are not seriously – “ “If I become President, I should not consider it wholly appropriate – have I not said that.” “A retentive memory,” said Karula drily. “She is 16!” “I am a miraculous parent. I know my daughter’s age. She has taken a deep breath and geared herself up to it. There is more! Every kid in Kadun is screaming because parents are having all the fun. It’s their future. They’ll come back with us, school be damned.” “I see. I should prefer Steward of Var-segan.” “That’s next week.” “Talk me through it. Make it real good.” After a bit, she said: “What happened to our young people’s revolution?” “We never meant this young. Suddenly we are an open society. They are bombarded with news, events, change, innovation. It must be as though a party’s going on to which we have forgotten to invite them.” “One with an unwanted guest.” Much later she said: “She did not mention - ?” “No.” “She never does. I have been as inviting as it is possible to be without forcing it.” “I did not think I had to ask why my daughter will hack it because she has no choice.”
Mitch sat down to dinner. “Shouldn’t the ladies be seated first, sir?” asked Qirl. Karula choked and turned it into a cough. Qirl pulled out a chair for Dill, who sat and thanked him graciously, then turned wide eyes on her father. “Like we thought we’d been giving out the wrong messages, man.” “Do you realize,” said Qirl, “we’ve never been to Azt! Talk about country cousins.”
The one with green fronds is the heir. Then the Cult released its video and Mitch’s madness was forgotten. Everyone with half a brain knew the exact taunt. Are you still laughing, Sarat? Sarat embracing Maya who turned into Death at his touch. Sarat placing Death on the Anile Throne and kissing his hand. Sarat making love to Death.
Not completely surprisingly, no-one wanted to show it to him. “They have produced something past obscene,” said Faun. “We don’t think you should see it, but you must see it.” Sarat watched it. Sarat said absolutely nothing. At length, he said, “Thank you.” It was rather clearly a dismissal. If I have any sense, thought Faun, I take my leave. I never had any sense. “So?” Bloody stupid thing to say. “Back to the cutting-room?”
Karula went up in smoke. “Bring them to damn’ Azt! Young adults! There is more than one kind of safe, Mitch!” Mitch was unmoved. “It is a video. It is all over the Grid. I prefer they see it holding tightly onto our hands. Should they not face the enemy of their future?”
So much about him that was pure Fidubi. Jaizal sat cross-legged among the flowers.
Cantilip tried to explain something to Mel. “We were mad. We were all mad. We thought we should bounce into Azt and they would evaporate like shadows in the sun. Is that what we thought, Mel? “You are not leaving me,” said Mel. She stared at him in horror. “Mel…No! No.” “What then? We cannot go back.” “My duty is to fight. Is that not also yours?” “Were we mad? Are we? Where does that lead, Cantilip?” She closed her eyes. “It is nonsense to think we can win.”
A girl came running into the room in tears. “They will hurt him! You must help!” Sarat sighed but tried to be polite. He listened stunned. “You are Sheheela, my lady?”
The Star offered herself to him. He declined. She said Jaizal had sent her. He said Jaizal should have had more sense and thought fondly of the luxury flats over in Turnin.
He mailed Cho:
Aside from the more normal emotional and moral dimensions – what is the cosmic significance of sexual intercourse with someone from another time, pray? Supposing she became pregnant. At that point, I may say, I begin to titter madly. Supposing all this were in fact the consequence of my sexual relations with Jaizal’s favourite. Or some similar – trans-temporal alliance. To be here alone is…..Words fail me. With Maya – perhaps it was mad optimism or just madness to think we should make it a cosy family home. Together we were in charge. I gloss it: ‘it is getting worse’. The change (of course) is in me. I alone am dwarfed, overwhelmed by history. I have to overcome it.
