Number Six lay in the darkness, listening to a dream. There was a large bird. It sat on the widow sill, babbling in a faint voice that came from far away. It was an important sound. He'd waited a long time to hear it.
The bird looked over at him. Even in the dark he could see the face. It was that of a man's, carved from marble. There were cameras where the eyes aught to be. They flashed at him, a reminder that he was always watched. He must be careful least the watchers know he only feigned sleep. His true mission was to listen. He listened to the bird. Its babble grew more real. The dream less so. He came a little more awake. There was no bird. But the faint mutter remained.
As the dream faded he was careful to keep his mind quiet. Even at this late hour they were spying. His every breath observed. Every flicker of an eye lid noted, as if he were a lab rat to be tested and studied. He listened to the night. Far off beyond the Village, the ocean rolled restlessly against the sea wall. And over this the motor boat muttered by the dock.
He judged it to past midnight. That quiet time when all the world is locked in sleep. They had been foolish to leave him in peace for so long. Number Two's obsession with the present game had forestalled the late night assaults that robbed him of rest and remembrances. It was a grand folly that had afforded him the one opportunity he so desperately needed. To listen for the return of the ship.
The motor boat's engine suddenly surged, then faded, going away into the night. There was a long interval of relative quite. The engine noise was just a disturbance, scarcely heard or only imagined. The boat was far out in the bay now, pulled along side the ship, taking on cargo. He kept himself in a semi conscious state. clinging cautiously to the edges of reality. Just aware enough to hear the boat's return.
It came and went many times. A long hour slipped by. Then at last the sound of the engine died and in its absence he could hear a car idling and voices, carried faintly on the night air. Then car too went away, leaving the only the fitful slapping of the waves. There had been a total of six trips from the dock out to the ship in the bay. Not much cargo for a population as large as The Village. Resupply must be frequent. He thoughts were becoming dreamy even as he calculated. It was Sunday night. Provided it had been a Sunday when the sound of the boat had first wakened him in the hospital, that put the shipments at seven day intervals. Lucky number seven.
Sleep was returning. It promised to be deep and pleasant. The rest would do him good. A week was a long time to hold back the madness of a king. He allowed himself to drift down into the dreams that eagerly awaited him.
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Still disheveled from his bed, Number Two entered the control room and stood for a moment at the top of the stair. On the huge screen the overhead camera tracked Number Six the way a hawk tracks a rabbit. Two rubbed his bleary eyes, the worry that had kept him up half the night was stirred to life again as he watched the man cross the deserted Square with his characteristic determination.
Below him the control room was quite at this early hour, manned by only the boon operators and the Supervisor, who looked his way in stern acknowledgment.
"How long has he been out?" Number Two demanded.
The supervisor replied coolly. "I rang you the moment he left his cottage."
The subject on the screen moved with great intensity. A man on a mission. He scowled, he was already a step behind. Yesterday in the Grove Number Six had performed some slight of hand to convince them of his change of heart. A clever act that had resulted in a congratulatory call from the masters. Their confidence in him momentarily restored, while his own was oddly shaken. He realized with distaste that this was the matter that had deprived him of his sleep. His betters regarded as a victory what he suspected to be a mere ploy. Sourly he considered the consequences of their eagerness to believe the in man's performance. And subsequently in his own success. Any attempt on his part to dissuade them put him in an untenable position. It was a clever play on Six's part.
He went on down the stairs and followed the boon round to stand next to the bald man. Number Six had reached the Bell Tower and mounted the stairs with the ferocity of a warrior charging into battle. He swept up to the top. Once there he surveyed the still sleeping Village cast in the shadow of the mountains. His eyes went for a moment on the Green Dome, dull in the early light. Then quit suddenly all the energy went out of his manner. He settled himself comfortably on the railing and looked out to sea. After a moment of idleness he lit a cigarette and blew smoke leisurely, taking his ease. It was almost unsettling to see him in this uncustomary calm. The prisoner was gone and in his stead was the man he was once was, before The Village. The confident agent awaiting some clandestine meeting. A man very much in charge of himself and at home in the world. An act like all the rest of it. And yet Number Two found himself set on edge by the apparent transformation.
