Some Lie and Some Die Read Online Free Page B

O Level subject, I can tell you.’
    Wexford laughed. He could hardly take his eyes off the girl, and this was not because she attracted him or even because he admired her looks—he didn’t. What intrigued him was contemplating for a moment the life her appearance advertised, a life and way of life utterly remote, he imagined, from anything he had ever known or, come to that, anything the majority of these fans had ever known. It was said that Vedast was a local boy made good. Where did she come from?What strange ladder had she climbed to find herself here and now the cynosure of so many eyes, embraced in public by the darling of the ‘scene’?
    Vedast withdrew his arm and kissed Betti Ho on both cheeks. It was the continental statesman’s salute that has become the ‘in’ thing for a certain élite. Betti turned to Nell Tate and they too kissed. Then the Chinese girl climbed into her helicopter and the doors were closed.
    ‘Things’ll break up soon,’ said Burden. ‘What time is it?’
    ‘Half four. The air’s very heavy. Going to be a storm.’
    ‘I wouldn’t like to be in that thing in a storm.’
    The aircraft buzzed and whirred and rose. Betti Ho leaned out and waved a yellow silk arm. The fans began to drift back towards Sundays park, drawn by the sound of amplified guitars. The Greatheart, a three-man group, had taken the stage. Burden, listening to them, began to show his first signs of approval since the beginning of the concert. The Greatheart made a specialty of singing parodies of wartime hits, but Burden didn’t yet know they were parodies and a half-sentimental, half-suspicious smile twitched his lips.
    Martin Silk was sitting on a camp-stool by the ashes of a dead fire talking to the boy in the magpie coat. It was too warm and humid to wear a jacket, let alone a fur coat, but the boy hadn’t taken it off, as far as Wexford had noticed, since his arrival. Perhaps his dark bronze skin was accustomed to more tropical skies.
    ‘Not a spot of trouble, you see,’ said Silk, looking up.
    ‘I wouldn’t quite say that. There was that fire. Someone’s reported a stolen bike and the bloke selling tee-shirts has had a hell of a lot pinched.’
    ‘It’s quite O.K. to nick things from
entrepreneurs,’
said the magpie boy in a mild, soft voice.
    ‘In your philosophy, maybe. If and when it ever becomes the law of the land I’ll go along with you.’
    ‘It will, man, it will. Come the revolution.’
    Wexford hadn’t actually heard anyone speak seriously ofthe promised revolution as a foreseeable thing since he was himself a teenager in the early thirties. Apparently they were still on the same old kick. ‘But then,’ he said, ‘there won’t be any
entrepreneurs
, will there?’
    The magpie boy made no reply but merely smiled very kindly. ‘Louis,’ said Silk proudly, ‘is reading philosophy at the University of the South. He has a remarkable political theory of his own. He is quite prepared to go to prison for his beliefs.’
    ‘Well, he won’t for his beliefs,’ said Wexford. ‘Not, that is, unless he breaches the peace with them.’
    ‘Louis is the eldest son of a paramount chief. One day Louis Mbowele will be a name to be reckoned with in the emerging African states.’
    ‘I shouldn’t be at all surprised,’ said Wexford sincerely. In his mind’s eye he could see future headlines, blood, disaster, tyranny, and all well meant. ‘Philosophy doctorate, political theory, British prison—he’ll soon have all the qualifications. Good luck. Remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.’
    ‘Peace be with you,’ said the African gravely.
    Burden was standing with Superintendent Letts of the uniformed branch.
    ‘Nearly all over, Reg,’ said Letts.
    ‘Yes. I don’t want to be mean, but I’d like it soon to be over. All done and trouble-free.’
    ‘Before the storm comes too. It’ll be hell getting this lot off the park in a downpour.’
    Above the roof of Sundays house the sky