Evensong

Rafiq himself didn’t attend; a Consultant’s identity couldn’t be overtly acknowledged, even posthumously. None of the other Consultants were there, partly for the same reason and partly by custom. On the rare occasions that something like this happened, their preference was to mark it privately.

Adeola Chukwu-Asika was a playwright and actress at the National Theatre. She knew who Arden Bierce was, though the rest of her family didn’t. She lined up with her children after the funeral, to thank the departing guests. There were twochildren,aboyofsevenandagirloffive,thesameagesas Rafiq’swhen…Something else to park, Arden thought. Lots of things to park. She took both of Adeola’s hands in hers (the maximum show of sympathy consistent with her assumed identity) and whispered, “I’m so sorry. I don’t have words.”

“There aren’t words,” Adeola said. “Except,” glancing behind her at the gravestone, “those.”

Chulo Asika 2022-2060

Loved a woman

Made a family with her 

2

At exactly nine, as arranged, Gaetano arrived at Anwar’s suite and took him to Olivia’s private dining room. It was not a long journey. Her apartment, together with her offices and meeting rooms and quarters for security staff, took up the entire top floor of the New Grand, the floor immediately above his.

Her dining room was yet another interior of silver and white. The floor-to-ceiling windows looked back towards the foreshore, where Brighton’s seafront lights flickered through the gathering dusk.

Gaetano left them to each other, and she began.

“You’re not good enough. I’m telling Rafiq to send someone better.”

Anwar laughed in her face; it surprised both of them. “Nobody tells Rafiq, ever. And he wouldn’t send anyone else. I’m all you’ve got.” He wasn’t sure of this, but some instinct made him gamble. “Don’t overestimate your importance. You’re providing a conference venue, that’s all. Venues can be changed, even at two weeks’ notice. Not ideal, but Rafiqc ould do it. His concern isn’t your safety, it’s getting a venue. Yours is the preferred choice, but there are others.”

He stared her down, and knew his gamble had won. Why did I do that? Why do I want this mission so much?

“Fuck you.” She sounded like her cat, which as always was orbiting in her vicinity. “Nobody laughs in my face. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the designer product you rented for your protection. When this is over I’ll stop and we can each go our separate ways. I won’t even look like this any more.”

A couple of minutes passed in silence.

“Why did you want this mission?” she asked.

“I didn’t.”

“You did. Rafiq asked you. I know how it works: Offer and Acceptance.”

“I accepted, but I didn’t want it.”

“Do you want it now?”

“Yes.”

“And if I decide to keep you on, will you—” she saw him about to laugh at her again, and hurried on “—will you honour the deal I did with Rafiq? Will you protect me during the summit?”

“No, I won’t. I’ll protect you before, during, and after.Until I’m sure it’s over.” He stared her down again. “So, against all the odds, you got Rafiq to lend you a Consultant. Now tell me why I’m here.”

She paused. “To protect me from the snare of the hunter.”

“What?”

“It’s a phrase from Evensong.”

“Even what?”

“Evensong. A service I attended once at Rochester Cathedral. That’s the Old Anglicans. I paid them an official visit five years ago, when I became Archbishop. Do you know anything about the Old Anglicans?”

“They’re the original Church of England.” His memory, a substrate of his other enhancements, supplied the required text. “They’re in gentle decline. Even in the cathedrals, congregations are small and aging. Nevertheless, they’re generally a force for good (or at least, not a force for harm). Some attitudes towards them may be dismissive, but very few people actually hate them.”

She looked at him curiously.

“That didn’t sound like you. It sounded more like Rafiq.”

“It was. Part of his briefing.”

“Well, as usual he got it right…You know,on the way back from Rochester some of my staff were actually sniggering. They thought the Old Anglicans were ineffective and crumbling and outmoded: all the things we’re not. One of them said that even their Advent Calendars have boarded-up windows. I didn’t like them sniggering like that. The Old Anglicans are good people.”

In a far corner of the room, the ginger cat meowed softly in its sleep.

“And that’s where he got his name. Nunc. Short for Nunc Dimittis. Part of the Evensong service. Of course, nobody except me uses his name. They all think of him as an It, not a He.”

Yes, thought Anwar, me too. Alien, beyond gender. “So who’s threatening you? And why?”

“What do you know about our founders?”