The Blood Tree Read Free Page A

Davie shook his head. “And at least three illicit landings on the shoreline, judging by the tracks and footprints the patrols have found on the beaches. Ever since the Fisheries Guard all but fell apart last year, the coast has been impossible to secure.”
    â€œThe dreaded democrats from Glasgow,” Hector said, his lips cracking into a bitter smile. “How will the Council manage to restrict the dangerous ideas they’ll spread?” Although he’d been as hardline as any guardian in his time, my father had eventually become disillusioned with his colleagues’ drive for total control over what Edinburgh citizens think and do. He reckoned that power had corrupted them. I reckoned he was right.
    Davie wasn’t buying it. “Democrats? Those people are just after a cut of the tourist income. How democratic is it to peddle dope and burn people’s lungs out with cigarettes?”
    â€œI suppose a compulsory lottery like the one the Council runs is all right in your book, is it, Davie?” Hector asked sharply.
    â€œEdlott’s all right,” Davie replied. “It doesn’t do any harm.”
    â€œNot now it doesn’t,” I said. “Now that it’s been cleaned up.” In 2025 I’d opened and closed a very nasty can of worms in the lottery.
    The old man started muttering about the iniquity of forcing citizens to accept fewer food and drink vouchers in exchange for the minuscule chance of winning a not very exciting prize. Then, suddenly, his legs shot out straight. His mouth fell open and his lips turned an unnatural shade of blue. The rattle that came from his throat made the hairs on my neck rise.
    â€œGet the nurse, Davie!” I yelled.
    I bent over my father and pulled the rug away from his chest. The citizen-issue grey pyjamas he was wearing were drenched in sweat. The noise in his throat had subsided. I put my head to his bony chest and listened for a heartbeat. For what seemed like an eternity I didn’t pick anything up. Then a faint, irregular thump came through.
    â€œOut of the way, citizen!” Simpson 46 pushed past me and leaned over the old man. “Stand back,” she said as she took Hector’s wrist and checked her watch.
    â€œWhat is it?” I asked, feeling Davie’s hands on my arms. He pulled me back gently. “What’s happening to him?”
    â€œHeart attack,” the nursing auxiliary said in a clipped voice. “Call the infirmary and get an ambulance down here right away.”
    Davie let go of me and pulled out his mobile. I was only vaguely aware of him talking as I watched Simpson 46 running through procedure that was clearly second nature to her. I stood there helplessly, fighting the impulse to shove the nurse out of the way and grab the old man’s hand. I glanced round the dimly lit room. Hector’s desk was covered with piles of books, the slips of yellow paper that he used to mark passages and make notes hanging limply like streamers the day after a parade. In the corner his bed was as neat as ever. He still made it himself every morning, as well as brushing the faded leather brogues – the sole mark of guardian rank he retained – that stood on the floor beneath.
    Davie came up to me. “The ambulance is on its way. I told them to give it top priority.”
    I nodded and watched as Simpson 46 folded the blanket carefully over Hector’s chest. Then a blast of anger hit me.
    â€œPity you weren’t so meticulous in your care of my father earlier,” I said in a low voice, shaking off Davie’s hand. “He wasn’t listless. He was building up to this.”
    The nursing auxiliary looked at me impassively then shook her head. For her I was just the latest in a long line of relatives who’d lost their grip.
    â€œLeave it, Quint,” Davie said. “At least Hector’s still alive.”
    Simpson 46 nodded. “Quite so, Hume 253. Patients