Chapter 16

 A Wet Wednesday!

    “Rain, rain go away come again another day.”
    “What’s that you say Number 14?” No.2 asked.
    No.14 had been staring at the wall screen, the month’s spell of fine weather had finally broken and it was raining, it had been raining all night and now it was pouring down. Outside in the village the streets and paths had been turned into rivers as rainwater poured down them.
    “I was reciting the words of a poem, rain, rain go away come again another day. It’s said to date back to the reign of Queen Elizabeth I at the time of the Spanish Armada. The invasion failed not only because of the swift nature of the smaller English ships, but also there was a storm which scattered the remains of the Spanish fleet, hence the origin of the rain, rain go away" Nursery rhyme!”

    “You never fail to astound me Number 14.”
    “Thank you sir.”
    No.2 looked at the man watching the wall screen “Haven’t you got anything better to be doing?”
    “No sir, its all very quiet, there’s no-one out and about, except for the milkman, and an elderly couple numbers 60 and 61, they are a hardy pair of senior citizens who are not prepared to let a drop of water stop them taking their daily constitutional.”
   “Well don’t let it stop you from catching up on any paperwork you’ve allowed to build up in administration” was No.2’s suggestion.
    “Paperwork sir, oh yes, I take your point. I’ll be seeing you.”
    At that point the pair of steel doors opened and the butler entered pushing a breakfast trolley containing tea and biscuits for No.2’s elevenses.
    “Ah tea” said No.14 smiling.
    “Paperwork!” said No.2 in return.
    No.14 took his leave as the butler set out the teapot, milk, sugar bowl, cup and saucer, with two digestive biscuits on a tea plate on the grey curved desk.
    No.2 looked leaned forward in his chair looking at the two digestive biscuits “Are there still no proper biscuits, you know the ones with the cream inside?”
    The diminutive butler simply shook his head before pushing the trolley across the floor, up the ramp and out through the opening steel doors.

    In the Control Room the bald-headed Supervisor-No.46, a tall man with a thin moustache dressed in a dark green polo necked jersey, double-breasted plain black 

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 blazer and grey slacks, stood watching the wall screen. It was pouring down with rain, so much so that it obscured the view via the surveillance cameras.
    “What the cameras need are windscreen wipers” remarked one Observer.

    “What was that, what did you say?” asked the Supervisor.
    The Observer looked away from his monitor and looked at the Supervisor “I merely suggested that the surveillance cameras need windscreen wipers, you know like on motor cars, to help keep the camera lens clear of water.”
    The Supervisor made a mental note of that, windscreen wipers for cameras, thinking he would mention it to No.2. It was a filthy day outside, and this probably meant a quiet shift for the Supervisor and his Observers. Only a fool would attempt an escape in such weather.

    Outside the milkman was getting drenched on his round, the candy-striped canopy of his red David Brown garden tractor afforded no protection whatsoever against the torrential rain! He had seen only two people out and about, numbers’ 60 and 61 who both gave him a cheery greeting from beneath their umbrellas.
   The rain had helped fill the Free Sea to overflowing, flooding the Piazza, not that it mattered there was no-one promenading this morning. The four taxis sat on the rank unlikely to be called upon while the rain persisted. Gardeners were idle this morning, unable to tend the flower borders, cut grass, trim hedges, or work in the woods. The annual refit of the Stone boat had had to be put on hold until the weather eased. However in the workshop a certain amount of work was being carried out. A tree had been carefully selected a few days before in the woods, felled, and the branches lopped off. Now in the workshop the trimming off the bark was carried out, and a new mast was being fashioned for the Stone Boat. New ropes were fashioned into new rigging.

    No.4 had been forced to make his own breakfast, as it was far too wet for the housemaids to go out. They would have been drenched pulled along in an open trailer by a slow garden tractor. The food would have been sodden as well as stone cold! Eating a piece of buttered toast in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other he stood looking out of the window wondering what to do in the village on a wet Wednesday, under normal circumstances that might have meant a trip to the cinema. He glanced at the television in the corner of the room, maybe not. The new Recreation Hall sprang to mind, a bit too far in this rain! The café for lunch perhaps, a quick sprint through the rain, no, not when he could make himself another a cup of coffee and a sandwich here in his own cottage. He decided to sit the weather out, and selected a copy of Village Weekly from the magazine rack, then settled himself down in the comfort of an armchair.

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As it happens, had No.4 made that dash to the café at lunchtime he wouldn’t have been the only customer. A few citizens through a sense of boredom had ventured out in the rain, and made it as far as the café. Their umbrellas leaning up just inside the door dripping water on the floor as they sat enjoying morning tea and cake. The main topic of the day being the weather!
   The portly shopkeeper in blue and white striped apron and straw boater stood at his open shop door. Business was slow; he had not had a customer all morning, hardly surprising considering the weather. In fact it was hardly worth opening up. And yet it had given him the time to begin a stock take, and if the rain persisted it would afford him time to make up his account books instead of having to do it in the evening. Closing the door the shopkeeper returned to the business of stocktaking.

    The Brass Band concert had been cancelled, there being no point playing the Biezt’s L’Arlesienne when there would be no-one to listen. Instead citizens were entertained with music played through black speakers in their cottages. And yet two people could be seen in the Bandstand cuddling up together and holding hands as there was a slight chill in the air.

    What to do in the village on a wet Wednesday afternoon? Certainly the persistent rain had put a completely different complexion on the village no promenading in the Piazza, no croquet played on the village green. The tide was in so no sunbathing, or playing beach ball, or swimming in the Lido. The sea was heavy, waves washed over the quayside, and crashed against a cottage and the Camera Obscura at the far end of the quayside. The rain kept almost everyone in their cottages, only the hardiest of souls braved the weather. In fact the torrential rain had put a complete dampener on everything, except in the Old People’s Home where the senior citizens were kept entertained with a game of bingo. Only the hardiest of souls braved the weather. In fact the only thing the rain was good for was that it helping to maintain security. Or so it was thought.

    No.72 had kept to his cottage all morning. After breakfast he sat reading the magazine ‘Village Mercury.’ It looked as though he was relaxing, enjoying his own company, glad that the housemaid had not called round to disturb him by flicking a yellow duster about the place, when actually he was biding his time. He made himself lunch which consisted of a tin of village baked beans on toast and a cup of tea. He stood looking out of the window, it was still raining. He put on his dark green anorak and dark blue yachting cap, and ventured outside.
   He walked this way and that ignoring the pouring rain and splashed through a stream which had once been a cobbled path. He sheltered for a few moments in the Portico next to the flooded village green observing the seemingly deserted village. Whether he was being

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observed by anyone from a window he cared not, because to them he was just a fool to be out in such weather. As for the Observers he was trusting that their view via the surveillance cameras was obscured by the rain. He moved on passed the statue of Hercules with the world on his shoulders on this right, the pink pavilion on his left. He turned left along another short cobbled path and along the road down toward the Old People’s Home. He stopped, opened a gate on this left and went down the steps, these led towards the triangular lawn by the sea wall, as well as the slipway.
   By this time No.72 was thoroughly soaked through, but he cared not as he walked towards the slipway. There were two jet boats moored along side. Instinctively he crouched down, wiped the rain from his eyes, and looked about him through the pouring rain. There was no-one he could see, and hoped they could not see him, those Observers. He unbuttoned and rolled back the dark blue cover of the first jet boat before casting off, then jumped aboard. He started the boat’s engine and steered a course towards the middle of the estuary, hoping to be effectively screened by the torrential rain. The sea was heavy, large waves crashed over the bows and into the boat.

