Wants of the Silent

by McPartlin, Moira;

  ‘How do you know Kenneth?’ Ishbel asked, beginning to wish Dawdle had never involved himself in her affairs.

  ‘How d’ye think he got the pickles ah collected fae you every month?’

  Ishbel had always known of Kenneth the hermit, even before she began supplying him with pickled and preserved food in all her years in the base. She’d always assumed it was a family secret and the Noiri just made one anonymous drop. She didn’t realise Kenneth’s situation was common knowledge among the Noiri, but then she supposed he may have had dealings with the Noiri for other supplies. What did she know?

  ‘So where are you taking us now?’ Ishbel asked.

  ‘Tae the tower.’ Dawdle’s chin was to his throat but he looked at Ishbel with raised eyes. ‘That’s what ye want, isn’t it? Go look fur Vanora?’

  ‘And no other stopping points?’

  ‘No, not this time.’

  When the engine sparked first time Dawdle patted the panel. ‘Good girl.’ They glided into the Minch to the sound of the engine purr. Reinya sulked in her corner, Ishbel sat beside Dawdle and stared at the murk. After too many minutes of strained silence she said, ‘What I don’t understand is why I needed to be hooded?’

  ‘Och that?’ He chuckled but there was no mirth in it. ‘That’s just overzealousness. They weren’t sure about ye. They didn’t want ye to see the wheelhouse set up. Ah had tae persuade them you were kosher. ‘

  ‘Don’t make it sound like you did me a favour.’ Her stillness hid her anger but this time she wanted him to see.

  ‘Ye huv tae admit, Ish, these souterrains are pretty impressive eh? This land had been cleared fur use as a prison but it was so remote, even though it’s no longer an island. The cleared families bided their time in a flood refugee reservation. Then in dribs and drabs made their way back and built their home based on ancient designs. And with the materials from the abandoned prison.’

  ‘What about their chips?’

  ‘Their healers removed them. Only a few at a time. You know how the State didnae bother when a few dribs and drabs fall off the wall, but this dribble has now turned into a puddle of over a few hundred souls.’

  ‘Not many.’

  ‘Ah, but how many other communities are there like this?’

  She studied him. Yes, he knew of others but wouldn’t tell.

  ‘Why doesn’t this area flood then?’

  ‘Because they know the best bits, they’ll be good fur a few decades yet, if they remain undetected. And they keep a constant eye on the terrain and conditions.’

  This time when they surfaced it was daylight. They were south of the tower underneath the old rotting pier that should have been demolished long ago for recyk and firewood.

  ‘Saving it fur a raining day.’ Dawdle said with a chuckle.

  ‘What makes you think she’ll be here?’ Ishbel asked.

  ‘Ah don’t, but this wis the last place she was seen. Ah’ve been in touch with ma men…’

  ‘How many men do you have?’

  ‘Never you mind,’ he said. ‘Anyway, Monsieur Jacques’s driver wis found with a bullet through his head with no sign of Vanora, or the boy or the consignment. We’re not sure which they were after, but ah’ve had a report that the consignment turned up a bit further north in the Steadie reservation. One o’ my men is headed up tae collect.’

  ‘Haven’t you even looked for Sorlie and Vanora? It seems the consignment is the most important thing for you.’

  ‘Don’t start, Ishbel. Ah never ask them tae come down here.’ He quit the engine. ‘Right, let’s get this done.’

  He put his hand out to Reinya. ‘Come oan, wee hen.’ But she shrugged off his offer of help. He opened the hatch and Ishbel gulped in the sea air.

  ‘Do you think Sorlie’s with Vanora?’

  ‘Nut. We’ve had a sighting of a boy.’

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘Hold yer jets, Ish. It’s just a stray sighting, it could be any boy. And the place is further south from the native camp. The Steadie natives didnae give us any info, they dinnae trust naebudy, that lot. But we think he might be with one of them.

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘Ah told ye, ma men. Anyway this leads me tae believe they’ve been taken separately. No word of Vanora, so we start here. Monsieur Jacques might know more. Let’s hope he’s calmed down about losing the consignment.’

  ‘And his man?’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘He’s not furious about losing his man?’

