Dusk's Revenge

by A. W. Exley

  Elijah picked up his beer and followed Manny through the patrons. The others all looked up with suspicion in their eyes. Manny pointed to each and rattled off their names.

  Manny sat on the hard bench seat and waved for Eli to take the spot next to him. “John, Reuben, this is Eli. He’s just moved to Kessel. Let’s make him welcome and see how many beers it takes to make him fall off his perch.”

  Across from Elijah sat John, a short, stout lad with dark hair and nearly black eyes. He fixed Elijah with a dark and suspicious stare. “Where are you from?”

  Elijah sipped the ale. He had been determined to hate everything about Kessel, but he couldn’t complain about the quality of the beer. “Lancashire. Granddad was born here but moved away as a lad. After fifty years he thought it was time to come back. I figured one place is as good as another to try to find work.”

  The barmaid dropped a plate piled high with beef and potatoes in front of Elijah. He inhaled the rich gravy and his stomach rumbled. It had recovered from ejecting lunch and reminded him that it was completely empty and ready to be filled.

  “Thank you,” he said as he picked up the knife and fork.

  “What sort of work are you looking for? There isn’t much going around here,” Manny said. He placed a hand on the barmaid’s behind as she set a plate of dinner in front of him.

  She swatted his hand away. “Get off with you, you cheeky runt.”

  Elijah swallowed a mouthful of meat and gravy. It was good. In his mind, he’d expected to find Kessel a rancid, festering sore of unhappiness, but at every turn he discovered it ordinary and similar to the home he’d left. Perhaps as the evening progressed he would discover he had fallen in with a pack of criminals. That would cheer him up and confirm his suspicions about the corrupt influence of the Hamiltons.

  “I heard the mill here might be hiring and I’ve done that type of work before. I need to find a job so I can support my grandparents.” Elijah took another sip of his beer. It seemed unfair to enter a drinking competition with the other lads. Gargoyles were solid creatures that could absorb far more alcohol than a human.

  “I work there in the warehouse and jobs for strong lads come available sometimes. Every Monday morning they announce any jobs that are going,” Manny said.

  Today was Saturday. Elijah wouldn’t have to wait too long for his chance to secure a position at the mill. “I’ll be there Monday morning, then, and hope they have a job going for me.”

  “Tomorrow’s a day off and we’re going fishing, if you want to join us?” John said from over the top of his beer.

  He hadn’t been fishing for some time and it reminded him of summers spent at the lake. “I’d like that.” Elijah toasted his new friends and wondered what the coming weeks would bring. For some reason the face of a shapely salamander kept interrupting his thoughts.

  5

  After several more beers, Elijah crept back to the cottage to find a single lantern burning in the kitchen and a range of noises coming from the other bedroom. Giggling, groans, and a rhythmic knock against the wall made him grab the lantern and hurry to his bedroom. Fortunately the sounds of the honeymooning couple were muffled by the door and the pillow he clamped over his head.

  The next morning he was awoken by a rooster crowing right outside his window. Elijah glared at the creature as he pulled on his trousers. The bird strutted in front of the barn and called for his hens, still nesting in the hay. Given the way the bird’s screech jabbed through his head, he might have drunk more beer than he’d thought the previous night.

  In the kitchen, Marjory hummed to herself as she cooked sausages and eggs. Hector grinned from over his mug of tea.

  “Did you have a good night?” Hector asked.

  Elijah pulled out a chair and sat before reaching for a piece of toast. “I met some local lads. They told me the mill hires on a Monday morning if they have any jobs going.”

  “We’ll do some nosing around today when we go into the village.” Marjory carried the pan to the table and dished out the sausages and eggs.

  “We’ll find a cat, too, to keep those pesky seekers away that scurry in the dark corners,” Hector said.

  Elijah fell upon his breakfast. As he’d neared the age of maturity for an Elemental, his hunger grew along with his body. His frame filled out, adding the bulk and muscles that set apart gargoyles from the more elegant elements.

