Blackheath

***

"There you go," the driver said, and Blackheath eased himself off the cart, automatically feeling to make sure his gun was still safely tucked into his lower back. He examined the house from under his brim as the horse laboured to draw the cart away through the fields. Old brick and stone, enclosed by verandahs. Two storeys, unusual in the immigrant cottages and farmer's sheds that were the standard accommodation round here. The heavy stonework was shaped into arches to support the brick upper storey, throwing the lower story into shadow like the darkness beneath a bridge. Yet for all its heavy stone and gloomy recesses, it was an elegant house, and its stateliness both drew him and repelled him.

An older man eased forward out of the shadows of the verandah, and Blackheath flinched to think his inspection had itself been inspected.

"You must be Giulia's latest salvage," the man said. Blackheath wasn't sure whether he was being insulted or praised. The man had a face that could go either way, and a voice to match.

"Yanni Thalipedes. Yanni," he extended his hand, "Come in." He led the way into the shadows, not expecting a name or a reply. Blackheath found himself warming to him.

"What did you do to be banished out here with me? Must have been bad, a handsome young man like you," he said conversationally.

"I think she was just sick of having me underfoot, looking after me. She wanted the space."

"Giulia? She fills her life with looking after people. It's her raison d'être."

"So, why isn't she looking after you then?" Blackheath said softly, meaning it to be rhetorical. But the older man paused, taking it seriously.

"She and her mother were very close. Her mother was taken, and, eventually, Anna moved in with me. Well, Giulia has never forgiven me. Daughters can be cruel like that." Blackheath saw the pain this had etched onto his face, despite the covering smile. "Perhaps she has sent you here to punish, me, hmm?"

Blackheath looked around, giving Yanni some space. The floors and walls were all polished wood, enormously wide planks cut from the size of trees that no longer existed. Tall windows let in the cooled, shaded light from the verandahs, creating a sanctuary from the burning heat outside. The corners receded into darkness, which he found somehow comforting: a house that could keep secrets. He trailed his fingers along the paneled walls, soaking it all in.

"What is this place?"

Yanni let him explore at his own pace, following quietly behind.

"It used to be a school. Hasn't been for years."

Blackheath stopped at a larger room, walls obscured by a heavy floor to ceiling growth of books.

"Must have been some school."

"After the invasion started, a group of us got together and brought everyone's books here, for safekeeping."

Blackheath shook his head, smiling. He liked that; aliens were invading and they were worried about their books. He scanned the titles, his fingers coming to rest on a patchwork of leatherbound volumes, all different sizes and shades.

"You've read Yeats?" Yanni asked.

Blackheath glanced at him.

"I had a bit of time on my hands when I was younger," he murmured.

"Ah, recovering from those burns no doubt."

Blackheath traced the ageing scars insensibly, but didn't correct him. He didn't want to lie to him, but saw no need for the truth either.

"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned.
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."

"You know it well," Blackheath, quietly impressed.

"Everyone knows that one," Yanni dismissed his praise at a glance.