"He's waiting for someone." The Supervisor observed.
"The girl." Two said. "Switch to Number Seven."
The camera found her. She was dressed and pacing her dim room. There was no indication of agitation. She was subdued, uncertainly marked her steps. She was clearly trying to make up her mind about something. As she turned to the camera he saw her number was pinned to her shirt. So attired she was the picture of a model citizen of the Village. Yet here she was, up before dawn, clearly contemplating breaking curfew. There was little doubt Number Six had made some kind of arrangement with her. But to what end? He felt weary, like a runner trying to close the distance in the last leg of the race.
He noted that she wore the red scarf Number Six had given her. A precious gift from a dear friend. Did she still consider him a friend? Someone to be trusted? If the callousness with which Number Six had handled her had not shaken her bond with him it may in some perverse way strengthened it.
On the screen the girl had came to decision. She faced the door.
The Supervisor said, "Curfew is still in effect for another two hours."
"If Number Six has requested she join him, she will."
The girl went to the door. When it failed to open she tried the handle. Her manner was listless. Whatever this randevu she seemed to lack enthusiasm for it. She began to pace again, slowly drifting about the room like a lost shadow. She was irritatingly docile. Was it shock or had she truly adjusted? He had expected more resistance from such a fiery spirit. But he may have misjudged her resolve. Perhaps he was to quick to look for trouble. The doubt brought a wave of annoyance. He could ill afford to second guess himself at every turn.
A few more wandering laps round the room found her at a window. She may be subdued, but she was still willing enough to break the rules. The window opened obligingly and she slipped out, never so much as glancing at the cameras. She knew she was watched. She simply didn't care. This subterfuge was to be on full display.
"You were right." The Supervisor said. "She's going to him."
"It's Number Six's charm. No one can resist it." He said bitterly. "Not even his keepers."
The Supervisor's skeptical glance caused him to bristle inwardly. They were too eager to believe the fiction created for them by Number Six.
"Number Six is devious character." He cautioned, "In his former work he had a reputation for making unwitting allies of his enemies."
"The directive regarding Number Six is very clear." The Supervisor replied almost dismissively. "Any attempt on his part to subvert Village personal is guarded against."
He shoved down a desire to push the matter as a chilling realization dawned. With Machiavellian precision Number Six had maneuvered him into a position of isolation. The Village believed the man had submitted. How was he to convince them otherwise? He found himself conspicuously alone in his suspicions. The Village in its wisdom treasured the man's mind yet failed to appreciate its cunning. A failing that could lead to his detriment.
He said with sudden irritation."I want an extra measure of percussion. Any irregular contact with Number Six is to be reported to me immediately."
"Of course." The man said, his tone dripping with servility. "I will see that everyone is advised."
He looked to the screen where the girl made her way without haste through the quiet Village. There was something he had failed to properly access. A thing of great importance. For the first time the girl glanced at a camera, and eerily seemed to catch his eye. She was so much like Number Six. Always taunting. He glowered darkly as he considered her, she had never been what she seemed but rather something else. A viper wrapped up in the skin of a girl. Treacherous. Dangerous. He remembered her heart beating under his fingers. The tender fragility of her life held in his hand. She was as to likely to betray him as she was to be loyal. Perhaps he had been foolish to restrain himself. It would have been better to have put an end to it. The thought was like a fever in his brain. His fingers curled themselves into claws.
Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be alone. He needed time to collect his thoughts. To unravel the intricate web Number Six had laid for him. Abruptly he headed for the stairs. "I will monitor the situation from my office." he said over his shoulder. "Have the Butler prepare breakfast."
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The breakfast laid out before him was as unappetizing as pile of sawdust. He picked at his toast and disliked his tea as the cameras tracked Number Seven through the Square. It was clear she was heading the to Bell Tower where Number Six waited.
He switched back to the man, still seated comfortably on the rail. Not a care in the world. If he were impatient for the girl's arrival, he made no show of it.