   In the Control Room it was impossible to keep a sharp watch, the surveillance cameras virtually useless with all the rain. And yet there was one device No.72 had not accounted for, could not have accounted for.
    “Supervisor, sonar contact bearing red 140” the operator announced.
    The Supervisor joined the operator at the sonar screen.
    “There” said the operator pointing to a small dot on the screen “speed estimated at about 8 knots and moving away from the village towards the mouth of the estuary.”
   “Heading towards the village?” the Supervisor asked.
   “No sir, away from the village, towards the mouth of the estuary.”
   “Moving away from the village you say, must be one of our own jet boats” the Supervisor said picking up the yellow receiver of the intercom “orange alert.”
   While the Supervisor was making his report to No.2, at the bottom of the seabed a segment of the Guardian was released from the containment area. The white sphere rose up through the calm of the water only to burst onto the surface of a rough and heavy sea. And yet as the rain beat down upon the amorphous creature, it was not impeded as it skimmed across the large waves towards the mouth of the estuary, and the small boat approaching.
   Under dark grey clouds the jet boat was battered by the waves making it heavy going. At the helm No.72 did his best to keep the rain out of his eyes by keeping his head down behind the windscreen. In the distance was something white, something sphere like. He wiped his eyes again and peered through the windshield. The white sphere became larger and larger and on a collision course with the boat.

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No.72 finally recognized it for what it was, and pulled hard the helm to starboard then to port, back to starboard, to port, and starboard the boat zigzagging through the waves. This action averted the collision and the jet boat left the Guardian behind in its wake. But the sphere swiftly turned and gave chase. Both rain and sea water had accumulated in the bottom of the open boat which had washed under the engine cowling soaking the engine until it finally cut out and leaving the boat dead in the water. With waves washing over him he tried frantically to start the engine. In desperation he removed the cowling to find the engine awash. Then he heard it, the unmistakable blood curdling roar of the Guardian. It circled the drifting boat, then left the water and was in the boat. He saw a boat hook lying in the bottom of the boat, he reached for it and with it managed to fend the Guardian off. But then he slipped and fell backwards, the Guardian was on him in an instant, its membrane covering his face as he clawed at it, his mouth opened he screamed and fought for breath. Then his body fell limp as he fell into unconsciousness.
    In the Control Room the sonar operator reported the jet boat had come to a stop and was drifting on the sea. The Supervisor picked up the yellow receiver of the intercom and made his report to No.2.
    “Have M. S. Polotska put to sea and recover No.72 and take the jet boat in tow.”
    “Yes Number 2.”
    In the boathouse, Gunter was working on the engine of the motor ship, while Ernst was in the galley brewing tea, when the call came through.
    “Gunter…Gunter.”
    “What is it?” came the voice from the engine room.
    “We’ve been ordered to put to sea.”
    “What in this weather?”
    “We have been ordered to put to sea, there’s a life in danger, and a boat to be salvaged.”
    “Who say’s so?”
    “By order from control.”
    “If they think we’re putting to sea in this weather they’ve got another think coming!” Gunter shouted back from the engine room and swore when he dropped a spanner. Then reluctantly he emerged  from the engine room, and went and opened the boathouse doors while in the wheelhouse Ernst took the helm and started the engine. Gunter jumped aboard and M. S. Polotska was eased out of the boathouse and out into the estuary.
    “Whereabouts’ is this distressed mariner?” Gunter asked looking at the binnacle.
    “He was reported heading towards the mouth of the estuary, the boat is no longer under command and drifting.”
   Thanks to the clear-view wiper {a high speed rotating blade set in the glass} which

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gave Ernst a clear view even in such heavy weather.

    It was sheer madness to carry out a search in such heavy weather, but M. S. Polotsak was forced to operate as a lifeboat, and a couple of times she had been in danger of capsizing. To spot a small boat in such a heavy sea…and then suddenly there it was, the jet boat, half filled with water and moments away from sinking. Drawing alongside as best they could in such heavy conditions Gunter went out on deck and made his way to the stern. It was dangerous work as the motor ship dipped and rolled, but he managed to tie one end of a rope to the handrail, the other he rolled up and slung over his shoulder. Climbing over the railing he waited, and looked up towards the wheelhouse through the rain, then over the side into the water as a wave rose up, washing over him on the deck. Then another wave, but this time the jet boat was pushed up against the Polotska and Gunter jumped for all he was worth.
   The jet boat was sinking and beyond salvaging. Quickly he brought the man round; gave him a nip of rum from his hip flask, and quickly  tied the end of the stout rope around the distressed sea fairer’s waist to act as a lifeline. The Polotska and the boat had drifted apart slightly, but No.72 was still attached via the life line. Gunter explained what he must do.
    “Are you ready?” Gunter shouted.
    “I…I think so” No.72 shouted getting unsteadily to his feet.
    “When I tell you, jump and get a hold of the railing and heave yourself aboard, I’ll be behind you.”
   A wave washed the jet boat back towards the Polotska, in the wheelhouse Ernst put the engine in reverse stalling the movement of the little ship for a moment. The jet boat hit the Polotska’s hull and No.72 jumped for it. His wet hands grasped the wet railing, his grip was unsure as he slipped towards a watery grave, but was saved by the lifeline. Gunter held his arms up and waited, then he made his own leap and grasping the railing heaved himself aboard the Polotska. On the deck he slipped and fell, waves continually breaking and washing over the side. No.72 was left dangling at the end of his lifeline and dragged along as the Polotska got underway once more. Gunter struggled to his feet, took a hold on the rope and heaved on it with all his strength. No.72, now half drowned and exhausted, felt himself being pulled upwards, then out of the water as he banged against the hull, the handrail just above his head. He stretched his arms upwards and grasped the rail and was eventually pulled aboard.

    The next thing No.72 knew he was in a cabin, soaked to the skin, battered and bruised but alive. He lay in a bunk wrapped in a blanket. After a moment or two he climbed out somewhat unsteadily to his feet and then fell against a cupboard as the deck swayed beneath him. Making it out of the cabin and into the narrow gangway he made his way to a short ladder leading up into the wheelhouse. He took hold of the railings and climbed the ladder. Gunter manned the radio sending

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a message to control, while Ernst was at the helm steering a course for home.
    The small ship was pitching and tossing which made 72 grasp for a hand rail “Where am I?”
    “On board the Polotska” Gunter told him.
    “Who are you?”
    “Well I’m Gunter, the man at the wheel is Ernst.”
    “How did you find me?”
    “We received a radio message about a mariner in distress.”
    “Where…..where are we going?”
    “Home Ernst” told him “we won’t be long. What the devil were you doing out in a small boat in weather like this?”

    “Home, where’s home?”
    “The village!”

    The pair of steel doors opened and three men stood in the open doorway.
    “Don’t bring that wet in here!” No.2 shouted.
    The two guardians removed their oilskins and boots, as No.72 stood between them wrapped in a blanket dripping water on the floor. They took hold of No.72 and were about to march him down the ramp.
    No.2 held up a hand “Stop!” and walked out from behind his desk “What you did was foolhardy, putting yours and these two men’s lives at risk. What have you to say for yourself?”
    No.72 looked a pathetic sight, weather beaten, sodden to the skin, and perhaps more importantly defeated.
    “Have you nothing to say for yourself, come speak up” urged No.2 “Oh take him away!”

