Christopher Brookmyre - Parlabane 04 (28 page)

'Yes, I must apologise,' Sir Lachlan said, noticing the rising, incidence of anxious glances towards the door. 'We've had some problems with staff, and they're running a little shorthanded in the kitchen. I'm sure it won't be long now.'

Baxter was looking to the door too, but it seemed that it wasn't just his appetite that was prompting him. Campbell hadn't returned from his SIMretrieving errand, which presumably hadn't required a round trip of this duration, and with Rory staring expectantly at him every few minutes, M-Kard in hand, his patience was clearly draining faster than any glass in the room. Rory had been fidgeting since he learned of the sabotage, presumably unable to function properly without the assurance of knowing his digital-age thumb was there to be sucked if he needed it.

'I'm going to see where the hell he's got to,' Baxter said irritably. 'If they shout for dinner, don't wait for the bugger.'

'We won't,' volleyed several earnest replies.

165

[?] [?] [?]

'You could say it's a matter of taste. They're playing on our values as well as our expectations, particularly our expectations of
them
, in terms of what we deem acceptable.'

It was Kathy who was talking, in between mouthfuls of broccoli souffle, which looked even less substantial or satisfying than last night's vegetarian option. Liz was the only other herbivore of the group, Parlabane being grateful that there weren't enough of them to merit any divisive ideological confrontations over the issue. Kathy struck him as plausibly tending towards the militant in her vegetarianism as in the rest of her political make-up, but with her biz partner and principal ally numbered among the bloodthirsty, it was unlikely she'd be getting in anyone's face over the issue, unless provoked. He really, really hoped that didn't happen. It had been a long day and he couldn't face another night of pointless, entrenched squabbling, especially over that issue. Having been through tunnels, under water, across rivers, up hills and down slopes, burdened throughout by a weight of wet clothes and the inhumane unpleasantness of squelching socks, he felt he'd earned the right to tuck into a hot meal without morally justifying its content. In common with the rest of them, he'd no idea what
Icare d'Afrique
was, but by the time it was finally sitting in front of him he'd have eaten a farmer's arse through a hedge, and so wasn't asking any questions. It was coated in beaten egg and parmesan then shallow fried, which to Parlabane made it taste like veal. Fact was, to Parlabane, anything coated in beaten egg and parmesan then shallow fried would taste like veal, including the aforementioned farmer's arse. As such, it was hearty and welcome, but tended a little towards me bland if he was being picky.

Discussion took a while to commence, and not because Campbell wasn't there to play pass-the-conch. Starters were devoured with undignified haste, the etiquette of waiting for all to be served before commencing feeling like Herculean test of will power, especially with Sir Lachlan alone providing both waiter and sommelier service. Neither of last night's waitresses had put in an appearance, and sweat on their host's brow belied the calm smile he presented while ferrying plates from kitchen to table.

'I can only apologise again,' he said sincerely, noticing the ravenous looks that greeted his eventual appearance with the first of the main courses. 'Our staffing crisis has actually worsened since you had your aperitifs. One of our waitresses is helping the chef and the other one has chosen a singularly inopportune moment to disappear on us.'

'Maybe she's been kidnapped by Baxter and Campbell wherever they've got to,' Rory suggested. 'And our mission is to rescue the help so that we get dessert before midnight.'

166

It was this, together with the relief of rapidly filling bellies, that finally sparked a conversation more elaborate than a few grunts in acknowledgement of the fare. Even these had been offered grudgingly in some quarters because

'yes, it's lovely' used up a good second and a half that could otherwise be spent shovelling food into their mouths. The onset of a degree of contentment and hence relaxation was conducive to a more detached discussion of what they had experienced earlier in the day, the pre-prandial reconstructions having provided a less insightful commentary than even Jonathan Pearce could have offered. Nor did it hurt that their deliberations were conducted in the absence of Grieg, who, having finished his main course, had borrowed the minibus keys from Toby in order to retrieve his mobile from across the river where they'd left their cars.

'We assumed certain givens,' Emily continued, a forkful of
Icare d'Afrique
dancing in her right hand. 'And that's what disposed us to believing the scenario. I assumed, for instance, that UML wouldn't countenance a situation in which panic might lead to injury, such as having us all running for our lives down a steep hill. It was the belief in something as simple as that which made me think things must be outwith UML's control.'

