Macbeth

Fluttering through Fleance’s brain were all those pretend-fights he’d had with Uncle Mac at home on the sitting-room floor, when he had let Fleance get the upper hand, only to whisk him round at the last minute and pin him flat on the floor. This wasn’t due to his uncle’s strength, but his speed and precision. But how drunk was Uncle Mac now? And how much better coordinated was Fleance? Perhaps he had a chance after all? If he was quick, perhaps he could get a shot in. Save Kasi. Save the town. Avenge—

‘Don’t do it, Fleance.’

But it was too late. Fleance had already grabbed his machine gun, and the sound of a brief volley hammered against the eardrums of all five men in the cramped boiler room.

‘Agh!’ Fleance yelled.

Then he fell from the ladder.

He didn’t feel himself hit the floor, felt nothing until he opened his eyes again. And then he saw nothing, although there was a hand against his cheek and a voice close to his ear.

‘I told you not to.’

‘Wh... where are they?’

‘They left as instructed. Sleep now, Fleance.’

‘But...’ He knew he had been shot. A leak. He coughed, and his mouth filled.

‘Sleep. Say hello to your dad when you arrive and tell him I’m right behind you.’

Fleance opened his mouth, but all that came out was blood. He felt Macbeth’s fingers on his eyelids, gentle, careful. Closing them. Fleance sucked in air as if for a dive. As he had done when he fell from the bridge into the river, into the black water, to his grave.

‘No,’ Duff said when he saw the fire engine driving towards them. ‘No!’

He and Malcolm ran to meet the vehicle, and when it stopped they tore open the doors on each side. The driver, two police officers and the harbour pilot tumbled out.

‘Macbeth was waiting for us,’ groaned the pilot, still breathless. ‘He shot Fleance.’

‘No, no, no!’ Duff leaned back and squeezed his eyes shut.

Someone laid a hand on his neck. A familiar hand. Caithness’s.

Two men in black SWAT uniforms ran over and halted in front of Malcolm. ‘Hansen and Edmunton, sir. We heard about this and came as soon as we could. And there are more coming.’

‘Thank you, guys, but we’re finished.’ Malcolm pointed. They couldn’t see the sun yet, but the silhouette of the upside-down cross at the top of the mountain had already caught its first rays. ‘Now it’s up to Tourtell.’

‘Let’s exchange hostages,’ Duff said. ‘Let Macbeth have who he wants, Malcolm. Us two. In exchange for Kasi.’

‘Don’t you think I’ve considered that?’ Malcolm said. ‘Macbeth will never exchange a mayor’s son for small change like you and me. If Tourtell declares a state of emergency Kasi will be spared. You and I will be executed whatever. And who will lead the fight against Macbeth then?’

‘Caithness,’ Duff said, ‘and all those people in this town you say you have such belief in. Are you afraid or...?’

‘Malcolm’s right,’ Caithness said. ‘You’re worth more to this town alive.’

‘Damn!’ Duff tore himself away and went towards the fire engine.

‘Where are you going?’ Caithness shouted.

‘The plinth.’

‘What?’

‘We have to smash the plinth. Hey, Chief!’

The man who had driven the fire engine stood up. ‘Erm, I’m not—’

‘Have you got any fire axes or sledgehammers in the vehicle?’

‘Of course.’

‘Look!’ Seyton shouted. ‘The sun’s shining on the top of the Obelisk. The boy has to die!’

‘We all have to die,’ Macbeth said softly and put one chip under the heart symbol on the red part of the felt, the other on black. Leaned to the left and took the ball from the roulette wheel.

‘What actually happened up on the roof?’ Seyton shouted.

‘Banquo’s boy,’ Macbeth shouted back and spun the wheel. Hard. ‘I took care of it.’

‘Is he dead?’

‘I took care of it, I said.’ The roulette wheel spun in front of Macbeth, the individual numbers blurring as they formed a clear, unbroken circle. Unclear and yet clear. He had counted down to the zone and he was still there. The wheel whirled. This time it would never stop, this time he would never leave the zone — he had closed the door behind him and locked it. The wheel. Round and round towards an unknown fate, yet so familiar. The casino always wins in the end. ‘What’s that banging out there, Seyton?’

‘Why don’t you come up for a look yourself, sir?’

‘I prefer roulette. Well?’

‘They’ve started banging away at Bertha, the poor thing. And now the sun’s out, sir. I can see it. Nice and big. The time’s up. Shall we—’

‘Are they smashing up Bertha?’

‘The base she’s standing on, anyway. Keep an eye on the square and shoot at everything approaching, Olafson.’

‘Right!’

Macbeth heard the pad of feet on the stairs and looked up. The reddish tint to Seyton’s face was more noticeable than usual, as though he was sunburned. He walked past the roulette table and over to the pole, where Kasi was sitting hunched with his head lowered and his hair hanging in front of his face.

‘Who said you could leave your post?’ Macbeth said.

‘Won’t take long,’ Seyton said, pulling a black revolver from his belt. Put it to Kasi’s head.

‘Stop!’ Macbeth said.

‘We said to the second, sir. We can’t—’