So let us can the crap. There is no ‘rooted evil’. There is this asylum I have made my home where time is a flexible concept. The field of flowers has been planted. What does this mean? What I think it means is probably impossible but nonetheless theoretically what I think it means is the ‘five-headed ogre’ comes through time. The most obvious objection to this is why then has he not confronted me, doubtless dripping with gore. You have observed that Jaizal has been absent from my guest-list. His ladies, however, plural, have not. I have met Sheheela. She was petrified, but not of Jaizal. She said: they are hurting him, you must help! She was very young, younger than I am. Cho – ‘they’ hurt him and the rest is history?!!? It is a little difficult to sustain a conversation when time keeps hiccuping. I should not go so far as to say he was a much-misunderstood guy, but there is something here that we do not understand and have misunderstood.
Jaizal must have the throne! Because the throne would heal/rescue/save him??? I have therefore done something right, bringing her here. But if she could – take him to the source of the rot to ‘slay the ogre’. Zani knew. I feel that in my gut on no evidence whatever!
Let us posit – the rot began with Kaminua, who tried to fight it, and ended with Jaizal, who also tried to fight it and was – overtaken. Three things obviously rocket to the front of my mind. One is the connection between the chair and the worm-hole(s). In which case she is ‘making it worse’. One is that the Cult predates Narulis, never mind Kaminua. Might we then say - do we not say - that the Cult realizes, immanentizes – that from elsewhere we call death? The third – there’s nothing about it in the records, but that might of course be because they didn’t know what it was, only what they thought it was.
Meanwhile there is gross national product and the cost of shoe-leather. I have not come – I did not come here to – what has happened to ME? Someone once told me I should remain Sarat. I admit to the occasional urge to vandalism, flatten the place and build a glass palace, but I do not of course, other considerations aside, think that would make a scrap of difference. Nor is it in some sense possible to move out. Did I not say I wanted to sort Kadun? I have got myself where I have to be. What’s that they say about being careful what you wish for in case you get it?
Oh dear, thought Cho. He padded off to the archives and was gone a long time.
“The continuum changes,” said Hass, “but we do not change with it. Is that not remiss?” “Very slow,” agreed Venga. “Darling, stop that! I try to think!”
“If of course you have no objection,” said Venga, “we’ve decided to move in.” There was something about Sarat’s laugh that made him raise his eyebrows. “Was it something I said?” “There is someone I should like you to meet,” said Sarat.
He is gay, now sets up a menage a trois! That one, gentlemen, we had seen coming.
His Imperial Majesty’s houseboys. Alzani-Meta stands in the sun laughing.
A second video duly appeared. The Anile throne shimmered in ethereal light. Death approached it clearly wounded, repelled by the light, but nonetheless sat and crumbled to dust. Sarat appeared with a small vacuum cleaner and sucked up the crumbs, grumbling to himself about having to clean up the mess other people leave behind them. He sat and remarked, with a good deal of satisfaction, “This is my chair.” But suddenly he was surrounded by a pack of Deaths, all leering and generally trying to be terrifying. He settled back in the chair, yawned, and turned the vacuum cleaner on them. Their black robes blew up over their skulls and they groped blindly and tried to pull them down over their bony knees. Sarat laughed and adjusted the controls, sucked them all into oblivion.
The World This Week got itself in a mess over whether Sarat was top of its list of the world’s most eligible men. Frankly are the looks, the title, the wealth and the disposition worth trading your life for. People thought that could have been more tactfully put. Nonetheless, they were clear that it was unlikely Sarat would spend the rest of his life single – if he had a rest of his life.
We had not quite realized how Maya’s mere existence had informed the whole enterprise. Ah me, those gender dynamics. Although a number of things, of which decorum was only one, prevented every woman under thirty from visibly lusting, the sexual tension was there.
Ah well, if he did decide to give it all up, he could always become a rock-idol.
Consequently any woman identified as having been alone with Sarat became a target.
Including Karula. Including me.
AIt was all a bit obvious. He couldn’t have been consulting our lethal cutting intelligences, could he.
