Under Gornstock

by Clive Mullis

  ‘You mean all this is from ill-gotten gains?’

  ‘Oh, yes, same as all the churches; you ever had a look inside some of them?’

  Phil nodded. ‘Yeah, I’ve nicked a few bits.’

  ‘Then you know what I mean; same applies to them, only instead of stealing your money, they get you to give it to them. It’s a great big confidence trick when you boil it down. They’re promising you something that they can’t deliver: when you find out, it’s too late because you’re already dead.’

  ‘But there are gods,’ countered Phil. ‘Loads o’ ‘em.’

  ‘Yes, but there are more gods than churches. Who built those churches? Who asked for money to build those churches? Who asks for money to keep those churches going? The churchmen who decide to worship one particular god, that’s who. They don’t worry about the rest of the gods, because they’re earning from one. One god has just the same amount of power as the next one, but the churches just focus on one god each and frighten the people into giving them money and hope that the people will forget the other gods.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘It just means that some churches are better than others at extorting money.’

  ‘I take it you’re not a fan of churches?’

  ‘No, I’m bloody not.’

  ‘You do surprise me.’

  Cornwallis sighed, feeling better now he’d got that off his chest. ‘Now, let’s get back to doing what we’re here for, see if you can spot our mystery man.’

  The chamber beyond the lobby was out of bounds for non-members, but fee-paying citizens could watch the Assembly conduct business from a gallery. The enthusiasm for observing the government in action was such that it was frequently empty, devoid of onlookers, and the queue to watch, conspicuous by its absence. The populace of Gornstock couldn’t be arsed.

  Cornwallis guided Phil up the stairs and deposited a couple of dollars into the hand of a surprised looking official, roused from contemplating either the meaning of life, or the inside of his eyelids, and went into the gallery.

  Dust covered the benches and spiders had free rein as the cobwebs indicated. The windows at the back of the gallery could have done with a bit of a polish and the floor hadn’t seen a broom for weeks.

  Cornwallis pulled out a clean hankie and wiped a bench down and then they sat, leaning over the rail above the Assembly.

  ‘Take your time,’ said Cornwallis quietly. ‘There’s only about half of them here, but one or two may wander in from time to time.’

  Phil began to scrutinise the members, looking keenly trying to spot the one they wanted. Cornwallis spotted his father, sitting next to the Warden, stifle a yawn as another member droned on about something to do with the law regarding sheep escaping from the slaughterhouse; they were arguing that the finder assumes ownership because the slaughterhouse would be proven negligent, or some such waffle which was neither interesting nor important, except maybe for the sheep.

  The earl received a nudge from behind and a whisper in his ear then looked up at the gallery, giving a nod of recognition, he then mined raising a pint. Cornwallis smiled and then shook his head, pointing a finger at Phil. The members’ bar was for members only, but the bar next door was available to all so Cornwallis mined a flick with his fingers and raised his own pretend pint. The earl gave a small nod and then patted the Warden on the shoulder as he got up to leave, the droning continuing without a break.

  ‘E ain’t ‘ere,’ said Phil quietly once he looked at all those assembled below. ‘An’ listening to that lot down there I’m surprised that anyone’s ‘ere.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘That’s about as exciting as it gets. The real business is done in the members’ bar and down in the lobby, same as all governments everywhere. This is all for show, though very few ever turn up for it. Come on, we’ll go and have a drink in the free bar.’

  ‘Free bar?’

  ‘Not what you think, you still have to pay. It’s just free of restrictions, meaning anyone can go in.’

  Cornwallis had wondered on the wisdom of bringing Phil into the Assembly, into all this wealth and privilege where an astute thief could wreak havoc, especially one who could quite rightly hold a grievance against everyone there. Phil had, in the space of an hour, gone from the worst sort of poverty to rubbing shoulders with the highest in the land, a transformation that must be addling his mind.