  “The Hamiltons own the mansion that’s built into the side of the hill behind us. Lots of local people are employed in the house and grounds. I might see if there are any gardening jobs to be had.” Hector shovelled a whole egg into his mouth and then stabbed a piece of sausage.

  “Looking at that place they need old goats like you to cling to the side of the hill.” Marjory kissed the top of Hector’s head as she passed.

  “Do be careful. Uncle would never forgive me if something happened to either of you.” Nor would Elijah forgive himself. The couple were the equivalent of grandparents to him. Family not by blood, but by choice.

  Hector grinned. “As I told your uncle, I have long legs so I can run from any trouble.”

  After breakfast Elijah saddled up his horse and headed off in search of the other lads. A river wound its way around the village and was once used to power mills with water wheels. Manny said the youths would be fishing somewhere along its length.

  He found a spot where the river intersected the road and decided to follow the water upstream. The day was warm and sunny, and he gave the horse a long rein as they plodded along, the gelding snatching mouthfuls of lush grass as they passed. After an hour of quiet travel, he found the lads lounging in the sun. Manny waved in greeting.

  Elijah tied his horse to a nearby tree and joined them. Two of the lads had poles in the water, while Manny was stretched out on the grass, staring at the sky.

  “Any fish yet?” Elijah asked as he sat down next to Manny.

  “Nope. Those two are useless.” Manny sat up and waved at the fishermen.

  “At least we’re trying.” John sat on a rock with his feet in the water.

  “I’m taking a managerial role,” Manny said.

  “Which means you’re no bloody use at all.” Reuben pulled in his line and stared at the empty hook.

  “At least I know you can’t catch a fish without bait!” Manny pointed and laughed.

  “Yes, you can, if you use your hands instead.” Elijah laid down a challenge.

  Laughter sparkled in Manny’s brown eyes. “Go on, then. Let’s see you catch a fish without a line or bait.”

  “All right then, I shall.” Elijah pulled off his boots and socks, tucking the latter into the former for safekeeping. Next he rolled his trouser legs up to his knees to keep as much of his clothing dry as possible.

  Then he waded into the chilly water. He skirted around the deeper parts, not wanting to go for a swim. He walked a little way upstream. Rocks and pebbles slid under his feet as he looked for a ledge or outcrop that might conceal a trout.

  A likely spot was not too far away on the same side as the lads. He stepped cautiously through the water, careful not to disturb the bottom, as the other lads laughed and jeered from the bank. Elijah blocked them out. It took patience and a steady hand to tickle a trout and he wouldn’t be rushed or distracted.

  As he neared, Elijah spotted the edge of a fin poking out from under the ledge. He took another quiet step towards his target, and then he slowed his breathing as he eased his hands into the water and reached out to the fish.

  With a slow, gentle touch, Elijah stroked a finger along the belly of the trout. He kept his movements rhythmic, lulling the fish into a kind of trance. When a minute had passed, he snatched his hands together and flicked upwards at the same time, launching the trout out of the water and up onto the bank, where it flopped on the grass before the other lads.

  His new friends hooted in laughter.

  “How did you do that?” Manny asked as John stunned the trout with a stick.

  Elijah shru
gged. “Lots of practice.”

  He climbed out of the river and stretched out to let his feet and legs dry in the sun. The trout would make a fine dinner when he took it back to the cottage. The other lads talked around him and Elijah listened, hoping for any nugget that might help in his mission. Although they were mainly concerned with comparing the attributes of the local lasses.

  John’s fingers worked in the grass until he pulled free a pebble. Next he drew a slingshot from his back pocket, fitted the stone to the piece of rubber, and pulled back. He aimed at something up in the trees.

  Elijah looked up, trying to find what he had spotted in the foliage.

  John let go of the pebble and it flew into the tree. A squawk was followed by a large black bird taking flight.

  “Missed the bugger,” John muttered, and he shoved the slingshot back into his pocket.

