Weaveworld

2

Hobart looked at the blood that was still bright on the paving stones of Lord Street, and knew for certain that the debris the anarchists had left on Chariot Street had been only a curtain-raiser. Here was something more graspable: a spontaneous eruption of lunacy amongst an ordinary cross-section of people, their violence whipped up by the two rebels who were now in custody awaiting his interrogation.

Last year’s weapons had been bricks and home-made bombs. This year’s terrorists had more access to more sophisticated equipment, it seemed. There’d been talk of a mass hallucination here, on this unremarkable street. The testimonies of perfectly sane citizens spoke of the sky changing colour. If the forces of subversion had indeed brought new weapons into the field – mind-altering gases, perhaps – then he’d be well placed to press for more aggressive tactics: heavier armaments, and a freer hand to use them. There would be resistance from the higher ranks, he knew from experience; but the more blood that was seen to be spilled the more persuasive his case became.

‘You,’ he said, calling one of the press photographers over. He directed the man’s attention to the splashes on the paving underfoot. ‘Show that to your readers,’ he said.

The man duly photographed the splashes, then turned his lens towards Hobart. He had no opportunity to snatch a portrait before Fryer stepped in and wrenched the camera from his grip.

‘No pictures,’ he said.

‘Got something to hide?’ the photographer retorted.

‘Give him his property back,’ said Hobart. ‘He’s got a job to do, like all of us.’

The journalist took his camera and withdrew.

‘Scum,’ Hobart muttered as the man turned his back. Then: Anything from Chariot Street?’

‘We’ve got some damn peculiar testimonies.’

‘Oh?’

‘Nobody’s actually confessed to seeing anything, but apparently around the time of this whirlwind things got crazy. The dogs went wild; all the radios cut off. Something strange went on there, no doubt of that.’

‘And here too.’ said Hobart. ‘I think it’s time we spoke to our suspects.’