'What if we had injured ourselves?' Joanna asked. 'A twisted ankle or a broken wrist wouldn't have been a million-to-one shot out there.'

'We all signed waivers,' Liz reminded her. 'We assumed it was to cover activities like yesterday's or the tunnel thing, but we didn't really do anything more risky or strenuous on the chase. It went through my mind, like it must have through everyone's at first, that it couldn't be for real. Personally, the reason I bought into it was that I couldn't believe they would do something that people might say amounted to a sick joke. From a corporate point of view, I thought they'd be on very dodgy ground. It worked, though. I can't see many people coming on this weekend then taking the huff and complaining about it, even if they did think it was in poor taste at the time. The end justified the means.'

'Exactly,' agreed Emily. 'Taste was how they messed with our heads. We assume certain givens, so if the test you're facing - such as the tunnel - is still comfortably PC in terms of those assumed values, there's a psychological safety net. Something happens outwith those values and you're genuinely scared because you assume UML wouldn't cross those lines.'

'Disneyland for adults,' Liz agreed. 'Like a rollercoaster, it's the illusion of a loss of control that makes it exciting. Except at Disneyland, you know it's an illusion. We didn't out there today.'

'Jeez,' Rory said, chuckling. 'That's a head-job. isn't it? And it means that pretty much anything goes from now on. Because given what we already know - and what they know we know - they'll really have to push the enve167

lope if they're going to scare us again.'

'I'm not sure they would try,' countered Liz. 'For that very reason. No matter what stunts they might pull, everybody knows now that it's part of the

"experience". The novelty was in blurring what we believed was under their control. You can't do that twice.'

'Fair point,' Rory conceded. 'But it doesn't mean now that the game is afoot they won't be trying to put the wind up us
some
way. I mean, doesn't anyone else think it's ominous that both Baxter and Campbell are absent right now?'

There was both wicked and nervous laughter from around the table, the sort of mixed anticipation you heard just before the aforementioned rollercoaster reached the downturn.

'And those SIM cards never came back, did they?' Rory continued, clearly relishing the ramifications. Rory was the loud guy in the car behind you on the rollercoaster, who held his arms up while yours gripped the bar, and bellowed his exhilaration throughout. Even an extended period of separation from a functioning mobile failed to dampen his excitement.

Joanna gave it a go, though. 'Nah, too late tonight. They'll be off preparing tomorrow's tricks or something. We've all had a knackering day. If we were paying corporate clients, we'd be expecting a degree of pampering to balance the action. Nobody's going to recommend the UML experience if it involves sleep-deprivation, are they?'

'Depends whether the end justifies the means,' Emily reminded her. 'What are you doing but making more assumptions about where the comfort zone begins and ends?'

'My comfort zone begins in my bed,' Joanna replied. 'And it'll take more than kid-on soldiers to keep me from it tonight.'

'It'll take whatever UML decides, if that's their agenda,' Rory argued. 'We can take nothing for granted. The hotel staff could be in on it too, for all we know. Disappearing waitresses, what's that about? Even the so-called staff shortage and slow service could be part of the wind-up. We're assuming the hotel wouldn't intentionally be running a slow service with Sir Heedrum Hodrum roped in to pour the drinks, but how do we know for sure?'

'It's insane,' Emily said, laughing. 'Brilliantly insane. We can't rely on the veracity of anything here, even each other. How do we know everyone at this table is really who they say, or that one or more of us isn't a UML plant?'

'Oh no, please, make this stop,' Parlabane appealed. 'I feel an Escheresque nightmare coming on.' He was therefore enormously grateful for the interruption of Sir Lachlan and - belatedly proving they weren't extinct - a waitress, come to clear away the main-course dishes.

'Once again, apologies for the amateurish service,' Sir Lachlan said. 'And by that, of course, I mean myself. Alison here is a shining professional. Believe 168

me, she and our chef Gerard have worked miracles in the kitchen tonight.'

'And before any of you panic,' the waitress added, 'I'd just like to say that me escaping from the kitchen doesn't mean there's no dessert. It's all in hand.'

