The Last Murder at the end of the World

SIXTY-TWO

Crossing the field of deadly flowers, Emory, Clara and Seth make their way to the edge of a nearby forest, where Hephaestus and Thea are waiting for them impatiently. The elders had already started for the village by time the family left the lighthouse, forcing them to hurry.

Seth’s walking stoically, while Clara clings to his arm. Emory’s trailing behind, bowed beneath her guilt. She hasn’t said a word since showing him the photo, and explaining the secret lurking underneath Niema’s lie.

He got the feeling she wanted him to argue, or talk her out of it. From the hope on her face, he suspects it would have taken one word, but he accepted her plan wordlessly. He has no illusions about the elders any more, but if there’s information in his mind that can help the village, he’ll gladly volunteer it.

A death in service to others will always mean more to him than a life preserved in service to himself.

The wind is picking up, speckling their clothes with spots of rain.

They’ve almost reached the edge of the forest when Seth stops suddenly, holding out his hand to Emory.

‘Wait,’ he says, his voice hoarse. ‘I might die tomorrow morning and I’m not going to get a funeral, so I want to say my goodbyes here.’

‘Dad –’

‘Just hush, for once, Emory,’ he says irritably. ‘Let me talk, let me say this.’ He grips her fingers, turning his gaze between her and his granddaughter.

‘I’m not afraid to die, but I’ve always been terrified of other people dying. Your mum, Matis, you two.’

He manages to hold their gaze for half a second, before averting his eyes.

The rain’s falling harder now, pummelling the dry ground and soaking their clothes.

‘I’ve made a lot of mistakes, and it’s too late to apologise for all of them, but I want you to know that I’m proud of you both.’

His gaze lands on Emory, who’s welling up.

‘I’ve never had the right words handy when I needed them, but I want you to know that whatever happens next isn’t your fault,’ he says firmly. ‘If I’m going to die, there’s nothing else you could have done. You’ve had the world against you since you started, and look at how much you’ve achieved. Nobody else could have got this far, not even Niema.’

He envelops his daughter in a gruff hug, then does the same with Clara.

‘What did you find that’s so important?’ demands Thea, who’s walked over to meet them.

Emory thrusts the photograph towards the elder, obviously disgusted by it and what it requires her to do.

Thea snatches it from her hand, offering it a cursory glance, annoyed at being a step behind once again.

‘It’s your father,’ she says. ‘Back when he was my apprentice.’

‘Look more closely,’ says Clara.

Thea’s gaze roams the picture once again. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but she refuses to give Emory the satisfaction of knowing that. For ninety years, she’s kept this island’s secrets in her pockets, doling them out by whim. It’s unnerving to suddenly feel like a dog chasing a stick.

‘That’s a lake,’ she says, realisation dawning on her. ‘Seth wasn’t on this island when the picture was taken.’

Please don’t ask the next question, thinks Emory desperately.

She wouldn’t have shown Thea the picture if the fog wasn’t this close, but if there’s a way off this island, the elders need to know about it. They might have information that can be helpful.

‘There’s no fog in the photograph either,’ notes Emory, trying to keep Thea’s mind busy. ‘Niema was wrong. It doesn’t cover the entire planet.’

‘Niema wasn’t wrong,’ Thea says angrily. ‘She was lying. The same way she lied about Blackheath.’

She glares at the horizon, trying to imagine the forests, hills and trees on the other-side, waiting to be reclaimed. There’ll be no wildlife, but the equipment in Blackheath can take care of that. They’ll be able to start fresh, or restore everything from the DNA samples on file.

She’s so giddy at the prospect of unfettered creation that she offers the photograph back to Emory.

The young woman’s heart leaps, hope coursing through her.

She hasn’t realised, she thinks. She hasn’t seen the obvious question. Emory reaches for the picture, only for a frown to darken Thea’s face.

No, thinks Emory. No. No.

‘Who took the picture?’ asks Thea. ‘Seth’s in the centre of the frame. He couldn’t have done it himself, the timer never worked.’

Emory sags, defeated. ‘I don’t know,’ she says weakly.

‘Of course she does,’ interjects Seth. ‘I’ll not have you lying for me. Not about something this important.’ He lifts his chin. ‘Emory thinks my wife, Judith, took the picture. You always sent us out on expedition together. It wouldn’t have been anybody else.’

Thea swipes a grasshopper off her shorts, trying to disguise the fact that she’d completely forgotten about Judith.

‘You don’t remember this being taken, do you?’ she asks, pointedly.

‘No,’ he admits.

‘Niema didn’t want anybody knowing there was a way off the island, so she ordered Abi to wipe both of your memories.’ Thea’s voice lowers, touching pity. ‘You survived the procedure, but your wife didn’t.’

Seth nods, choking up. He’s still struggling to understand how his best friend could have done something so dreadful, then stayed by his side for another twenty years. The only time he ever noticed anything resembling guilt was the night he rowed her out to the lighthouse. She brought up Judith out of nowhere. Had she finally unearthed some remorse?

Hephaestus stomps forward, lowering his face to meet Emory’s eyes. ‘Both you and your father had a motive to murder my mother.’

Flecks of spit hit her cheeks, the jubilation in his voice knocking Seth sick. Somebody’s going to die, and his only concern is that he’s right.

‘Everybody in this group does,’ shoots back Emory. ‘Niema had an extraordinary ability to hurt people.’

Thea touches Hephaestus on the shoulder, regaining his attention. ‘How long will it take you to repair the memory extractor?’ she asks.

‘No!’ protests Clara, taking a step towards them, holding out an imploring hand.

‘This is the best lead we have,’ says Thea firmly. ‘We can’t ignore it, not while the island is in danger.’

‘There’s no way Grandfather could have known what happened to his wife,’ argues Clara.

Thea raises an eyebrow, conceding the point.

‘Your mother had an answer for that as well,’ says Seth, much too noble not to implicate himself.

‘Which was?’

‘It was Adil,’ says Emory, skewered by her father’s honesty. ‘He alluded to it when we spoke last night. I think he told my grandfather, Matis, before he died. He was probably hoping Matis would pass the information on to Seth, only Matis kept it to himself and his memory gem was stolen before we could view it, so it never went any further.’

‘That was likely Niema’s doing,’ says Thea. ‘Abi reported everything to her. She wouldn’t have let that information get out so easily.’

‘We know Adil was on the jetty beneath the lighthouse, waiting for Niema,’ continues Emory. ‘There’s a possibility he spoke to my father after he came back down.’

‘Sounds like a motive for murder to me,’ says Thea jubilantly. ‘Seth, we have to know if you killed Niema, and the memory extractor should be able to tell us.’

‘But we know there’s a way off the island now,’ pleads Clara. ‘Surely, if we ask everybody to start search—’

‘This won’t save us,’ says Thea, flapping the picture at her. ‘Before Niema sealed off Blackheath, I designed a type of hazard suit capable of protecting its wearer from the fog. It was a year, or more, from being complete, but Niema must have finished my prototype. I only ever made three of them, and they’re locked down in Blackheath. They’re how your grandparents got off this island, I’m certain of it.’

‘I’m not sure how much damage Emory did,’ muses Hephaestus, ignoring Clara’s outburst. ‘It will be working by dawn, I guarantee.’

Thea meets Emory’s desperate eyes.

‘That’s how long you have to prove your father’s innocence,’ she says coldly. ‘If that doesn’t stop the fog, you’ll be going in the extractor straight after him. Who knows, you may help me solve this murder, after all.’