Free Edge by Thomas Blackthorne Page A

wanting to hide his features as he passed through the gate, not trusting that the cameras were dead. His skin felt prickled as if by tiny ants migrating across him. Then, as he entered the foyer, someone coughed and his heart punched inside his chest. But he had to keep going.
        A wall display showed a multicoloured list, including Intermediate Mandarin, 20:00, Room 17, instructor: T. Maxwell, M.A. (Oxon) , which was what Mr Khan had said. The room was upstairs, so he climbed polished steps, pulling his cap on and tipping it low as he passed beneath a camera, his feet moving by themselves – sua sponte , Mr Robbins would have said, but Latin lessons were a world away, even though he was inside a college – taking him to Room 17.
        "Uh, hello?" This must be T Maxwell. "Are you in this class?"
        "No, sir."
        "Well, it is for adults." A sick brightness rose in his eyes. "I don't suppose you're looking for me?"
        "I've got… something. From, er…"
        "Shall we call him Mr K?"
        Both their hands were shaking, Richard's as he handed over the box, Maxwell's as he took hold of it.
        "OK." Maxwell pushed out a shaky breath that smelled of mint. "OK. And I've paid already, you know that, right?"
        "Er…"
        What to do next? Blankness floated in Richard's mind.
        "Did you want to see me later on?" The voice was slick, like grease-stained silk. "Perhaps outside?"
        "Um. No."
        Fear sluiced down through Richard's body, then he was stumbling from the room, along the corridor and down the grimy stairs, forgetting the cap that was clutched in his hand, his head filled with images of wide-shouldered police with stun-batons and gauntlets, smashing his face before they snapped on magnetic cuffs, dragging him across the floor without regard for
    bloodstains, for he was a criminal now.
         They'll arrest me. Father will kill me.
        The world had changed.
         I'm a criminal.
        Last term, Ms Simms had talked about "phase transitions", the change from ice to liquid water to gas, the same molecules involved, their relationships snapping into new and different configurations. While some changes, like a broken egg, can never be reversed; and you can state the Second Law of Thermodynamics like this: You can't ever go back.
        He had destroyed his life.

    Someone was talking to Jayce outside the college. Had the police had found him already? But the man's silhouette was a little familiar – one of the men from Khan's shop. Maybe he was only a shop assistant; but the look that swivelled in Jayce's direction was dark and cold, then the man was stalking away, not looking back.
        "Do me a favour, man." Jayce's hand trembled, holding out a pen. "Write this, will ya?"
        The pen was a felt-tip, chewed and sticky. Jayce pulled up his sleeve and offered the pale inside of his forearm.
        "Write, uh…" Jayce's eyes jiggled, dancing to ghost music. "Arches, Wandsworth, 9 o'clock Thursday."
        A discarded sweet wrapper lay curled on the ground, containing no trace of green powder.
        "Uh, how do you spell Wandsworth?"
        "Shit, man. How it sounds."
        Richard wrote: ARCHES WONZWORTH 9, thought for a moment, then added: PM THURSDAY.
        "Great." Jayce pushed down his sleeve. "Yeah. Wow. Oh, wow."
        He tilted his head to one side, eyes like slits.
        "What?" Richard looked round. "What is it?"
        "That light, man." Jayce pointed at a streetlamp. "You gotta squeeze your eyes nearly shut. See the pattern? In like your eyelashes?"
        "Diffraction."
        "Say what? You're mad in the head, pal."
        But when Richard started to walk on, Jayce followed, his gait bouncing. Chemical springs in his heels.
        "So where we going, man?"
        "You tell me," said Richard.
        Adrenalised fear was seeping away from him, his body staring to slump in on itself. The