Droit de seigneur and all that. A healthy young man has his needs.
Karula and I plotted. Had we been single, we should have grinned and said, I should be so lucky! Had we been single, we should have hammed it up. Playthings of an idle hour (we should be so lucky). A little old, suggested Karula. Should I show them my stretch-marks? We were not single.
My Cioulis was promoted. Reward for services rendered. I thought I was going to go up in smoke.
“These people are such crap!” said Dill. Mitch looked about to burst with fatherly pride.
But Jaizi said: “Consider it a diversion.” That was true. It was much better than people dwelling on exactly what had been Sarat’s mental state when Maya died. It had all been very quick of course, faster than it takes to tell it, but not so fast that the word ‘shock’ hadn’t been bandied around.
“We are going to send this up,” said Karula. “They seem a little confused as to who is paired with whom.” She explained our cunning ploy to the men. None of them said anything. “Do you think we’re making them nervous?” asked she in a stage-whisper. “This lot?” I said. Mitch gave a fairly undescribable smile somewhat like a hungry panther who has just been presented with a trio of fat calves someone has kindly caught, skinned, gutted, dressed and cooked for him.
Before we had the opportunity to put our poetry into motion, they targeted Dill. She had been brought to Azt to be presented to Sarat, gift-wrapped with a little bow and pink ribbons. Dill, bless her little green fronds, said she preferred boys her own age – yes, of course he’s everyone’s pin-up but he’s a bit old, isn’t he. That of course sent the slime-merchants off on how many boys has the little tart Known Carnally. We are good at grading slime and on the whole thought max 5/10 for that one.
Dill: “Is this what’s called a propaganda war, Dad?” Mitch: “No, I should not say that. This is what’s called wiping excrement off the sole of one’s boot.”
“You could not call this young lady beautiful. A strong, attractive face. Her mother’s features.” Thanks a bunch, thought Karula. “Her father’s colouring. Her father’s hair – we think. A young woman who will surely turn heads.” “Is there a joke there?”
Cantilip flew in for a board meeting of something green and leafy, not NoZone, Trees R Us, I think it was. Hass greeted her as his delicate and fragile long-awaited bride. “Shall I swoon in your arms?” muttered Cantilip. “That might be over-doing it,” conceded Hass. He unwillingly released her hand. “Beloved, we must part!” cried Cantilip. Hass turned to the gulping assembled company. “There are people confused about who is paired with whom. We thought we should send them up.”
“Soap-boxes are taboo,” said Dill. “Nasty, dangerous things,” said Mitch. “No child of mine would be so foolish as to be associated with them.” “That does not mean I cannot have an idea.” “I accept that,” said Mitch. “May I – dare I – ask?” “Not yet,” said Dill.
Mitch caressed Venga’s cheek. Venga reached for his hand and clasped it. “Darling,” said Mitch, “it has been too long!” “A day without you!” said Venga. “An eternity of longing!” proclaimed Mitch. There was a great deal of gulping over that one.
At least His Imperial Majesty keeps himself aloof from these – amateur theatricals. Just looking for the appropriate angle, guys.
Cioulis stomped up to Sarat. “I am not your partner!” “That is exact,” agreed Sarat. “How can you not be his partner?” demanded Karula. “I’m not his partner.” “I thought it was me,” I said. “I’m definitely not your partner.” “This is confusing,” said Cioulis.
Inevitably we evoked: And these lunatics are running Kadun? That wasn’t far below the surface anyway and Kadun was not suffering thereby.
Dill spent less time going around with Mitch and more time on the Grid. Researching. Karula groaned. “I am sure you are investigating the formation of shale mindful that you will return to school.” “What’s shale?” asked Dill and meant it. “Back to school instantly!” Dill returned to her terminal and later treated them to a short tutorial on shale.