  As the bird circled and flew away, its shadow passed over Elijah. He rubbed his hand over his arms at the sudden chill. “What’s that bird ever done to you?”

  “The Hamiltons offer a bounty for ravens. There’s good coin as a reward if you take them a dead one.” John peered upwards, searching the leaves and branches for another raven.

  “I didn’t think there were any left around here. We haven’t seen one for years. That one won’t last long. Someone will hand in its corpse for a fine reward.” Manny stared off in the direction the bird had flown.

  Elijah stopped the shudder that wanted to run through his body. The warmth vanished from the day and the bright colours faded to grey. They killed ravens for coin. What bounty would the Hamiltons offer for an actual Warder?

  Early Monday morning, just as the first light crept over the horizon and dribbled a sliver of colour across the sky, Hector drove Elijah to the mill in the cart and dropped him at the main gate.

  “Good luck, lad. We’ll see you whenever you come home.” He touched the brim of his hat and then clucked his tongue to the horse.

  Elijah walked through the main gate and towards the mill. The industrial revolution had been felt more keenly in mill work. People who used to labour at home alone were moved to large buildings. Looms and machinery used first water power and then steam to process cotton and produce cloth.

  Cotton production was hard work, and the fine fibres were flammable. Wooden buildings that burned quickly were replaced by a new sort of fireproof construction using steel beams, brick vaults, and concrete floors. Sturdier construction was also needed to support the heavier machinery.

  The Hamilton mill appeared to be a modern construction with its soaring windows and multiple storeys. It was situated by the river and perhaps once would have relied on the water flow to drive its machinery. Now high-powered engines were powered by ropes through horizontal shafts on each floor. Engines needed space and those, along with their boilers, were housed next to the main building. Puffs of smoke from tall chimney stacks gave away their placement.

  As Elijah walked closer he mentally sorted the mill activities by their location. Over the last few decades, floors became larger and higher to provide more light for spinning thread. The bay size of a mill was determined by how the machinery was positioned. The Alysblud mill was smaller than the one before him, but then it wove silk, not cotton, and used different processes.

  The central block would be offices and warehousing. Either side Elijah suspected would be the spinning and weaving rooms. A single-level wing ran adjacent to the main building and he labelled that as the carding floor. As carding carried the far greater fire risk, those floors were often jutting out from the rest of the mill.

  All around him, people flowed through the gate and then split into groups. A queue was created at either end of the building as workers filed in to start their day. In the centre, before the main entrance, another group assembled. Elijah assumed those were the ones hoping for a job opening and he joined them.

  The office part of the building was adorned with a clock that was at least three feet in diameter. The smaller hand pointed to seven and as the larger hand moved to point to twelve, chimes rang out across the yard. As the note of the seventh chime faded, a whistle blew. The workday had started.

  Stairs ran up from two sides to join with a wide patio. Large double doors with cut glass panels were sheltered by a verandah. The rising sun hit brass letters attached to the brick and washed the name Hamilton & Sons with pale fire.

  Elijah ground his teeth. While he waited, he imagined the mill suffering the same fate as the Ocram mansion in Whiterock. He envisioned it breaking apart as it was swallowed by the ground beneath its foundation. Given the mill was chock-full of flammable material, he added a monstrous fireball to his mental image. That would send the Soarers all drifting back to Ouranus, their creator, as ash.

  There was little to do but shuffle his feet and watch the hands on the clock mark each minute. Some men conversed in low, hushed tones as though they didn’t want to disturb the people working in the office. A few tired-looking children sat on the ground, hugging knees to their chests or playing knuckle bones.

  As the clock chimed eight, the front doors opened and a man holding a clipboard stepped out. He was dressed in a tweed suit with a starched white collar with high points and a brown tie. Dark-rimmed spectacles sat on his nose and he dropped his head to peer over them at the crowd.

  “We only have three openings this week,” he said in a loud, clear voice.