  Dawdle deafened to that comment.

  They climbed from the sub into an early morning haze, with just a promise of some weak sunshine. The calm water in the bay swayed the sub gently. Reinya was reluctant to get out. Ishbel tugged her arm but the girl jerked it back and slumped onto the deck and huddled near the conning tower.

  Dawdle secured the pod they had been towing to the pier. ‘The seaweed harvest,’ he said unabashed. Ishbel stowed her fist in her pocket. Before the day was out she would punch him again.

  Out of nowhere it seemed, a van pulled up on a causeway close to the pontoon and two men lowered a hook to relieve Dawdle of his burden.

  ‘Look, Ish, you’re goin tae huv tae dae somethin about that girl. Ah cannae stand aw that mopin.’

  Reinya hardly lifted her head from her picking at a line of scabs on her right hand.

  ‘What happened to your arm?’ Ishbel asked. Reinya glowered. She looked as if she would enjoy slamming her hand into a brick wall just for the feel of it. The skin was trying to heal but the girl was intent on opening old wounds and breaking off ripe scabs. Ishbel wanted to ignore Dawdle and his operation. She had foolishly believed he had helped her as a friend but all the latest evidence proved profit was his primary concern. Each time she thought of the indignity of the hood she could feel her blood foam. How could he have allowed it to go on so long unless he had another reason? He must have witnessed her capture. He was right beside her when she was taken.

  ‘Hey, Ish, can ye at least stop her clawin. It’s pure givin me the boak.’

  And now that he had what he wanted; being shot of Scud and his collection of seaware and cloth secure he was acting as if nothing had happened. And if he called her Ish one more time she’d throttle him.

  Ishbel ducked back into the cockpit and hunted around for a first aid kit. There was bound to be one, even in a heap like this. It was under the pilot seat. As she pulled it from its place a badge the size of a large button fashioned into the shape of a Celtic knot dropped out too. Its silver body had tarnished with age but locked in its centre was a blue pearl, the ancient emblem of her ancestors. Not a real pearl but an enamelled imitation that shone as bright as new and stung Ishbel with its significance. It was hidden, Dawdle could have worn it but didn’t. She could hear Dawdle’s steps back on the hull, so stowed the badge back in its place.

  She carried the first aid kit to the girl and, prepared for a fight, was amazed when the girl sat back, her eyes closed ready to accept her fate. Ishbel found some antiseptic cream, the old style that hadn’t been around for years. It contained banned chemicals, deemed harmful to the skin by the Land Reclaimists. There were also chemical wipes. They would be out of date but no matter. She took Reinya’s bleeding hand and dabbed while the girl tried to pull away.

  ‘It’s OK, I’m not going to hurt you.’

  ‘You already are.’

  ‘Don’t be such a baby, you’ll end up with an infection.’

  Reinya yielded. Her hands were grubby and Ishbel realised hers were too, it had been a while since anyone had even managed a top and tail. Although they’d all had a duck in the sea their clothes were soiled and the girl looked as though she had been raking through a landfill. At least they all stank with the same vintage of ripeness so it didn’t matter.

  Ishbel used one of the wipes, first
to clean the girl’s hand; another fresh one to clean the wound.

  ‘Hey, easy on the wipes, Ish, they dinnae grow on trees.’

  ‘Shut the snaf up.’ Ishbel found that since she left the Base she could at last open a rung or two on her emotions. She would need to remind herself not to let too much go. But she could see by the pink neck of Dawdle that she had hit him bang on the mark.

  ‘How did this happen?’ she said to Reinya, trying to soften her voice.

  ‘Uh told you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That ship, wasn’t safe.’ Tears stood close.

  ‘So you fought?’

  ‘Of course uh fought, what do you think uh um?’

  ‘Yes, of course you fought.’

  Reinya turned her face and stuffed her fist in her mouth.

  ‘Did they get you?’ The question had to be asked and Ishbel had no idea why it was so hard. The horrors of the natives were everywhere, especially those inflicted on young fresh girls.

  She remained quiet. ‘Reinya, tell me, you’re safe now.’