“I have an idea. I don’t think it’s a bad idea. It’s pretty crazy. You said the reason for all the school stuff was – kids having normal lives was proof the revolution was working. I can see that. What I’ve been looking up is education policy. Throwing out old history books, teaching by argument. It’s cool. It’s like school in Zur. Even student representatives, that’s just normality, Dabida-style. We the kids need to be responsible for making something happen. All our boundless youthful energy is being wasted on shale! There’s a big class thing here too. Working-class parents now do complain if they think the teachers aren’t enthusiastic enough. It’s not just enthusiasm about teaching. It’s about the whole building and whether there’s hot water. It’s not parents who are affected. There was a case in Klisan. The school refused to replace the heating. There was frost on the inside of the classroom windows. School’s where everyone gets a chance, yes? There’s an absolute row going on over school catering. Is it an admission of defeat to say schools should provide maybe the only good food the kids are likely to get? I think there should be student committees in every school with some kind of real power to demand the things that affect everyone every day.” She borrowed a line from her father. “You are not yet screaming. That is good.” “Is that all?” asked Mitch. “No. That’s the sensible bit.” “I shudder to think,” said Karula. “The rest can wait. I haven’t finished with it yet.” “I have no problem,” said Mitch, “with the basic thesis, which if I have it correctly is that even those younger than you can take responsibility for things within their immediate orbit, things they can understand. One does not require a grasp of geopolitics to grasp frost on the inside of the window.” “I too do not dispute the basic thesis,” said Karula. “I note that equally everything that affects domestic life affects children but I see of course that conditions at school – I have always hated the expression ‘more uniquely’ – particularly, particularly affect the young.” “What is your answer,” asked Mitch, “to whether it is an admission of defeat?” “I think it’s twisting things. There’s a word for it you taught me and I’ve forgotten. Pretending things are connected that aren’t connected. Kids are at school all day and you can’t go all day without eating. Schools should provide good food, end of story. Home should too.” “What is the unsensible bit? Briefly.” “Laters!” “Nows. I do not send you off to talk to Sarat without knowing the whole story.” She made a moue and giggled. “Sending them up. This is also known as winding up the straights.” “A dangerous game.” “Not if every kid in Kadun is playing it.” “Less so,” allowed Mitch.
“Hi,” said Dill. “Long time, no see,” said Sarat. “My generation, we kids, are being left out of the party.” “There are some nasty guests.” “I know that,” said Dill. “That’s not a reason for doing nothing!” Sarat laughed. “You’re telling me?” “I knew you’d understand,” said Dill. “Try thinking of me as Cantilip.” Sarat passed the test. “Gender is not relevant.” “It has never mattered a hoot to Mitch that his eldest is a girl. You know how we’ve been around the world. OK, not in Zur! In the City, just about everywhere else, there are people who think there are some things girls don’t do.” “Such as leading, taking responsibility?” Mitch, this is not what you led me to expect! “At first I didn’t understand. It’s because mom’s such a feminist she’s over-protective. What – what happened. It could have happened to me if I were a boy.” “Yes,” said Sarat. “I hate them,” said Dill. “For Baria, for me, for everything.” “So you’re climbing the walls because no-one will let you fight.” “Do something,” said Dill. “I shot my mouth off in Zur,” observed Sarat. “I’ve thought of that,” said Dill. “I don’t think that would be at all appropriate – “ Half-mocking. “- in the present situation.” “True,” said Sarat. “What is a girl to do?” “I gathered you are going to tell me?” “I thought, I don’t mind not being centre-stage. But I do want to start something.” “Backroom girls can be the brightest,” said Sarat. “Mom’ll love that. Sarat – emperors are different, right. You can say things you wouldn’t say to anyone else in the world, wild horses