  The crowd shuffled closer, as though he were going to toss out candies and they had to be first to grab one.

  “First up, we need a doffer and a spinner,” he read out and then looked up.

  The adults groaned and then shuffled aside as a cluster of children moved through the crowd. Children were often employed for their small and dexterous hands. Young girls started their working lives as spinners and boys as either doffers or sweepers. Doffers removed, or doffed, the bobbins on the spinning machines when they were full.

  Elijah bit his outrage at the young children lined up for employment. His uncle wouldn’t employ anyone under the age of twelve, but he’d read that other mills exploited orphans to undertake the dangerous task of removing fluff from moving machines.

  The man with the clipboard stared at the children in their dirty clothes and worn shoes.

  “You…and you.” He pointed his pen to a small girl and a lean boy. Then he pointed to the door at the south end of the building. “Go that way and report to Harvey.”

  He consulted his piece of paper. “Last position is for a strong lad in the warehouse.”

  Elijah raised his hand. As did a number of other men in the crowd.

  He pushed his way to the front. The men vying for the position lined up before the manager. Elijah felt like a bull on market day, waiting to have his teeth inspected. To his eye, he was the best prospect being fit, young, clean, and with the added bonus of hidden gargoyle strength. Not that he could shift form while standing in the middle of Soarer territory. That would put a quick end to his covert mission.

  Before the manager could begin his inspection, Beatrice Hamilton pushed through the door and stepped out onto the patio. Today she wore a deep blue dress with a high collar and long sleeves. It seemed almost business-like with its clean lines and lack of embellishment. Her burnished copper hair was pulled back in a tight bun at her nape and her head was bare of any hat.

  She peered over the man’s shoulder at his clipboard and murmured something. She looked up and ran her eye over the lined-up men. She glanced over Elijah and then a small frown wrinkled her forehead. She looked back at him.

  “You. You’re the one who removed the stone from my horse’s foot.” She waved a finger at his head.

  “Yes, Miss Hamilton.” He stood straighter as he met her gaze and silently renewed his vow to see her family fall for murdering his father. He didn’t doubt that this lovely form hid a rotten heart, just as his mother’s had.

  She conferred with the man and then nodded at Elijah before walking back into the building.

&nbs
p; The manager scribbled something on his pad and then pointed to Elijah. “It’s your lucky day, lad. Miss Hamilton picked you for the job. Go that way and report to the foreman. Everyone else, go home and come back next Monday.”

  Moans and groans of disappointment washed over the crowd, along with a few pointed whispers aimed at Elijah, the stranger among them who had just landed a plum job.

  He headed to the side of the offices and the busy warehouse wedged between the two working ends of the mill. Carts were arriving and either being loaded up with bolts of fabric, or unloaded with sacks of raw cotton to be carded and spun.

  His new friend Manny was carrying bolts from a stack inside and laying them on canvas in the back of a cart.

  “Did you get the job?” he yelled out.

  “Yes. I’m to report to the foreman.” Elijah grinned. The chance encounter had played to his advantage after all.

  Manny gestured with the end of a bolt towards another clipboard-carrying man. “You’ll need to see Mr Baxter.”

  “Mr Baxter, I’m the new hire, Eli Hector,” Elijah said when he stopped in front of the man.

  Mr Baxter looked Elijah up and down. “At least you look like a strong lad.”

  “I am indeed, sir.” He would be the first Warder put to work in a Soarer mill.

  “We’re loading the carts. Everything needs to be on by ten so they can meet the incoming train. You take from there”—he pointed to bolts of fabric all stacked on pallets—“and load into those wagons.” He pointed to the wagons with their patiently harnessed draught horses.

  Time passed with monotonous regularity. Lift. Carry. Place. Repeated over and over. Elijah may as well have been a machine, as there was little deviation from his path. While he’d spent some time at his family’s mill, he’d never realised so many bolts of fabric or bags of supplies were involved. Not until he had to lift and move every single one himself.