Dialogues of the Dead

"3 sheep on your committee into recommending it, are you?' 'Nowt personal, Mr Penn. You've got to treat the symptoms till you can cure the disease.' 'And what would that disease be?' 'Civic melogamania,' said Steel, mispronouncing the word carefully. 'That would be, what? An over-enthusiasm for music?' said Penn. 'Got it wrong, did I?' said Steel indifferently. 'Doesn't matter, you know what I mean. Building Fancy Clan centres like this when they've cut the council house budget by sixty per cent in ten years. That's melogamania, however you say it. You want to complain about a few trendy trollops not getting paid to read mucky books, you should speak to the mayor. Or his missus. She's a big fan of yours, I hear. Not big enough to save your class, but, not even rationing his oats. Not to worry, more to go round the rest, eh? Talk of the devil, there he is. How do, Your Lordship! Who's looking after the maggots?' The mayor was passing by. He gave Steel a nasty look, while across the room his wife turned her head to send Steel a promissory glare which turned to a lionizing smile when she saw Charley Penn. Steel appropriated the smile to himself, and called, 'How do, Margott? Looking well. Hey, luv, don't pass a starving man without throwing a crumb.' This change of direction was caused by Rye Pomona's approaching within hailing distance with her tray which the councillor proceeded to lighten with more speed than discrimination.

'Shall I get you some more, Mr Steel?' enquired Rye sweetly. 'No, lass. Not unless you can lay your hands on something a bit more substantial.' 'Such as?' 'A few slices of rib beef and a couple of roast spuds wouldn't come amiss.' 'Rib beef and roast spuds. I'll mention it in the kitchen,' said Rye seriously. 'I bet you will,' said Steel, laughing splutteringly. 'You work in the library, don't you, luv?' 'That's right.' 'So tell me, this waitressing job you're doing, you getting paid library rates plus overtime, or skivvy rates plus tips?' 'Watch it, Steel,' grated Penn. 'That's offensive even by your low standards.' Rye looked at him coldly and said, 'I think I can speak for myself, Mr Perm. In fact I'm doing it on a purely voluntary basis, so there's no charge to the public purse. But of course, if you care to leave a tip ...' 'Nay, lass,' laughed Steel. 'Only tip I'll give you is, I like my spuds roasted almost black. But I don't suppose I'll be getting any here, so I'll just have another handful of these to put me on till me lunch.' He reached towards a plateful of cocktail sausages but Rye pushed the whole tray towards him so that he had to grasp hold of it to keep it off his chest. 'Tell you what, Councillor,' she said. 'Why don't you take the lot, then you can pick through them at your leisure. And I can take a look at the art.' She let go of the tray, nodded at Steel, ignored Penn's congratulatory smile, and turned to meet Hat Bowler. 'So you made it, then?' she said. 'Come on, there's something I want you to see.'

There are some revelations which are certain without being clear. For a fraction of a second - though I knew without doubt that this was the one - I didn't understand why, and I could not foresee how. But even before I could commit the blasphemy of asking why and how, my averted head let my eyes see the single answer, and all that remained was when. Though whether-when? is appropriate for an event which takes place outside of time is a question to scotch a Scotist. Perhaps, the fancy came to me, time suspended would permit me to perform my duty, and when time resumed, all these people, policemen and journalists included, would find to their uncomprehending horror that one of their number lay dead among them, and no one had noticed a thing!

II5 But it was not to be. My aura still burned bright but the flow of time was not yet slowing. I was still here and now. But soon ... Oh yes, I knew it must be soon ... Chapter Fourteen