  A surreptitious look as they left the gallery convinced Cornwallis that Phil had put his resentment aside, unless of course, he hid his fury well and the reaction was going to come later when the realisation hit home that to these people he was just a dog turd on the boot of humanity. He wasn’t going to count his chickens just yet, but so far, the flick-knife hadn’t made an appearance.

  The free bar adjoined the members’ bar and its clientele comprised of all those working at the Assembly, but who were not members of the Assembly. Members could go to the free bar to entertain visitors and hangers-on, or journalists and campaigners. It was the busiest bar in the house and the place where many members preferred to be.

  The bar heaved at this time of the morning. Cornwallis and Phil used their elbows to force their way through to the bar where the earl waited alongside three freshly pulled pints of Splodge, or “best bitter” as a non-member might say.

  ‘What on twearth are you doing here in this godforsaken place, my boy?’

  Cornwallis smiled at his father’s welcome. ‘Business, actually.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, let’s find somewhere to talk.’

  ‘Little chance of that in here, but there are places where nobody listens, if you know what I mean.’

  The earl eyed Phil the Flick a little warily as the trio again deployed elbows to move over to the far side where talk was at its loudest and where a small group could converse in private.

  ‘What’s this all about then?’ asked the earl, once they had found a suitable spot.

  ‘The Pipe,’ replied Cornwallis, his words disappearing into the hubbub of conversations going on all around them. ‘This is Phil and he saw one of the saboteurs walk in here.’

  ‘Saboteurs?’

  ‘Rose told you some of it; since then there’s been an arson attack on The Pipe by those two lads. Phil here saw the man who seems to be arranging these little diversions with them, he saw him pass money to them and then he saw him come in here. Ergo, he works here.’

  ‘I just seen him,’ said Phil quietly.

  ‘That’s not good,’ said the earl. ‘I’ve been looking at the pros and cons of The Pipe, whether it’ll be good or bad for the city, as you know, and now I have concluded my analyses, deciding it’ll be good. The Warden agrees and is happy for it to go ahead.’

  ‘‘E’s over there,’ said Phil.

  ‘That’s good news, but have you heard any rumours about some people wanting to stop it, regardless?’

  ‘No, there are a few who aren’t keen, but none of them particularly vociferous. The Guilds don’t like it, but with the Warden going along with it, there’s nothing they can do.’

  Phil grabbed Cornwallis’ arm.

  ‘What?’ snapped Cornwallis.

  ‘I’ve been telling you, he’s over there.’

  Cornwallis’ head whizzed around. ‘Where?’ he asked urgently.

  ‘There, that bloke over there.’

  ‘Which bloke?’

  ‘The one next to that other fella.’

  ‘Which other fellow?’

  ‘The bloke’s next to the fella who’s talking to the geezer.’

  ‘Geezer? Which geezer?’

  ‘The one talking to the fella.’

  Cornwallis’ mind began to scramble as he tried to make sense of it all, but realising that it was impossible to distinguish a bloke from a fellow or a fellow from a geezer he gave up. ‘Go and stand next to the bloke,’ he ordered in the end.

  Phil shuffled forward, after raising his eyebrows and sighing heavily at Cornwallis’ inability to unde
rstand plain Gornstockian, to stand next to a man with his back turned towards them. He raised a finger and then jabbed it towards the bloke, nearly ramming it in his back in his eagerness. He then twitched his head in the bloke’s general direction, emphasising the jab of his finger.

  Cornwallis signalled his understanding with a slow nod of his head and then beckoned Phil to return to them.

  ‘Who’s that then?’ asked Cornwallis, turning towards his father.

  ‘That, young Jocelyn, is Fletcher Phimp. His master is Celwyn Brooksturner, the relatively new Minister responsible for Dwarfs and Bipeds.’