The girl looked post-flustered, her face flushed and her hair a little damp from the heat, but with a certain glow about her from knowing the hard part was over. She and Sir Lachlan set about gathering the mostly empty plates, asking everyone in turn how they found their meals and being answered in all but one instance by the usual politely appreciative platitudes. The exception was Max, who had a left a small chunk of his meat at the edge of his plate.

'It was quite unlike anything I've had before,' he said. 'But would you pardon my ignorance - all our collective ignorance, I believe - and put us out of our misery as to what African
Icare
actually is?'

Sir Lachlan took an exaggeratedly deferential step back to allow Alison to answer. She blushed a little at being put under the spotlight, smiling nervously and clearing her throat before she answered.

'Ostrich.'

Parlabane took it to be a sign of Britain's recently embraced gourmet ethic that nobody reacted with any display of distaste at this revelation; not that this was an accurate indicator of their true feelings. In these days of food being the new sex, its countless magazines the equivalent porn, nobody wanted to be the food-prude Mary Whitehouse.

'Ah, I'd never have guessed,' Max admitted. 'It seemed closer to red meat than fowl, but I was put off track by the markings. I didn't know they branded them like cattle.'

The waitress looked confused. Max lifted his knife and uncovered the uneaten piece of meat. 'It still had a bit of skin on it, which I found a little tough so I left it.'

The girl looked at the plate for a moment, her eyes focused in steady scrutiny before widening as the colour drained visibly from her face. She let the pile of plates she was holding drop the couple of inches to the table with a loud clatter, and stumbled against Vale's chair. He reacted with those inhuman reflexes of his, vacating his seat and spinning it to catch her falling weight in one flawless movement.

Rory and Emily exchanged knowing looks, the pair of them having been conspicuously pleased with each other's company all evening and acting like the self-styled naughtiest kids in the class.

'Give her space,' Vale said, ushering Max and Toby away from their chairs.

'What is it, Alison?' her boss asked.

'It's nothing. I just got a bit light-headed. I'm okay now, honestly.'

She waved away all ministrations and lifted the plates again, exiting the room in a hurry. Sir Lachlan followed, clearly still concerned despite her 169

insistences.

'Poor girl must be exhausted,' he muttered.

With staff levels already at critical, it wouldn't look too impressive to the guests or the HSE if those remaining started dropping from overwork.

'What was that about?' asked Joanna.

'She didn't like the cattle-mark thingy,' Max explained.

'Well, it's maybe just my natural meat-revulsion talking,' Kathy mused, 'but I thought the mark looked more like a tattoo.'

'Oh don't,' said Joanna, wincing.

'Fuck off,' laughed Emily.

'You know, it did a little,' agreed Liz conspiratorially. Fucking vegetarians, Parlabane thought. If they couldn't make you feel guilty for eating meat, they'd try to put you off it. It was good humoured, but with no lack of malice. They knew that if food was the new sex, then there had to be somewhere even the most liberal and adventurous drew the line, and what they were suggesting constituted the equivalent of incest. The others weren't taking the bait, but Max, the mark having been on his meat, looked decidedly queasy. 'The waitress was certainly spooked by it,' he said. 'And she got it out of here in a hurry.'

Rory laughed approvingly and began clapping his hands. 'Very good. I thought her wee funny turn looked pretty staged, but you've got to hand it to them. We said they'd have to push the envelope, and
that
is definitely pushing the envelope.'

'It's disgusting, is what it is,' said Joanna. 'What on earth would be the point of making us think we've been eating. . . you know? Especially as they know we're on to them and aren't likely to believe it.'

'It's like a knowing wink, if you ask me,' said Rory. 'Playing with our taste and assumptions again, setting the scene with something a bit nasty, so we won't have a clue what to expect next - other than the fact that it's liable to be pretty macabre if this is the overture. Ah, and note again that neither Baxter nor Campbell are here to be grilled.'

'Oh, are we eating them too?' asked Liz dryly.

Rory laughed, quite delighted by Max and Joanna's discomfiture. 'You will taste
man
flesh,' he boomed, in imitation of Christopher Lee in
The Fellowship
of the Ring
.