  She sniffed noisily like an oldie. ‘Yeah, uh was got. Uh was safe when Mum was alive but when she went uh was easy pickings, just like some of the others.’ She faced Ishbel, hatred shone in her eyes. ‘Can we go rescue them?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My grandfather, Scud, ‘e was on Black Rock. Now ‘e’s free. Can we go to sector W, to the ship, set them free?’

  ‘No we can’t.’

  ‘Why not? You got them out that Black Rock place, why not sum more?’

  ‘The prison ships are for addicts, what would we do with them?’

  She actually seemed to think about this. ‘You got me out.’

  ‘You’re not an addict.’ Ishbel raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you?’

  The girl shook her head. ‘There were other non-addicts on the ship, children who smuggled on to be with their parents, like me.’ The heat of her stare burned Ishbel’s conscience.

  ‘We can’t go in for anyone else.’ Ishbel used another wipe to clear the girl’s snot. ‘I’m sorry for what happened to you but we are where we are. We have a reconditioning programme in the north. You just need to hang on ‘til we get you there and fix you up.’

  ‘Listen to you. “Fix me up.” Who the snaf do you people think you are?’ she said.

  Ishbel sat back on her heels. Yes, who did we think we were? she thought. We, the oppressed, trying to help the oppressed. It needed more.

  They remained silent for a while. Then Reinya whispered something so ludicrous that Ishbel thought she had misheard.

  ‘What?’

  Reinya lifted her face to Ishbel and for the first time since they had taken possession of the girl did Ishbel see that spark of fight she had first witnessed on the dock in Ulapul, all those months ago when she was delivering Sorlie to Black Rock.

  ‘Uh said, put them out o’ their misery. Kill them, blow the boat up, drop gas on it, poison the food, uh don’t know, but put the tortured out o’ their long-drawn-out misery.’

  ‘Are you mad? Think of the horrors they would endure before they succumbed.’

  ‘No more than what they are going through now.’

  ‘It’s genocide.’

  ‘Well, why don’t the State do it? They do for oldies and specials.’

  ‘Oldies are sent to preparation homes.’

  ‘No they’re not and you know it. ‘Ave you ever seen a prep home?’ Ishbel remained silent. ‘No, because they don’t exist. Everybody knows oldies are destroyed, so why not addicts?’

  ‘Because o’ the lesson,’ Dawdle decided to chip in from the front. ‘Privileged and natives alike need tae learn that excess is bad. The State takes a perverse pleasure in keepin them as a deterrent against excess. After aw it isnae fur long. Life expectancy in those ships is – what? Eight to ten months?’

  ‘Then destroy them,’ Reinya persisted like a rat in maze.

  ‘Not our priority, hen.’

  ‘Well if you don’t, uh will.’

  Dawdle shrugged. ‘Go ahead,’ he said gesturing to the door. Ishbel decided to let this ride, she could stop the girl if she made a bolt. But she didn’t. She stood with her hands bunched.

  ‘Anyway, you have a nerve. Where do addicts get all the drugs and Mash?’ Reinya spat out, swaying to her feet. Dawdle ignored her. ‘The Noiri, that’s where, the benevolent Noiri.’

  ‘Just servin a need, hen, that’s aw,’ Dawdle said, probably well used to this accusation. ‘Simple supply and demand. Now, can we get off and get on?’

  But she wasn’t ready to stop, she tore at her wrists springing fresh blood, she squared at Dawdle. Ishbel was sure she would have swung for him again so she stepped in and injected a tranquiliser to shut Reinya up.

  ‘Jeez thanks, Ish. Right, time tae move, we cannae hang around waitin for dark. Leave her here, she’s just a pain in the butt.’

  ‘You were the one who said she could come.’

  ‘Aye, well, ah thought she might come in useful, but ma heid’s nippin wi her moans. How wis ah tae ken she’d go radge and stert aw that genocide gum bumpin.’

  ‘We can’t leave her, I promised to look after her.’

  ‘We can’t take her like this.’

  Reinya moaned and struggled to her knees. ‘It was just a stun, she’ll be fine in a minute.’

  Sorlie

  ‘What if Merj doesn’t come?’ I asked Con.

  ‘We wait till near day break and if still no show we’ll cross.’