  Chapter 24

  Goodhalgan stood with his arms braced against his waist with his elbows jutting out, looking much like an ancient urn, with a look of contented pride etched on his face as the dwarfs raced along like ants in their nests, scurrying between the chambers, hurrying this way and that, up and down, here and there. Activity was everywhere and there was no respite as the day of The Pipe’s opening fast approached. The king of the dwarfs pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and perused it.

  The chief engineer sidled up to the king of the dwarfs with a roll of plans gripped in his hands, just as Goodhalgan finished reading Cornwallis’ note.

  ‘Nearly there now,’ said Treacle. ‘All we need is a queue of people ready to pay and we’ll be good to go.’

  Goodhalgan grinned. ‘Won’t be long. Any more sabotage?’

  ‘None at all, seems to be quiet today on that front.’

  ‘That’s a relief; it was starting to get tedious. Mr Cornwallis thinks he’s on to something, which is why he won’t be joining us down here for a day or two.’

  Treacle acknowledged this by a dip of the head. ‘We’ve still got the tunnel under the river to finish widening. Good job it’s mainly clay, makes it easier to dig out, but easier for the wet to get in if it all squidges down.’

  ‘The solution?’

  ‘Bricks and metal plates. Lot’s of ‘em. Make an arch with the bricks and then line it all with plates. Got to make it fit snug, otherwise we’ll have the river down here.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the river I’d worry about, it’d be the shite that’d come down with it.’

  Treacle unrolled the plan and laid it down on a bench then both dwarfs scrutinised it. All the tunnels were there as well as all the entrances, the whole network, including the tracks that were yet to be laid. It would encompass the whole of the city. To Goodhalgan, it looked beautiful.

  The king of the dwarfs puffed out his chest in pride and slapped the plan with his hand. ‘This is going to change Gornstock, and, I believe, the way that dwarfs will be viewed in the future. We will be seen as innovators, investing in the future of the city, a forward-thinking species with the ability to integrate within society.’

  ‘Yeah, all those long-legged bastards up there will have to look up to us, else we’ll close down The Pipe and they’ll have to walk everywhere again. We’ll be able to drink in all those posh places where they ban folk who ain’t got money because we’ll be the ones with the money.’

  ‘Money isn’t everything, you know. We will have respect. We will have done something nobody else could do. I believe The Pipe will become the arteries of the city, carrying all those people to all those places to make the money that keeps Gornstock alive. The money we make is incidental to that because respect breeds respect.’

  ‘But the money helps, right?’

  ‘Too bloody right it does. Let’s go and see how our money-making machine is doing; hopefully no last-minute problems to sort out.’

  Treacle rolled up the plan as Goodhalgan yanked on his belt to hoik up his trousers, setting them so he wouldn’t trip over the leg-ends, and set off on the inspection.

  The original idea to have just three or four streets covered by The Pipe had changed; things had moved on at a pace and now there were ten streets covered with ten more nearly completed. Going at the rate they were going, it wouldn’t be long before the whole city was connected.

  *

  ‘We seem to be coming close now,’ said the well-dressed gentleman sitting back in his chair. ‘The Warden is prepared to let The Pipe go ahead as long as there is no cost to the city, despite my, ahem, best endeavours to persuade him otherwise.’

  ‘I trust you didn’t try too hard?’ said the other gentleman.

  The man puckered his lips as though in thought. ‘Hard enough: I sometimes had to counter my own arguments but it needed to be done, and I had to counter the Master of the Guilds too; toothless, he was, which was all to the good.’

  ‘The Master has always been lacking in that area, he’s never hated the dwarfs enough.’

  ‘Unlike us, eh?’

  ‘Indeed not, my friend. Those little bastards will get what they deserve.’

  ‘Oh yes, that is for certain; it’s about time we stood up for the superior race. The people will thank us in the end.’

  ‘What about those two who got arrested?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter, they were just fodder anyway, and nothing can be traced back to us. Phimp was the only one they saw and they never knew his name; it’s hardly likely they’ll see him again. They were just gullible, greedy and very very stupid; I mean, thinking Ironworkers go to the pub in their leathers, eh? Anyway, if necessary your man can deal with Phimp.’