wouldn’t drag out of you.” “There is a conception to that effect,” said Sarat. “OK…Mom was a radical feminist when she was 12! Dad, I’ve told you. I am his heir, period, full stop, over and out.” She paused. “I think I guess,” said Sarat. “After what happened, to you, to your family, you think that if you were a boy they’d understand that you want to take a machine-gun, but you’re a girl, so they don’t.” “Yes,” said Dill. “How d’you know they don’t?” “All of you,” said Dill, “you – channel it - ?” “Refract, channel.” “I know my father. I know so far as certain people go, he is capable of – advancing and firing, just keeping on firing until all the rats are dead. Instead he – you – mom – all of you – you talk, you joke.” “The enemy is not – in a neat little army flying a separate flag.” “Until they’re on your doorstep!” “There is nothing about Karula at that time or any other that suggests to me she would fail to understand.” “This may be a bit complicated for one of my young years but – couldn’t that be the point?” “Tell me what you think, feel, hope, fear. Do not ask me to analyse your mother.” “Sorry. But how do you separate - ?” “It’s called growing-up,” said Sarat. He grinned. “Tell me about it! Dill – all of us, Mel, Hass, Maya, I, we took a one-way express ticket to adulthood. That much I understand.” “You must miss her terribly. Tell me if you think that’s a pathetic thing to say because it’s so obvious.” “Not pathetic. Just obvious. Thank you.” “I still miss Baria. If I can’t talk about mom to you, whom can I talk to? You expect me to find an analyst, no doc, it’s not me I want to…” Sarat bit his lip. “I didn’t say I wasn’t willing to listen to you talking about Karula. I said don’t expect me to tell you my view. Mitch. Karula! My lady of Var-segan, do not tell me you cannot talk to your mother!” “Of course I can talk to my mother!” She sounded quite irritated. “We’re too close. I know what she thinks. I know what I think. What I need is what someone else thinks.” “Perhaps I’m too close too. There’s an elderly gentleman in Fidub with a lot of practice talking to mad teenagers. Would you like to talk to Cho?” “That would be fantastic! Thank you!” “I bypassed my parents,” said Sarat. “Oh, I rationalized it. Head of the family and so on. We were just too close. The hard thing wasn’t telling Essa what I wanted to do. It was telling him I hadn’t talked to him first.” “I did talk to Mitch. Not the same scale. There’s just the one thing, do you see, but it’s everything.” “That is obscure.” “I love them to pieces. I don’t want consent or grudging approval.” “That is more obscure.” “I’m trying, Sarat. There’s a phrase, OK. You should know! Is Sarat taking people with him on this? I want to take mom and dad with me. I want them to understand where I’m coming from.” “I want to understand that,” said Sarat. “Writhing around on the floor enslaved by the fucking Cult.” “You don’t have to try to prove you’re grown up to me.” “In that case you may be the first intelligent person I’ve ever talked to. Yes, I know that it is a gross slander!” “Dill – you’re trying to tell me that is not obvious to Mitch and Karula?” “Yes but not how it sounds. OK, obscure again! Supposing something really awful happened to you when you were just past puberty! You’re not sitting there with neato grown-up explanations of what you feel…It’s like – what you said. Death does not sit on the Anile throne! But – people see that as a boy’s reaction, d’you see. Not a reaction a girl could have had. It’s not on their screen, Sarat.” “I do see.” “I was totally – taken over. It’s not I had a will to resist. Something in me that – was resistant. Mom worries they scared me. That and my – sexual health. Scarred, scared. It’s all on a different planet.” “Then why don’t you say so!” “Because I don’t know how to ask my mother what it’s like to kill!” “Ah. You know what I’m going to say.” She sighed. “I have to talk to them! I’m sure your parents are brilliant, loving, rational people and my parents are brilliant, loving, rational people. Do you understand what I mean by caught in the parental head-set?” He burst out laughing. “Of course!” “Right! Somewhere I’m lisphing my first words. I did manage to explain some of it to Mitch. It doesn’t come out right.”