   Outside it was late afternoon and the rain finally began to ease, and by late evening the rain had ceased completely. But everywhere was water logged, and in the woods it was as though it was still raining as raindrops continued to drop from the trees. Citizens began emerge from their cottages to take the early evening air before curfew time. The café was still open, as was the General Store despite there having hardly been a customer all day, the shopkeeper thought he might catch some late afternoon early evening trade. No.4 stood on the small balcony of his cottage drinking a cup of coffee there was an air of freshness about the village, and a scent which he could not put his mind to hung in the air.
   As the evening drew on lights in cottages were switched on, as exterior lights on timers also clicked on. A few citizens still lingered in the Piazza enjoying the peaceful evening atmosphere of the village. Housemaids scurried this way and that, calling at cottages in order to make citizens nightcaps of hot chocolate. In ‘4 Private’ the announcement came that it was ten minutes to curfew, “the minutes are ten" said 

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the quiet, soothing female voice. He was in the bathroom preparing himself for bed when the cottage door opened and a middle aged housemaid in white sailors hat, black dress, and white lacy apron appeared. She made herself busy in the kitchen making a nightcap for No.4, who emerged from the bathroom in pyjamas and dressing gown.   
   Quiet, soothing music, a lullaby was being played through the black speaker over which a voice announced “Curfew time, 5 minutes to curfew sleep well.”
    The housemaid took his nightcap through into the bedroom and placed it on the bedside table.
    “You had better hurry, it’s almost curfew” he told her.
    “Oh plenty of time sir, you’re my last gentleman this evening. Goodnight sir.”
    “Goodnight” he replied and sitting on the edge of the bed drank his nightcap, tonight he wanted to sleep.
    The housemaid let herself out, closing the door behind her the electric mechanism locking the door for the night.

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The Prisoner - A New Arrival Chapter 15

 A New Arrival 

    The imminent arrival of the silver grey Alouette helicopter was reported to No.2 as a matter of routine, at the same time an ambulance had been despatched as the helicopter circled the village before landing on the lawn by the sea wall. A new arrival had been brought to the village, a woman in her mid 30’s who sat upright but unconscious in a rear seat. The woman was carefully carried out of the clear Perspex cabin of the helicopter by two medical orderlies, placed on a stretcher, then carried over to the ambulance, and placed in the Red Cross trailer. The ambulance was driven up the hill into the village and to her cottage where she would eventually wake in what she would think to be her own home.

   The woman woke up lying on a bed in what she thought was her own bedroom. She was dressed in a dark blue knee length skirt and a white blouse. Slowly she stirred and sat on the edge of the bed a few moments before standing up walking through to the kitchen for a glass of water. As water from the tap filled a glass she glanced out of the window, the shock made her drop the glass in the sink! Confusion and disorientation soon set in. Her eyes focused on a view which was far removed from the one from her apartment in Stockholm. She went through the flat room by room, the bedroom was the same, but the rest of the apartment was strange to her. But where, where was she, how…...the telephone began to bleep snapping her out of her shocked state of mind. She picked up the receiver of the ornate French telephone.
    “Good day my dear, no ill effects from the journey I trust.”
    “Who is this?” she asked nervously.
    “I realize you must be confused, come and have afternoon tea. Number 2 the Green Dome.”
    The intercom went dead, leaving the woman hitting the cradle of the telephone trying to get the caller back. Finally she replaced the receiver trying to gather her thoughts. Eventually she went to the door of her flat, there was a set of stone steps leading down into a cobbled square, at the bottom was a signpost it read ‘9 Private.’ There were people mingling about in the square, some sat on benches. They were all dressed in brightly coloured clothes; women wore colourful striped capes and a variety of hats, the men wearing a variety of piped blazers and straw boaters. Taking in her surroundings she approached a young man emerging from the General Store.
    “Excuse me, can you tell me where I am?”
    The young man looked at her and smiled “In the village.”

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    “The village?”
    “That’s right.” 
    “Tell me can I get a car here?”

    “Cars?” he smiled “there are no cars, only taxis, but even then they are only the local service.”
    “How far will they take me?”
    “Well as far as you want to go, as long as you end up back here in the end, that’s why they’re called local” the young man explained.
    The woman looked up “That’s the Green Dome?”
    “Yes, are you going to see Number 2?”
    “Yes, he invited me to afternoon tea.”
    “Yes he does that. Mind how you go, be seeing you” he said giving the usual salute before going on his way.
    The woman stood frozen on the spot for a few moments, before she crossed the road, and with a feeling of trepidation climbed the steps up to the Green Dome. Passing through an archway she approached the door, it opened automatically and a diminutive butler stood in the foyer waiting to greet her. She stepped over the threshold, the door closed behind her and she followed the diminutive man in black tails through the pair of French doors and up a short ramp. A pair of steel doors slid open, the butler led the way, and nervously she followed him into the purple walled domed chamber.
    “Ah there you are my dear, come in, don’t be afraid, we are all friends here” No.2 said from his black global chair.
    The words did little to reassure her. She stood at the top of the ramp for a moment, she felt afraid, and looked afraid. As for the butler who stood beside her, he had seen and heard it all before, and this first approach was no different to all the others merely at a later time in the day. He’ll be asked to bring afternoon tea in a minute.

    “Please come in” No.2 bid the woman in friendly way “and we’ll have afternoon tea and perhaps some buttered crumpets.”

    The butler bowed and went to his annexe behind the Green Dome to prepare afternoon tea and toasted the crumpets. The woman stepped forward, the steel doors closing behind her. She spun round and for the first time she felt truly trapped. She walked down the ramp and crossed the floor towards the grey curved desk. No.2 in plain dark blue double breasted blazer, an old school or college scarf wound about his neck and shoulders, leaned forward and pressed a button on a control panel. In the floor a round disc lowered and slid away, leaving a hole through which a black leather chair appeared. This made the woman step back in shock.

    “Please sit down and make yourself comfortable” No.2 bid her.
    The woman remained standing “Why have I been brought here?”
    “We’ll come to that in time. I want you to be comfortable while you are here, for however long that is.”
    “Thank you.”
   “There’s no need to thank me, because one day you may learn to

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hate me.”
    The pair of steel doors opened and the butler reappeared pushing a tea trolley. He set the tea things out onto a small table which appeared through another hole in the floor.
   The butler departed, the steel doors closing behind him, and No.2 rose out of his chair.
    “Shall I be mother?”

    It was early evening before No.9 was allowed to return to her flat, and the night was already beginning to draw in. Lights were on in some of the cottages, and external lights dimly lit paths, steps, and the cobbled square. It was rather picturesque, romantic, like fairyland. No.2 along with his assistant No.14 stood watching the wall screen as she paced the floor of the living room. Her attitude was one of nervousness, repeatedly rubbing her palms together.
    “Do you think she knows?” No.14 asked.
    “She would not have been sent here if she didn’t” No.2 said with confidence.
    “If the Swedish Government knew she was here…..” 14 suggested.
    “They don’t, and therefore do not come into the matter.”

    “Swedish Military Intelligence will miss her” 14 said concentrating on the woman pictured on the wall screen.
    “I’ve never known you to be like this before. Not weakening are you 14?”
    “Like what, before?”
    “Sentimental, she is a very attractive woman, but don’t fall for her, it might well put you at odds with me” No.2 said in threatening way.
    “I’ve read her file; Elsa was a very good spy. Who worked behind the Iron Curtain for a year……”
    “Before her cover was finally blown” No.2 added “the Swedish secret service had to work fast to get her out.”
    “Then she was forced out of the field and behind a desk in records.”
    “And now she is here with so much knowledge in her head.”

   On the wall screen No.9 was preparing herself supper in the kitchen.

    “Her file says she has a photographic memory.”
    No.9 put water in the kettle and switched it on. Then selected the teapot, cup and saucer. While she waited for the kettle to boil she made herself a sandwich.

    “I want to know about all the files she has seen.”
    No.9 warmed the pot, put two caddy spoons of tea into the pot and added hot water.

    “To make nothing of all the people she has known, faces once seen and never forgotten, which makes the knowledge inside her bead priceless.”
    “And you intend to extract it all.”

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    “That’s why she was brought here.”
    “I imagine she well remembers her training, she will resist” 14 said

erring on the side of caution.
   “Your imaginings do not come into it. In the end she will not be able to resist telling me everything; she’ll not be able to stop herself!” No.2 said with confidence “all I have to do is make her feel comfortable!”
   On the wall screen No.9 ate her sandwich, and drank her tea.
   “I see there’s no need for a housemaid to call on No.9 this evening!” No.2 remarked.