He found Number Seven again, approaching the Tower cautiously, giving every appearance of a shattered confidence. She stopped at the foot of the outer staircase and looked round for the first time before starting up.
She trotted up the outer stairs and stopped again, looking in at the dim curving staircase that led to the top of the tower. The hesitation was brief, she was committed. She started up. Even here the cameras tracked her. She hesitated midway and looked out at the Green Dome. Her face was as empty as ever, as if it were painted on a wax dummy. Even so he felt uneasy as her eyes first brushed over him, then came back to rest on his for a brief moment. They revealed nothing to justify the near panic he felt. She was dull, broken. An obedient servant following whatever instruction were given her.
He flicked away to Six. The man had no doubt heard her but made no indication of having taken notice. He was still aggravatingly serene. A man at peace with his place in the world.
When she appeared at the top of the landing he spoke without looking at her. "Did anyone see you?"
"Only if their eyes were open." Her voice was without levity but he thought Number Six might have been smiling as he turned away from the camera. It gave him the impression he was left out of joke, made at his expense.
Number Seven leaned out over the railing. Her eyes went out to the ocean, then swept to the heights of the mountains, blushed pink in the gathering dawn, then came back down to rest on the Green Dome. She was still without feeling. She might have been carved of plaster. She was as she had been yesterday in the grove. Passive. Not an ounce of defiance in her.
Number Six stood. "We'll go down." He too glanced towards the Dome."We can get a better angle from a lower level."
He lead the way down the stair and the girl followed. They stopped on the third landing and he leaned out between the pillars. Casually he looked towards the Dome, just as the girl had done. His face was harsh in the early light.
"The hunter," He said, "studies his prey. Learns its habits. The trails it follows. The time of day food and water are sought..." Number Six's eyes were steady, looking right through the camera. Seeing him where he sat with cold toast forgotten in his hand. "Such knowledge is invaluable."
Number Seven was beside him, listening in a distant manner. Two conspiratorial minds united in common purpose. He felt like one who had realized a secret desire only to realize too late the true nature of it.
"But if you know where to find his lair,"Six pointed at the Dome, drawing the girl's attention. "You can get him when he least expects it."
Safe behind the screen, Number Two felt suddenly cold as Number Six appeared to shoulder an imaginary rifle. Taking a wide stance, the man braced the barrel against the near pillar and allowed the muzzle to fall until it pointed at the door beyond the portico. A ghost of a smile crossed the girl's lips.
On the screen Number Six's face loomed large and menacing as he seemed to find an unseen target. A tremor ran through Number Two. He was the target.
Number Six was consumed by the play acting. He cocked his head at a low angle as if his cheek rested against a rifle stock and he seemed to sight along the barrel. There was a relaxed stillness in his body of one accustom to such a position.
Watching Six sight down the barrel of his make believe weapon Number Two could almost see the wicked black mouth of the muzzle pointed directly at him. Merely an illusion created by a talented performer of coarse. The man's hands were empty. Only that cold blue eye looked back at him. In it he saw death.
Six was speaking again, his voice a low murmur, "Know when the target will be coming or going." his aim was steady on the door. "If you have done your home work well, you only have to wait. Your quarry will come to you."
Rage boiled up. How dare the man openly threaten him. Number Two bolted from his chair and moved round the desk. Unnervingly the barrel of Six's rifle followed him like a phantom. There was no weapon. Just the man's eyes, tracking him blindly. He reached for the phone.
On the screen Number Six took a deep breath and held steady. His trigger finger curled slowly round the air. And Number Two tensed for the shot that would never come.
The sound of the Supervisor's voice suddenly in his ear made him flinch.
On the screen Six relaxed his stance, allowing the illusion of the rifle evaporate. He spoke to the girl. "Learn this lesson and learn it well."
The Supervisor was in his ear again and he realized with rising ire that he hadn't been listening. He barked. "Number Seven will be in for an interrogation tonight. I want Number Forty Nine to observe."
He slammed the phone down before hearing the subservient reply. On the screen Six was going down the steps with the girl trailing behind faithful as a puppy. Sourly Number Two remembered the deal she had made with him. He would soon find out where her true loyalties lay.