“I’m going to ring,” said Karula Mitch hooted. “His Imperial Majesty would not have sent our daughter home in the hands of a cowboy minicab-driver who has abducted her.” “That or worse!” said Karula. “Be a bit sensible,” said Mitch brusquely. “OK, that was out of court! Mitch, it has been five hours, what are they doing?” “For a start,” said Mitch, “we do not know that ‘they’ are doing anything. He might have been called away and she willing to wait.” “Then she should have called!” “I really do not think it would occur to anyone except you that she was not in the safest place in Kadun.” “Plotting,” growled Karula. “That is what they are doing.” “An old family tradition,” said Mitch.
Dill arrived back looking radiant. “You had an interesting time, honey?” “I had a fantastic time. We just talked and talked and talked.” Oh dear. “Sarat says I should talk to Cho. Lots of experience with mad teenagers, girls a specialty.” That sounds better. “But you found plenty to talk about!” “He said backroom girls can be the brightest. I said you’d love that. Honestly, mom, this is not about making the six o’clock news! It’s about making a difference.” “I understand that, honey.” “What’s next?” asked Mitch. “He’ll take the school thing where it needs to go. No credit, no come-back. IF it has your approval, he’d like me to just keep mingling, build up a network of kids who want to make a difference. He reckons that would stay below the radar. I gave him some names.” “The leaders of tomorrow,” said Mitch. “How about the sending-up?” “T-shirts with Sarat and a vacuum cleaner may just be coming in vogue. Beyond that, no, or on stage by people who can handle themselves. He would not forgive himself and I quote if some bunch of well-meaning kids got hit because he’d given the green light.” “I fear,” said Karula, “I cannot readily see anything to which to object.” “You just became a plotter,” said Mitch. “Welcome to the club!” “We’ve got so much in common,” said Dill. Eeek! “He understands about an express ticket to growing-up. He pointed out he was in Zur and I said, yes, I’d thought of that, of going back, but I didn’t think it was appropriate.” “I am most relieved to hear it,” said Mitch primly. “I am now going to be very brave and very honest. When you hit the roof, you will at least give me credit for my noble, open nature.” “Possibly,” said Karula. “I did ask first. The emperor is someone you can say stuff to you wouldn’t say to anyone else in the world. I said there was something, one thing, I had trouble talking to you about.” “Indeed?” “He said – he said the hard thing wasn’t telling Essa, it was telling Essa he’d talked to Cho first.” “What it is you want to do?” “Talk about Baria. Talk about what happened to me. What it means to me.” “Honey!” squealed Karula. “Oh dear,” said Mitch. “If I just put my arms around the both of you….” “I have tried to get you to talk! I thought I had!” “You were – “ Fluency momentarily failed her. On another planet. She managed to soften it. “A different wavelength.” “Come on, team,” said Mitch, “onto the sofa. I am a big guy and you are not too old to sit on my lap though you may be too big….OK…We’re listening, honey. We really want to understand.” “I said mom was a radical feminist when she was 12!” “Well, 13,” murmured Karula. “I said I knew it had never made a scrap of difference to dad that his heir was a girl.” Mitch frowned but only with trying to work out where this was going. “And?” “But you still didn’t understand! If I was a boy, you’d understand.” I have to hear this, thought Karula. I do not think my radical feminist brain wants to hear this! “Tell us, honey.” “Wanting to kill. It’s more complicated than that. Sarat pointed out it’s not like the kind of war where the enemy has one bit of land and you have another. You – he – all of you, you – ‘you too have suffered terrible loss’,” she mimicked viciously, “and pain and anger – but you do something. Make it positive.” “You’re just a kid,” said Mitch, “you don’t have those big, dangerous grown-up emotions. It would help if I shot myself? No, I thought not…” “Maya, honey,” said Karula. “I grew up,” said Dill, “the day I was on the drawing-room floor. I’m not saying I understood what I was feeling or I could express it, that it was - all laid out on the top of my mind. Maya’s death kind of - crystallized it. Something resisted. I didn’t have any control over it or anything. Like a little – core.” “You do not do this to me and live,” said Mitch. “Just so,” said Karula. “I’m still a virgin,” said Dill, “but I think I’m sexually normal.” “There is,” said Karula, “more than one kind of - big, dangerous, grown-up feeling. I got it half-right.” Dill kissed her. “It’s because you killed them.” “I do not follow that.” Mitch hazarded: “It would have been – more raw, more open, more on the surface if it were not a closed case.” “You don’t talk about it,” said Dill. “What it feels like to kill, even rats.” “My dear, darling daughter,” said Mitch. “We have just not kept pace.” “One minute it’s the story of the little green donkey…” “We went there,” said Dill. “It’s just parents. Somewhere you’re Grandmamma’s little boy.” Mitch grinned. “That is true.”