    For the next few days Elsa now known as No.9, was allowed to settle in, to adjust to her new surroundings. She had been given new clothes colourful striped jerseys, grey slacks, light shoes. An official from administration had called at her cottage to give her a credit card, health and welfare card, and an identity card. In the wardrobe she found a red trilby and colourful striped cape, she put them on and went out.
    Sitting at a table at the café sipping her coffee she watched the village go by. A young man sitting by himself at another table was looking at her, she saw him and he smiled at her, she did not return his smile.

    “Pardon me” he said addressing her “it’s nice to see a new face.”
    She ignored his greeting, which in some eyes would have made her disharmonious, if not unmutual. But the plain truth of the matter was, she was in no mood to converse with strange young men in a strange and alien place she didn’t wish to be.
    “I’m sorry, it is wrong to greet someone new to the village?”
    No.9 did her best to ignore the young man.
    “I was just trying to show friendliness, to a new arrival. This is wrong? I too was once new here, all alone and finding it terribly strange, wondering why I should be brought to such a place.”
    Finally she spoke “I’m sorry, but do go and bother someone else.”
    “I am bothering you……I am sorry, that was not my intention to offend.”
    No.9 finished her coffee, paid for it with her credit card and went for a walk around the village, the Piazza, pausing at the bandstand as the brass band prepared for their daily concert. She stood gazing up at Hercules with the World on his shoulders, Hercules having taken over from Atlas who had gone off to do something else at the time. Through the gates opposite, the imposing Town Hall, then down the hill towards the Old People’s Home where afternoon tea was being served. Standing at the white balustrade she looked down on the quayside, and at the Stone Boat, people were climbing up and down her rigging, and messing about on her deck.

    “You should try her” a voice said.
    No.9 turned round to see an elderly man in red and black striped Jersey and sporting a naval cop

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    “I’m sorry?”

    “She’s great in any weather, sailed her many a time.”
    No.9 smiled kindly at the Admiral; no doubt he couldn’t help his senility.
    “You look lost me’ dear.”
    “I am lost.”
    “A stranger in a strange land” the Admiral said setting out his chessmen on the chequered board.
    “Y….yes I suppose I am.”
    “Do you play chess me’ dear?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good, we’ve just time for the one game” he told her with a beckoning finger.
    “Why time for just the one game?”
    “Before they come for you, which they will before too long” the Admiral said making the first move pawn to King three.
    “Why should they do that?”
    “Because you’re new here me’ dear and they want something from you, your move” the Admiral told her.
    She made her first move, Pawn to King four.

    No.9 hadn’t exactly allowed the Admiral to win the game, the trouble was her mind wasn’t really on it, because something told her there was a bigger game to play. After all she hadn’t been brought to the village for the good of her health. The question is what to do? To study the village, learn its strengths and weaknesses. Learn who to trust, who to avoid like the plague, and while she was doing all that, learn how to survive as survive she must if she was to escape, but escape to where?

    Walking back up the hill into the village a white Mini-Moke pulled up along side her, a man introduced himself.
    “I’m Number 14, Number 2 would like a few words.”
    “I’m on my way home” she said resuming her walk.
    The Moke moved backwards alongside her “Get in and I’ll give you a lift.”
    “Home?”
    “To the Green Dome, its best we don’t keep Number 2 waiting, he’s not known for his patience.”

    The pair of steel doors slid open, No.9 stood at the top of the ramp looking into the chamber, towards the man sat in his black spherical chair. No.14 urged her forward and she nervously walked down the ramp with 14 close at her shoulder.

    “There you are my dear” No.2 said in friendly way.

    “If I’m not it must mean I’m in some other place.”
    “Would you prefer to be in some other place?”

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    “Right now….would you like to be in my shoes?” she said trying to turn the tables.
    “They wouldn’t fit my dear, please do sit down. Perhaps Number 14 would be kind enough to pour out some coffee.”
    “What do you think I am, the tea boy?” 14 said moving towards the desk.

    “He’s very droll isn’t he, won’t you sit down” No.2 said indicating the chair, the comfy chair!

    The last time No.9 was in No.2’s office she was offered a black leather chair. Now in its place was an extremely looking comfortable armchair.
    “I think I shall stand for the time being.”
    “Really, oh well your choice. You know the reason why you have been brought here to the village.”
    “You tell me!” she replied sternly.
    “Because you have a photographic memory, and we want to know about the files you have seen, the projects you know about, and details not simply headings, along with all the faces you have seen, and the people you know.”
    “And if I refuse to talk?”
    “Think it kind of me that you have the choice to give me what I want, and that I simply do not take it. I don’t want any harm to come to you, you’re a very attractive woman, Number 14 here has remarked upon it, haven’t you Number 14.”
    “Yes Number 2” who was busy pouring out three cups of steaming hot coffee.
   No.9 tensed her body “You’re going to put me alone in a room with him?”
    No.2 looked aghast at the suggestion “No, certainly not, we’re not barbarians. No, no, I’m not going to do anything to you, well hardly anything.”
   No.14 passed the chief inquisitor his coffee, and the prisoner hers.
    Suddenly she was put under the spotlight, the light so bright that it hurt her eyes. She lifted an arm in order to try and shield her eyes.
    “There is plenty of time my dear; we can be here all day and longer if necessary. I can stand it longer than you will. Are you ready to talk……….no, not yet, very well.”

    It wasn’t long before the minutes turned into hours, the hours felt like days, forced to stand in the spotlight with No.2 sat in his chair watching, waiting with No.14 standing by his chair.
    “Sir, do you mind if I sit down?”
    “You are feeling tired Number 14?”
    “Well to be frank, yes.”
    “Oh well if you must.”
    No.2 pressed a button on the control panel and a black leather armchair rose though a hole in the floor. No.14 sat in the chair and felt instantly all the better for it.

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    “Would you like to sit down my dear?” No.2 asked from the comfort of his chair.
    No.9 was feeling dizzy under the light, her eyes were tired, even when closed the light so bright through her eyelids. She was perspiring, getting more and more tired as the hours dragged by as she was forced to stand upright for hour after hour, how long had it been now? Her legs were very tired; she almost collapsed but managed to pull herself upright. How long? How long since she had been brought to the Green Dome and forced to stand there? It must be hours and hours. No.14 had fallen asleep in his chair. No.2 had felt stiff having to sit for hour after hour, rising out of his chair he paced the floor of his office. He looked at the slumbering No.14.
    “He couldn’t take it, you and I my dear are made of sterner stuff I can see that you are about to collapse. You may kneel on the floor.”
    No.9 dropped to her knees grateful for the relief.
    “Now are you ready to talk?”
    No.9 remained silent.
    “Surely a kind act should receive some reward?” 2 suggested.
    “My name is Elsa Nilsson.”
    “I know that, but it’s a beginning. How old are you?”
    “Thirty-five.”
    “Your date of birth.”
    “September fifteenth nineteen twenty-nine.”
    “You see how good it is to talk. This must be like the time you were captured behind Iron Curtain. Is it, is it like that?”
    No.9 remained silent.
    “Oh come now, please do not be difficult. You have done very well, there is no disgrace on your part. Why prolong this ordeal?”
    No.9 looked up at her inquisitor.
    “Tell me what you know, soon you won’t be able to stop yourself, its just a matter of tiime” No.2 said glaring down at the woman kneeling on the floor.
    She had no idea of how long it had been, time had ceased to mean anything in this chamber. But she was feeling her knees now after so long pressed against the hard floor, but then another kindness.
    “Please stand up and sit in the chair” No.2 said offering her the comfy chair.
    No.14 finally stirred and woke up.
    “Ah good, Number 14 is back in the land of the living! Be a good fellow, and go and organise some tea.”
    No.14 left the chamber as No.9 tried to rise to her feet, she found it difficult, No.2 assisted her, and she was grateful to be made comfortable in the armchair. A few minutes later No.14 returned with the tea, No.2 poured out three cups, handing one to No.9 who had made herself comfortable. She accepted the offered cup of tea, knowing full well that she would never sit in anything, or feel, so comfortable ever again.

