The Shift Key by John Brunner Read Free Book Online Page A

drank it anyway and set about a bowl of mushy health-food.
    Watching her eat, Cedric found himself fascinated – not for the first time – by another private question:
    Does she not know what a three-time loser my old man is? Or is it rather that she knows and is avoiding the risk of being told by someone else who’s noticed? Gramps has. It hasn’t been a secret between me and him since I was – what? – sixteen, I suppose.
    But today, for the first time ever, a third possibility stole under Cedric’s guard, and he contemplated it with vast dismay.
    Or could it be that she does know
–
has known for years – and wants to take advantage of the fact? What? How?
    The idea was so disturbing he had to excuse himself on the pretext of sending off an urgent letter.
    Of course, that wasn’t his real reason for biking down to the village. What he actually wanted was some of StickBember’s current crop of grass, and he detoured via the amusingly-named Wearystale Flat to pick up enough for a dozen spliffs. But he believed in backing up his lies, if he ever needed to tell any, so he took the precaution of carrying along a genuine letter. Therefore it was at the post office that, waiting patiently behind a score of old folk queueing to collect their pensions, he first heard of the strange goings-on in Weyharrow.
    Something else, equally peculiar, happened not long afterwards in Chapminster Magistrates’ Court.
    Jenny Severance had got over her hysterics. She hated to admit that that was what they had been, but how else could one describe sobs and moans that stemmed from remembering something that couldn’t possibly have happened? She had come so close to letting other people know …!
    Still, everyone had been remarkably kind, even Dennis Dewley, even Ian, who had muttered something about her being overtired because she had worked extremely hard since joining the paper, and stressed the need for her to get back on the job like the pilot of a crashed plane, who must fly again at once to stop the rot from setting in.
    The upshot was that she’d been sent to cover the morning session at the magistrates’ court. Of course she wouldn’t have anything to show for it; the paper closed for press at noon, and Ian had looked over the roster of cases due to be heard and told her not to get her knickers in a twist about filing a story before lunch. But just in case anything did show up that might still be live next Friday …
    Grateful, appalled at herself, afraid of going mad, amazed that she had been given this reprieve, she took station on the press bench.
    As usual, she was alone. Now and then, if a juicy case was on the docket, the locals were crowded out by stringers for the national press or even visitors from Fleet Street, but thathad only happened a couple of times so far this year, the latest back in June when a few hippies camping at Weyharrow had been arrested for possessing cannabis.
    Today there was nothing so newsworthy offered to the three magistrates: one fight – both parties bound over to keep the peace and barred from the local pubs for a year; one arrears of maintenance – adjourned for reports from a social worker; one road accident with injury – the driver concerned electing to go before a jury …
    As noon approached she was trying to stifle yawns, though her pencil still flew over the pages of her notebook. After making such a spectacle of herself this morning (Why? Above all, how had she escaped so lightly?) she needed to get back in her editor’s good graces.
    Before he repeated the comment she had not been meant to hear, made behind his hand to Dennis, concerning her need to consult a doctor, or better, a psychiatrist –
    What was that?
    Abruptly she was alert again. This latest case was nothing special, yet it seemed to have aroused the ire of one of the magistrates. For the moment, Jenny realized in horror, she’d forgotten who he was, apart from being a local bigwig. She was leafing frantically