Karula lay back in bed her hands clasped behind her head. “I am not filled with remorse because I understand that this is a fast moving train. I am not even contemplating the deeper levels of my consciousness. One word fills my mind: soul-mates.” Mitch guffawed. “Gee, honey, they can really talk to each other. I am sure that for the moment at least he regards her as another sister.” “That is a good thought,” said Karula enthusiastically. “Nonetheless I think I have developed a recurring nightmare. It goes what is a vast gulf in age at 16 – what is supposedly a vast gulf in age - is diminished at 18 and annulled at 20.” “Alas,” said Mitch, “I shall be President and she will be Mistress of Var-segan. I knew you’d warm to the idea.” “They are the same mix,” said Karula. “Southern radicalism and irtubi tradition. That is your fault!” “I am sure there are many other young women closer in age in whom the two are combined.” “But they are not part of the plot! That is a question on its own, all other considerations aside. Does that not above all limit the field?” “He will not be in a hurry,” sighed Mitch. “He will want, as we all do, a safe and stable Kadun.” “Meanwhile,” said Karula. “There are places I do not go,” said Mitch. “Hass was his first love.” “You will not convince yourself that Sarat is gay, tempting though the idea is.” “What is a child?” demanded Karula. “Perhaps I mean, when did Sarat become a man?” “The day he drove into Kadun. Because he had no choice.” “That is an interesting reflection. It is so much a matter of will?” “There is a kind of no man’s land, a transitional stage. Childhood ends when this dubious state is achieved!” “He has a thousand things to think about besides our daughter. Nonetheless, I find it reassuring to think he did not retire to an empty bed. There are two things. I shall put aside my nightmare and be intensely rational. One is that if Sarat could hear this conversation he would undoubtedly think us raving mad. As you say, a fourth sister. Of course they talked easily. No, three things. The second, being intensely rational, to whom should I prefer my daughter lose her virginity, some pimply lout who will kiss and tell? The third of course is that Maya’s fate is for the moment a remarkably efficient passion-killer. The future is another place. No young woman I think will in this now be carried away in a romantic haze of happy ever after.” “I love you,” said Mitch. “Because of course – “ “Because of course it is far more likely she will fall in love with him than that he will fall in love with her.” She rolled over onto him suddenly. “We said we weren’t going to have any more. We said – we said three was enough. Since then we have not stopped to think about some things.”
Sarat retired to an empty bed and thought a lot about Mitch’s daughter, but not, Karula would have been mightily relieved to learn, in any kind of romantic or sexual way. He thought about her pain and anger and found it better than thinking of his own. He thought about it as though she were family and indeed (Karula would have been in seventh heaven) thought he felt how he’d feel if it were one of his sisters. Then he thought about Mitch and Karula and felt an intense anger that he hadn’t (yet!) been able to stop it, but reined himself in on the grounds that that was in part an unproductive thought and in part his normal state of mind. He drifted off to sleep thinking of Maya. Karula is the last person anyone could describe as heartless. She just doesn't fully understand the Sarat-Hass-Venga thing.