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    It had been a long interrogation session, and now everything No.9 had to tell, all the information inside her head now recorded on tape. She had told them everything, she could not help herself, and it had been good to talk. Now she had nothing to hide, there was nothing more they could do to her. No.9 was exhausted, defeated, yet standing on the balcony of the Green Dome looking down at the ground she did not jump! She slowly descended the stone steps on her way back to her cottage, the day had long since broken, music from the brass band concert drifted on the air. People mingled in the cobbled square as she began to cross the road. Suddenly there was a loud noise, a cross between someone breathing through an aqua lung, Gregorian chant, and a bicycle pump. Then it came rolling and bounding along the road towards her. Pedestrians stepped smartly to the side of the road as one, and cyclists dismounted their canopy covered bicycles at the side of the road, everyone in the cobbled square stood stock still as the white amorphous shape of the Guardian passed by. No.9 tried to move, but was somehow rooted to the spot as the Guardian brushed passed her. Then it was gone and everything, and everyone returned to normal, even No.39 who had been stopped dead in his track leaving the General Store went on his way as though nothing had happened. She approached a couple sitting on a bench.
    “What was that?” she asked.
    “What was what?” the couple asked.
    “That….that white balloon thing?”
    “You mean the Guardian” they said in unison.
    “Is that what it’s called?”
    “That or Rover” the man said.
    “What does it do?”
    “It serves and protects the community” the couple said in unison “mostly it acts like a guard dog.”
    No.9 having returned to her cottage went straight to bed, and slept the rest of the day away, and all through the night. So there was no need for the housemaid to go calling to make No.9’s nightcap. The night Watch was instructed to keep an open surveillance eye on her, just in case there should be any ill effects from her ordeal.

   The next morning No.9 woke refreshed. She bathed, then dressed, finding a navy blue roll neck sweater and a pair of terracotta coloured slacks, and a pair of sensible flat shoes. A housemaid brought her breakfast with the compliments of No.2. To her surprise she found she had a healthy appetite which was something. From the wardrobe she took her red trilby hat and colourful striped cape put them on and went out into the early morning sunshine. No.9 thought she would feel disgusted with herself, and to some extent there was a feeling of betrayal, not to her country but to herself. After all for all she knew it might well have been her former people who had had her placed in this village. Now, having given away so much, she was well and truly on her own!

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    There was a sudden fanfare which preceded an announcement    
    “Good morning everyone, good morning, it’s another lovely day, and the recent spell of fine weather is set to continue for at least for another month. The ice cream flavour of the day is strawberry. And

for your entertainment a folk music concert is to take place tomorrow evening at the Recreation Hall, and your local amateur dramatics society is to produce a performance of Macbeth.”
    “Why did that voice have to be so damned cheery?” No.9 thought to her self “Why so determined that people are kept amused and entertained?” she asked herself.
    “In order to keep the people busy, to keep their minds on other things rather than to cause mischief and attempting escapes!” a voice replied.
    She turned to see a man in cream and brown striped jersey.
    “Be seeing you” he said and calmly went on his way.

    She strolled through the village, the day was sunny and warm, although there was a slight breeze. She found herself walking along the quayside. People were enjoying the day on the beach. A man passed by and raised a circled thumb and forefinger to his right eye.
    “Why did people do that?” she asked.
    “It’s a greeting” No.43 told her.

    “Meeting or parting?”
    “Either. I’m going to fly my kite” the man said tapping the canvas under his arm “I made it myself you know, be seeing you” and he went down the steps and walked out onto the sand.
   He walked quite a way out on the sand, and set up the kite, he let out the string, pulled on it then began to run as fast as he could until the kite lifted in the air on the breeze, he let out more and more string, the kite rising higher and higher into the sky. This had not gone unnoticed by the Observers who informed the supervisor of No.43’s activity. The supervisor alerted security who despatched two guardians in a Min-Moke, its siren blaring out as it shot down the slipway and across the sand towards No.43 and his kite.  No.9 stood watching from the quayside as the man was overpowered, the kite pulled down and taken away with its owner. There was nothing she could do, there was nothing she could have done, so No.9 took the path along the cliffs, passed the lighthouse which had no light, but a single bell. A little way on she stood atop of the cliffs looking out to sea, then down to the rock below.
    “I hope you’re not thinking of jumping are you?” a voice suddenly asked.
    This took No.9 by surprise and she staggered back from the edge of the cliff, and No.4 took her by the arm, their presence together shielded by the bushes.

    “Who are you?”

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    “A prisoner” he told her “what about you?”
    “What about me?” she said struggling against him.
    “Are you a prisoner or one of them?”
    “One of them?”
    “A warder, a guardian, how long have you been here?”
    “Who are you to ask. Go back and tell your Number 2 that I’ve nothing more to give!”
    He released his grip of her arm “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
    “You didn’t!” she told him sternly.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “So am I. It’s just that I’ve had a couple of bad days, and the worst of it is I think I’ve handed myself to Number 2 on a plate!”
    “How?”
    “How many ways are there? In this instant it was the comfy chair!” she told him “I had better go.”
    “Can we meet later?”
    “Why would you want to?” and with that she hurried on her way.
    The pair of steel doors opened and No.14 walked smartly down the ramp “The supervisor informs me that Number 9 was seen with Number 4 on the cliffs a few minutes ago.”
    “Really, I suppose it was only a question of time before they met” No.2 replied closing a file he had been reading.
    “You want them to meet again, perhaps to form a relationship?”
    “Heaven forbid! In no shape or form do we want that. I have plans for Number 9 myself, and I don’t want that Number 4 messing about with them!”

    “You have plans for Number 9?”
    “After her interrogation, and having given up everything she knew, Number 9 gave herself to us, and now she’s going to work for us.”
    “That’s nice, she’ll bring a certain attractiveness to the office.”
    “Well certainly her feminine wiles can be put to good use, and if she can play the damsel in distress then all to the good.”
    No.2 leaned forward and pressed a button on the control panel of his desk, the wall screen came to life depicting the central area of the village. The press of another button showed the café, then the taxi rank, the quayside, the beach, and the Old People’s Home.     
    “Ah there she is, good.”

    No.9 had walked along the quayside and went through the open gate leading onto the lawn of the Old People’s Home. She sat down, alone at one of the tables.
    “Shall I have her picked up?”
    “Certainly not, she’s been through a great deal since her arrival here and she’s unsure of herself. I don’t want her more frightened, and maladjusted than she already is. We’ll give her a little time to re-adjust. But I think I shall invite her for lunch, a working lunch.”
    The steel doors closed behind No.9, she felt more than a little nervous but put on

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 a brave face as she walked down the ramp and across the floor. No.2 was sat behind his desk, and there was a vacant black leather chair.
    “You look nervous my dear, there’s no need to be I assure you” No.2 said.
    She sat down in the chair. The butler appeared pushing a wooden breakfast trolley and set lunch, consisting of a plate of sandwiches and a pot of coffee, out on a small round topped table, then bowed to his master before leaving the chamber.
    “I am pleased you could join me for a working lunch” No.2 said getting out from behind his desk “milk and sugar, ah no sugar, I was forgetting.”
    He offered her a cup coffee, and presented a plate of dainty triangular cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off.
    She helped herself to two sandwiches balancing them on the edge of the saucer.
    No.2 returned to his chair with cup and saucer and two ham and cheese sandwiches “How are you feeling now my dear?”
    “I have been trying to gather myself, I feel ashamed that I gave in so easily” she told him sipping her coffee.
    “Ashamed, how so, there is no shame, we all have a breaking point you know. Admittedly some agents last longer than others, but

everyone talks on the third day. No, there is no shame. You know what you need my dear is…….”
    “A holiday, fortnights leave away from this place, somewhere different so I can recuperate” she said eating a sandwich.
    “Ah good you have managed to retain your sense of humour. I can use such a woman as you, I think you should come and work for me” No.2 suggested.
    “I was afraid of that.”
    “Afraid?”
    “Afraid that you would put such an offer to me, having made me feel the lowest of the low, and now you want to drag me down even further by using me to betray others by working for you.”
    “These cucumber sandwiches are really delicious, but I always think it’s a shame to cut off the crusts don’t you?” he said.
    No.9 finished her coffee and sandwiches; in her mind she knew that it was now a question of survival.
    No.2 put down his cup and saucer and picking up a black file and leaning forward across his desk handed it to No.9.
    “Here are the details your first assignment; I think you will find it interesting. I shall be watching your progress with great interest.”