  They looked at each other, both forming grins on their faces as the two glasses of wine received a refill.

  ‘Yes, I did mention the possibility and he does like that type of work.’ He held up his glass and studied the colour.

  ‘Reliable?’

  ‘Oh, yes, the good thing is that he’s not a resident here, so no one knows him and he can move around freely.’

  ‘Do you mean he couldn’t move around freely where he comes from?’

  A shake of the head indicated that he couldn’t. ‘He had a little problem, had to be looked after for a while.’

  An eyebrow raised in question as the other man drained the glass and proffered it for another refill.

  ‘He hates dwarfs.’

  ‘That’s a plus. What did he do?’

  ‘He dispatched seven dwarfs with his bare hands and injured a few more.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘One at a time,’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘All within an hour.’

  ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘Up north. They sent him into a place for help, although he didn’t think he needed it.’

  ‘But he can still be trusted?’

  ‘Yes, he’ll do what is required, especially now he knows what’s going to happen. He doesn’t like people much either, to be honest, but then again, neither do I.’

  ‘Sounds like our type of man. I’m sure we can find him a suitable position once all this is over. Clothes fitted all right?’

  ‘Perfect fit, he just blends in.’

  ‘I do like it when a plan starts to work.’

  ‘The end justifies the means.’

  ‘Doesn’t it just.’

  Both held up their wine in a toast.

  ‘To success,’ said one, as they drained the glasses.

  Chapter 25

  Frankie and Isabella had taken Tulip into town to take advantage of the slack morning to get their daughter a new cot, seeing as the last one received a brick and several chunks of glass, leaving Rose to twiddle her thumbs until meeting up with Cornwallis when he finished at the Assembly. Eddie would find her something to do.

  That something turned out to be her old job, helping out behind the bar and waiting on tables, though thankfully not helping out in the kitchen which she knew from previous experience could be a fraught affair with a constant barrage of abuse and low-flying spoons and plates. A prickly character, the chef ruled his domain with a rod of iron, and woe betide anyone who transgressed or criticised his culinary expertise. Some bar staff had never even seen him, they just poked orders through a hatch and waited for the ding of the bell to tell them that the magic had occurred and the food was ready
. It suited everyone involved.

  When Cornwallis finally turned up, Rose had been on the go for several hours and fatigue had definitely set in. Working as a detective was making her soft. When she worked at the Stoat before, she could keep going all day and most of the night, but now she flagged, desperately needing a rest, and then the excuse she needed walked through the door.

  ‘Sit down,’ she said as she kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’ll get us a drink.’

  A minute or so later, she flopped down next to him and sighed in relief.

  ‘Busy?’ asked Cornwallis with a hint of mischief.

  She shot him a sharp look. ‘Yes, very.’

  He grinned in reply and she had to exercise a serious amount of self-control not to pick up the pint and tip its contents into his lap.

  ‘Jack, if you want to play hide the sausage at anytime in the future then I suggest you recompose that look on your face to one of concern, sympathy and understanding. Smug condescension is only going to work if you intend playing solo.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I have been running around like a blue-arsed fly and am not in the mood for clever repartee. Possibly in a little while, but definitely not now.’

  ‘I take it Eddie has taken advantage.’

  Rose breathed out slowly and heavily. ‘In truth, no. I just forgot how hard I used to work and how unfit I’ve become.’

  ‘Then it’s just as well you have a new career and new responsibilities.’

  ‘Responsibilities?’

  ‘Yes: me.’

  ‘I’d hardly put you down as a responsibility. Irresponsible, perhaps.’

  A smile spread across Cornwallis’ face, a warm contented one, one that showed that indeed he was a lucky man. The bad moods never lasted for long.

  ‘Anyway, what happened at the Assembly?’ she asked taking a pull on her pint.