  The wind funnelled up the estuary. The tide turned and light leeched into the sky. It was nearly time.

  ‘What’s your real name?’

  Con squinted at me. ‘Con.’

  ‘What’s it short for.’

  ‘Nothing, that’s my name.’

  ‘Funny sort of name.’

  ‘And Sorlie isn’t?’

  A pass of déjà vu whooshed me, I’d had this conversation with Harkin.

  Con dumped his sack and pulled from it a small mat, placed it on the damp ground then sat on it cross-legged. He patted the sack. ‘Here, sit on this, keep the damp out.’

  So I did. He handed me a flask. As soon as it was in sniffing distance I knew it held Mash. It burned and curled my toes in the same way Kenneth’s Mash had done when I tasted for the first time in his island cave, but this brew was cruder, not so strong. I wondered if Kenneth knew of my disappearance, of Ridgeway’s death. Poor Kenneth. I tapped my communicator, still nothing.

  After only a short while we heard the rattle and drag of chains. We crouched behind a bush, my knees soaked by kneeling on the boggy moss-sprung ground. Two men dressed in heavy, hooded jackets dragged a crate. By the look of the effort and the ruts left behind in the mud it weighed a ton.

  ‘Here’s your man,’ said Con.

  I felt my mouth blot dry. Merj was dead, we left him for dead on the beach. He couldn’t have survived the blood loss of his arm blown off by a butterfly bomb.

  ‘Wait here.’ Con said. He crawled from under the bush and circled behind the man at the rear end of the crate. Quick as a viper Con put his hand across the man’s face and yanked him back. The sudden change to the crate’s progress caused the front man to stagger and fall. I sighed in relief to see neither man was Merj. The front bearer was female. She reached her hand out but said nothing.

  Con faced her with a knife to the man’s throat. She began to shake her head.

  ‘What do you want?’ The captured one said, struggling in Con’s grip. ‘We’ve nothin’ worth taking.’

  Con loosened his grip and laughed like a daftie. He kicked the box. ‘What about this?’ The box rocked with the kick then seemed to rock on its own momentum. Con was grinning.

  ‘Nothing. Take it, leave us alone.’

  The woman backed way, shakin
g her head, wide-eyed with fear. The other was scrabbling his feet trying to get purchase on the mud, free of Con’s grip.

  ‘Come out, Sorlie, they’re harmless,’ Con shouted.

  As I emerged from the bush the woman backed off even further. Their heavy grey waterproof suits showed no sign of Privileged nor native. They were anonymous.

  ‘What do you want from us?’

  ‘What’s going on?’ The man glowered at me as Con draped his arm over my shoulder

  ‘Do you know who this is?’ Con asked him.

  ‘No, why should we?’

  ‘This here is Sorlie, Vanora’s grandson.’

  The woman gasped, she stepped forward and peered at me. She was older than I first thought, thirty winters maybe.

  ‘No way. He’s Privileged,’ the man said after he took a good shuftie in my face, his rank breath invaded my space, native, definitely native. The manner was familiar, Con knew them.

  ‘Yes way, and now you can take care of him.’

  ‘No, wait,’ I said, ‘you can’t hand me over to these. How do you know it is safe?’

  Con prodded the man with his finger. ‘Because this here’s my brother. These are the two who left with Merj all that time ago.’

  ‘Your brother?’ When the man squared against Con the bear resemblance was obvious.

  ‘I ought to kill you for this,’ he shrugged his clothes straight.

  Con laughed, ‘Yes but you won’t. I’ve brought you the grandson of Vanora. She’s been kidnapped, and you’ll help him get to the tower. This is your chance of glory, boy, your fifteen minutes of fame. How long have you devoted to the cause?’ The pair looked to each other.

  ‘Well, now’s your chance. Sorlie has been to the tower, take him back and find your god.’

  They stood immobile.

  Con tapped his ear. ‘Go on then, what are you waiting for? Tympan your base, check if you like, and tell them you have Sorlie, we need someone to come and take him back.’

  ‘The tympan broke about three years ago. We asked for replacements when we sent our supply order but they never came. Then the food got less and less. We’re fed up with Vanora and her false promises. We started fending for ourselves.’