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Chapter 14

 

Twosday

     It was a bright sunny morning, and a blue carpet of sky covered the village, which was a hive of activity. Gardeners busied themselves tidying the flower borders and planting out new plants. A gardener was riding his green John Deer garden tractor cutting the grass, while others trimmed hedges and bushes. Roads and cobbled paths and squares were swept, and walls were given a fresh coat of paint. The Stone Boat was given new bunting, and the free sea was drained so that the pool of the fountain could be given a thorough clean, for the village was to look its best for Twosday.

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    At the café the white haired elderly waiter No.26 was busy collecting empty cups and saucers from the tables on the patio when he was approached by another white haired elderly gentleman No.168 in a grey piped jacket.
    “Nice day”
    “It will be nice again tomorrow I shouldn’t wonder” the waiter replied.
    “Have you seen today’s broadsheet?”
    “What The Tally Ho? Is that what you think, that all I have to do all day is read the newspaper?”
    “I’m sorry I’m sure. But I had to ask for a refund after I had bought a copy.”
    “Why what’s wrong with it?”
    “See for yourself” 168 said unfolding his copy of the latest edition of The Tally Ho.
    The waiter looked at the broadsheet “Well what’s wrong with it?”
    “It’s the headline, they’ve spelt Tuesday wrong.”
    “What’s Tuesday got to do with it?”
    “That’s what the broadsheet vender said.”
    “I argued the point that the printer had misspelled the word Tuesday.”
    The waiter looked at the headline “It’s a play on words” he said.
    “Yes that’s what the vender told me.”
    “Well haven’t you heard?”
    “I haven’t read today’s broadsheet yet, I was waiting until I got home and planned to read it with a cup of coffee and a bun.”
    “There’s a free table over there, why not have coffee and a bun here?”
    “No fear, not at your prices be seeing you” and with that 168 was on his way home.
    “Silly old fool” the waiter muttered under his breath, picking up the tray of crockery and carrying it into the café.

    No.14 arrived at the Green Dome, and pulling on the wrought iron bell pull the front door opened automatically and he stepped over the threshold and into the foyer to be greeted by the diminutive butler in black tails. Opening the pair of French doors the butler led the way up the short ramp to the now opening pair of steel doors, showing No.14 into 2’s office. No.14 walked briskly down the ramp, the steel doors closing automatically behind him.
   “Ah there you are 14, what have you been up to this morning?” No.2 asked from behind his desk.
    “I’ve been touring the village making sure things were well in hand for Twosday.”
    “And are they?”
    “Don’t you know that they are?” 14 said glancing at the wall screen.
    “I was just thinking that the Stone Boat could do with a lick of paint.”

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    14 looked again at the screen “Yes sir, I shall see to it. You must be feeling quite excited.”
    “What about?”
    “Twosday of course.”
    “Why what happens next Tuesday?”
    14 gave his superior a knowing look.
    “Alright, but I am looking forward to the day I must say.”
    “A small fete is being organised, might as well make it a grand day of celebration that the people can enjoy themselves.”
    “I thought the day was about me?” 2 said a little indignantly.
    “Oh it is sir, the fete will be in your honour and you’ll be able to enjoy yourself at the stalls and shies.”
    “Good.”

    No.4 was sat on a bench in the Piazza watching two men with brushes busy brushing the drained pool. A gardener was nearby busy planting lobelia, whilst painters busied themselves touching up the paintwork on buildings and walls.
    “What’s the idea? No.4 asked of the gardener.
    The gardener stopped for a moment and looked up “Don’t bother me, I’m busy.”
    “I can see that, everyone looks busy this morning. What’s it all in aid of?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “What’s the village being tarted up for, are we in for a Royal visit?”
    “Twosday.”   
    “What’s next Tuesday got to do with it?”
    “Don’t you read The Tally Ho?” the gardener asked.
    “Today’s news is but tomorrows chip paper” 4 replied.
    The gardener took his crumpled copy of the tally Ho from the back pocket of his overalls and handed it to No.4.
    “Now leave me alone to get on with my work!” and went back to planting the lobelia.
    No.4 unfolded The Tally Ho, he read the headline, and read about Twosday being a celebration for the Chief Administrator of the village administration. And how a ceremony and presentation was to be made, and small fete was to be held on the lawn. He refolded the paper and handed it back to the gardener.
    “No you keep it” the gardener told him trowel in hand busy turning over the soil.
    No.4 crossed the Piazza and dropped the broadsheet into a litter bin and walked off down the steps and across the lawn, where a man was erecting a sign.
    “Walk on the grass” the sign read.
    No.14 marched briskly across the lawn and approached a man holding open a ground plan of the fete.
    “It can’t be done” the clerk of works said.

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    “Why, what’s the problem? 14 asked.
    “It can’t be done that’s all. I mean look at it.”
    “I’m looking at it” No.14 said studying the lawn.
    “It’s not the lawn that’s in question, it’s the size!”
    “How do you mean?”
    “There are too many stalls and side shows for the fete, they can’t all fit on the lawn” the clerk of works protested.
    “Ah I see. Couldn’t we use the Piazza as an overflow, and what about that square of lawn over there?” 14 suggested.
    “I’d already thought of that” said the clerk of works “but enough space must be left at the far end for people to gather for the presentation ceremony.”
    “Agreed” said No.14 comparing the ground plan to both lawn and Piazza “I’ll leave it with you.”
    Just at that moment four men in overalls arrived in a mini-Moke, it towed a trailer filled with striped canvases, wooden planks and steel poles, and ropes.
    “What’s all this?” 14 asked.
    “Tents and stalls to be erected on the lawn and in the Piazza.”
    “But its three days before Twosday” No.14 reminded the clerk of works.
    The four men climbed out of the open topped Moke and stood by the trailer and stood looking on.
    “I know that…..better than anyone. What do you think; things magically appear overnight? Its takes time for my lads to get things done you know!”
    “Alright I’ll leave it to you” 14 said going on his way and about his business.

    “Right lads, let’s get this trailer unloaded.

    There is something fascinating watching men working, and that is what No.4 was doing as he sat on the edge of a small round fountain watching the men unloading the trailer.

    “Ah there you are 107, come in, come in” No.2 said.

   No.107 crossed the floor and stood nervously in front of the desk, like a schoolboy in the headmaster’s study!
    “There’s no need to be nervous. Perhaps you would like some tea?”
   107 shook his head.

    “No, well I think I would like some tea.”

    The butler standing in the open doorway bowed, turned and the steel doors closed.

    “Now 107 you are known for having more than a passing interest in archery.”

    “I’m an archer yes.”
    Number 2 pressed a button on the control panel of his desk and a chair appeared through a hole in the floor.

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    “Look do sit down, you’re making me feel nervous.”
    No.107 did as he was bid.

    “And as I recall we caught you practicing that interest even though such weaponry is outside the pale of the law.”
    “You confiscated my longbow and arrows.”
    “That’s right; you made your own as I recall. What would you say if I gave you special dispensation in order to demonstrate your archery skills at the village fete?”
    No.107 said nothing but the expression on his face betrayed him.
    “I see you approve of my gesture. And we will supply both longbows and arrows.”

    No.14 arrived in No.2’s office just in time for afternoon tea just as 107 was leaving.

    “Did Number 107 take you up on your offer?”
    “He did, have the required long bows and arrows supplied to him, and set the long lawn just the other side of the Bandstand for him to set up his target. But he can only practice his archery on the beach well away from other people.”

    “Yes Number 2. How are you going to get Number 4 interested in archery?” 14 asked stirring his tea.
    “Oh I think one man far out on the beach with bow and arrow will be enough to attract Number 4’s attention, don’t you?”
    “And your assassination, you still think Number 4 will come to your aid?”
    “He must, but just make sure the assassin misses by a good margin….just in case.”
    “The assassin Number 210 will be at the top of the Bell Tower with his crossbow. Number 107 being in charge of the archery demonstration will naturally take the blame for the attempt on your life.”

    “Caught red handed by our friend Number 4.”
    “Which will prove to you what?”
    “That he cares” No.2 said with a smile “and it’s that which will give him to me.”

    “Why should he care what happens to you?”

    “I’m hoping his reaction will be instinctive.”
    “And if not?”
    “Then in my end there will be a new beginning for someone else!”

    The silversmith No.82, a white haired man in his early 60’s had been working all week on the Twosday presentation piece to show the community’s appreciation of the Chief Administrator. The silver box some 7 by 5 inches, and 4 inches deep, and decorated in the art nouveau style. He was just giving the silver box a final polish when the shop bell rang. Leaving his back room he went into his shop to find No.14 standing at the counter.
    “Ah you have come for the silver box.”

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    “That’s right, it’s ready?”
    “Of course, I was just giving it a final polish. I shall fetch it for you.”
    The Silversmith disappeared into the back of his shop, and after a few moments returned carrying the silver box.

    “Here it is” the silversmith said placing the box on the counter.
    No.14 picked it up “It’s locked!”
    “I have the key” said the silversmith producing the key from his pocket “it is to remain locked until opened by Number 2 himself.”
    “Why?”
    “Because there is an extra special surprise inside the box, a token of my own appreciation for everything he had done since my arrival here.”
   No.14 placed the key in his pocket as the silversmith wrapped up the box in gift paper “I shall see to it that you are suitably rewarded for your exquisite work.”
    “There is no need as the work has been its own reward” said the silversmith.
   After No.14 left the shop the silversmith turned the shop sign to “closed.”

   Preparations were now in full swing for Twosday, the stalls and colourful striped tents had been erected for the fete, bunting in the rigging of the Stone Boat fluttered in the breeze. Freshly painted walls glowed in the sunshine. The flower beds looked a picture, the pool in the piazza had been refilled, and the water spout of the fountain seemed to be putting on an extra special display. There was an air of excitement and anticipation about the village, not that either of those emotions demonstrated themselves in No.4, who seemed to be above such things. He was not a man to allow himself to get involved, and yet he found the figure far out across the beach interesting. He sat on the edge of the outlook on top of the cliff watching a man at his archery practice. He had a round target set up on a wooden stand, and fired arrows at it from a distance of a hundred years. No.4 continued to watch the man fired arrow after arrow, he never once missed the target. The question which sprang to No.4’s lips was “Why?”

    It was early morning when No.4 called by the Green Dome, No.2 although seated in his chair, was still dressed in dark blue pyjamas and dark red dressing gown.
    “I’m sorry, have I got you up?”
    “Don’t flatter yourself Number 4, what can I do for you?”
    “It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you.”
    “Really, and what’s that?”
    “Did you know, although I suspect you do if your Observers are on the job, there was a chap firing arrows at a target down on the beach yesterday.”

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    “Yes I did know.”
    “And?”
    “And what?”
    “I thought tools and weapons were not allowed?”
    “I can’t see what harm he can do out there on the beach. Besides it keeps him occupied. You could do with a hobby or some occupation to keep you out of trouble.”
    “It’s not me that’s looking for trouble if you ask me.”
    “I’m not asking you, besides Number 107 has special dispensation to practice his archery skills before he puts them to practice in the village at the fete.”
    “You’re letting a man loose with longbow and arrows in the village?”
    “Why should you care?”
    “I don’t, but I think you’re running a terrible risk.”
    “In what way?”
    “In allowing a weapon as deadly as a longbow into the village, that archer never missed his target once while I was watching.”
    “Have you come here to warn me of something, because let me assure you my Observers will know the moment anything happens. ”
    “And in that moment it might just be too late!”
    No.4 turned on his heels and marched briskly out of the office, and into the foyer telling the diminutive butler to keep a close eye on his master as he passed through and out of the opening front door. The butler looked thoughtful, then shrugged his shoulders and closed the French doors.

    Twosday saw a bright sunny morning as the village began to stir. A waitress was occupied with opening the table canopies on the patio. A green John Deer garden tractor towed a trailer in which three housemaids sat with breakfast trays on their laps. The general store was open for business the stout shopkeeper No.19 in straw boater and blue and white striped apron was cleaning the panes of glass of the bay window. Then a sudden fanfare was heard over the public address system, a cheery female voice greeted the citizens.
    “Good morning, good morning and what a beautiful day it is. The weather will remain fine and dry. The fete will be opened this morning by Number 2 himself, after which you will be at liberty to enjoy the stalls and shies. Number 107 will be giving a demonstration of archery, and there’s to be a special Punch and Judy show, followed by a Twosday ceremony and the presentation of a gift. There will be thrills, entertainment, and enjoyment for all. Be seeing you.”
   After breakfast No.2 and his assistant No.14 were out and about inspecting the stalls, ‘Hook a Duck,’ ‘Test Your strength,’ the Coconut shy three shies a credit unit, Hoola, and Aunt Sally. A cake stall, palmistry tent in which Madam Zena reads your future in your palm. A Bric-a-brack stall, and the ducking stool upon which a person sits and someone throws tennis balls at a round button. Hit the button

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and the person on the stool is dunked into the free sea!  In front of the gloriette with its balcony was the red and white striped tent of the Punch and Judy show. A sign hung on the fabric it read “Next show at 2 o’clock.” Number 107 with the help of No.30 had set his bull’s-eye target at the far end of the long lawn and had already tested it for its range with two arrows. He picked up a third arrow and fitted the nook and the arrow into the nooking points on the string of the Longbow and pulled back the string. But the string slipped causing the arrow to fly off-course landing at the feet of No.2 who stood back in startled surprise and glared at 107 “Watch him, he’ll have someone’s eye out with that!”
    “I’ll get security to have him taken away” said No.14.
    “No, that is just what you will not do.”
    They continued their walk watched closely by No.107 who was surprised that No.2 allowed him to get away with such a mistake.
    No.2 was nervous enough at it was “Nothing had better go wrong this afternoon.”
    “There is still time to cancel” No.14 advised.
    “No I have to go through with this now. I’ll leave you now; I have my speech to prepare.”

   As the morning progressed stall and shy holders made last minute preparations as citizens began to gather in order to see No.2 open the fete.

     “Good people of this community” No.2, now wearing the Great Seal of Office began, “it gives me great pleasure to open this fete. Go to it with a will and enjoy yourselves.”
    The brass band played and the citizens amused themselves at the stalls, No.2 himself had three shies a credit unit but failed to hit a coconut, but he enjoyed himself and the fete did provide the opportunity for him to let his hair down an opportunity not often afforded to the Chief Administrator of the village.
   No.4 did eventually turn up at the fete, he passed through the stalls and wasn’t persuaded to try his luck at any of them, he simply mingled with the citizens to no purpose really. Everyone was enjoying themselves. There were several people watching No.107 demonstrate

his archery skills, as the archer shot at the target and hitting the bulls eye time and time again. With a spare longbow he invited citizens to step forward and try their own skill. This was conducted under the strictest supervision. No.49 was the first to step forward. He drew back the longbow, it was more difficult than he thought, took aim, and released the arrow hitting the edge of the bulls-eye target much to the applause of the crowd. No.82 was next to step forward to take her turn. Pulling back the string as far as she could, closed her eyes at the point of release. The arrow flew way off course narrowly missing No.2 as he was walking passed, it being a wonder no-one was injured or killed in the accident. People looked on in shock, a woman

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screamed, and No.14 rushed to 2’s side.
    “Are you alright sir?”
    “It’s too soon” he said “too soon.”
    “It was an accident sir.”
    “And Number 4?”
    No.14 glanced about he gather crowd “He’s not to be seen.”
    No.2 brushed 14 aside saying that he was alright, and to the crowd that there’s nothing so see. There wasn’t, there had been an accident that was all, and the crowd dispersed and returned to the fete.
    “That’s that then” he told 14 “have 210 stand down he is no longer necessary…..that stupid woman’s ruined everything!”
    “Yes sir.”
    “That’s the way to do it” Mister Punch cried.
    No.2 spun round to see the hand puppet of Mister Punch looking straight at him. The policeman asked the audience if they had seen Mister Punch, the people shouted “No.” “Where is Mister Punch, he must be around somewhere” the policeman said. Suddenly Mister Punch arrived on the scene, the hand puppet was dressed in a plain dark blazer, grey polo jersey, and wound about his shoulders was the old school scarf. He held an umbrella shooting stick in one hand and hit the policeman over the head with it.
   “There” Punch said in that odd voice of his “have some of that police brutality back” and went on hitting the policeman.
    “I’m going to arrest you Mister Punch.”
    “Oh no you’re not.”
    “Oh yes I am”
    “Oh no you’re not.”
    Judy then appeared on the scene asking what that burning smell was?
    “Oh no” said Mister Punch “the sausages!”
    Mister Punch disappeared.
    “That Punch has burned the sausages!” Judy said.
    “Well I can’t arrest him for that” said the policeman.
    Mister Punch arrived back looking all contrite “I’m sorry” he said.
    “Sorry won’t butter no parsnips” Judy said angrily.
    “What’s parsnips got to do with it?” asked Mister Punch.

    “They were going to go with the sausages for tea” Judy told him.
    It was at that point the snout of a crocodile appeared, then the long mouth, it opened and the crocodile snatched the burnt sausages from Mister Punch. Mister Punch began hitting the crocodile with his umbrella shooting stick until the crocodile released the sausages.
    “Why Mister Punch you are every brave” said Judy in loving way.
    “I know, I know” said Mister Punch.
   The afternoon drew on and it was time for the Twosday ceremony. No.2, 14, and a number of Top Hat officials from Administration appeared on the balcony of the Gloriette at the far end of the Piazza, the butler was also there holding the presentation piece. The people reluctantly gathered below the balcony, reluctantly

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because they had all been enjoying themselves at the fete and now the happy holiday atmosphere of the afternoon was about to be spoiled with a speech from No.2!
    A Top Hat administrative official dressed all in black stood before a microphone “Good citizens of this community. We are gathered here today to celebrate one man, whose unstinting work for this community is a credit to him. We applaud his drive, enthusiasm, and devotion, for keeping this community safe and secure, and for bringing about this fete which we are all enjoying. I give you Number 2,”
    The official stepped to one side to make way for No.2, the man of the hour.
   “My friends, I know I can call you my friends because I feel I know you all so well. We are all enjoying the fete today, from which I shall not keep you long.”
    At this the crowd cheered.
    “I just wanted to say that I shall continue to serve this community to the best of my ability, and shall always have your interests at heart. But there is a need for security, the security of both this community and that of its citizens, and I shall endeavour to maintain that security, and our way of life here in the village.”
    And then the presentation, the butler stepped forward carrying the silver box on a red velvet cushion, at the same time No.14 stepped forward to say a few words.
    “If I may sir on behalf of the citizens how much we appreciate your efforts for them and the village. And we should very much like you to accept this gift in a show of our appreciation of you.”
    At this there was a spontaneous round of applause as the butler presented the ornate silver box to No.2 who accepted the gift with gratitude. The Silversmith stood nonchalantly at the back of the crowd, he had put all his skill into making that silver box, and now waited for the moment when No.2 would be open it. 

   The ceremony over, the good citizens began to make their way back to the fete determined to enjoy the rest of the day. But not the Silversmith, whose disappointment showed on his face…..the box had not been opened!

    “Oh Number 2 I forgot something” 14 said rummaging in a pocket of his jacket.

    No.2 waited then was handed the key to the silver box.
    “Sorry Number 2, silly of me.”
    “Is there anything in the box?” No.2 asked.
    “The silversmith did say there was an added surprise in it.”
    “Really” 2 said shaking the box “I think I’ll return to my office now.”
    “Very good sir, do you need me?”
    “No I don’t think so, congratulations by the way, the day went well.”
    “Perhaps not as well as you had intended sir.”

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    No.2 forced a smile “No, but we can’t have everything can we. They’ll be another day, Number 4 isn’t going anywhere.”
    As No.2 made his way through the village back to his office in the Green Dome a few citizens stopped him to shake his hand and to admire the ornate silver box. While No.14 allowed himself the rest of the afternoon to enjoy the fete, testing his strength at the ‘High Striker,’ this by hitting a pin with a heavy wooden mallet sending a puck towards the top in order to ring the bell, something 14 did with ease. He moved on, and hooking a duck he won himself a prize, a large brown Teddy bear which would sit in pride of place in his cottage.
   Meanwhile No.2 had settled himself back into his inner sanctum; the butler brought him cake with his late afternoon cup of tea, it being a special day.
    “You’re not at the fete?” No.2 asked
    The butler just stood looking at his master.
    “Don’t care for it I expect. Well with your background I can’t say as I blame you.”
    The butler turned and walked towards the closed steel doors. No.2 sipped his tea, and took a bite of the chocolate cake, it was delicious. Turning his attention to the silver box on his desk; he turned the key and slowly opened the lid to see what surprise was contained within.

    The sound of a high pitched siren disturbed the fun of the fete, as a Mini-Moke sped through the village with No.14 at the wheel in the company of two security guards in white helmets and grey overalls. The Moke came to a stop outside the Silversmith’s shop, the blinds were down and shop sign read closed. One security man kicked the door in and was quickly followed inside by the second security man both brandishing white truncheons, followed by No.14. The shop wasn’t deserted. In the back room they found hanging from the rafters the limp body of the silversmith.

    “That was a narrow escape” No.14 said having returned to the Green Dome in order to make his report.

    “A spring loaded bolt was the added surprise in that silver box. If I had been leaning forward another inch or two it would have been curtains for me. You say the silversmith hanged himself.”
    “Yes Number 2. I’m trying to think of what the man’s motivation was.”
    “The death of his son must have been motivation enough. He always blamed a predecessor of mine for his son’s death. When they came here, the silversmith, with his wife and son, life didn’t suit them at all, I suspect it wasn’t what they were expecting. The son resisted, attempted to escape, and when we tried to stop him he resisted, there was an accident and the son died. A month later the son’s mother died of a broken heart.”

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    “That wasn’t your fault” No.14 said in sympathy.
    “No, of course not, records show that a funeral was held for both mother and son, it was all conducted properly. The silversmith was given grief therapy, but I suspect the hate for 2 remained. To him it didn’t matter who Number 2 is, I suspect it was the number the silversmith was hitting out at rather the man behind the number.”
    “The people still admire you Number 2.”
    “Really! Well perhaps.”
    The silversmiths shop was closed, emptied of its contents, and made ready for a new occupant, a Watchmaker, his wife, and daughter Monique.

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