by Louise Welsh
The division was dressed in looted sports clothes and army surplus. They were a raggle-taggle bunch that recalled the civil wars that had spread across Europe before the outbreak of the Sweats.
Stevie said, ‘No women in your army?’
Joe shook his head. ‘Women are in short supply around here, hence Planet’s good luck.’ He grinned. ‘I’d keep my hand on my ha’penny if I were you. There are men here who haven’t seen a female in a while.’
The face Stevie had glimpsed in the woods could have belonged to a boy or a girl. She said, ‘Who graffitied the castle door?’
‘Every Prince has his irritants.’ Joe nodded towards the army. ‘Tonight’s exercise will fix some of that. I’ve promised the men that if it goes right they’ll be sleeping in warm beds tomorrow.’
Stevie was about to ask what he meant, but Pistol ran from the direction of the woods, a dead rabbit in his mouth. He dashed to her side and dropped it at her feet. She gave him permission to eat and he started to rip the flesh apart.
Joe grinned, ‘The condemned prisoner made a hearty meal.’
Stevie rubbed the dog’s head. ‘I won’t shoot him.’
Joe shrugged. ‘I’ll do it for you, if you like.’
Magnus said, ‘That’s not what she meant.’
‘Then you’re stuffed. Ramsey won’t change his mind.’
Stevie straightened up and looked Joe in the face. ‘I’ll tell Moon about the two of you. I’ll tell her you bought her for a tankful of petrol. That you only wanted a womb for hire.’
Joe shrugged. ‘Go ahead. She knows most of it already. The rest she’d forgive or disbelieve.’
Stevie wondered if she could put a gun to Joe’s head and force Lord Ramsey to give way. The tactic had worked on Rees, but there were too many armed men in the park for her to bring it off and Lord Ramsey’s warning was still fresh. Could be the dog’s head, could be yours.
Magnus looked across the green to where a blacksmith was examining the hooves of a chestnut mare. He narrowed his eyes, taking in the familiar cut of its ears, the slope of its back and jut of its tail. Stevie’s mount stood close by. ‘They’re our horses.’
Joe shook his head. ‘I think you’ll find they’re ours. You got them from Rees, didn’t you? We’ve a good relay system across the district. Otherwise the horses get knackered. Rees only keeps his independence by paying fealty. It wasn’t chance that I brought the boys back to make camp when I did. He caught us on the road and told me yous were on your way.’ Joe grinned. ‘Never take another man’s map at face value. He sent you a long way round and set off full pelt on the direct route. He’s a wise man. He didn’t want to come home and find his secret wife and wean slaughtered.’ Joe put a consoling hand on Stevie’s arm. ‘Ramsey meant it when he said kill the dog or walk. We can’t have big beasts biting our wee princesses and getting off scot-free. It would make us look weak. As Machiavelli says, “It’s safer to be feared than loved.” ’ He looked from Stevie to Magnus. ‘Better you do it yourself, but if you can’t I’ll do you a favour and do it for you.’
Stevie said, ‘I’ll do it …’
‘Good woman.’ Joe slapped her back.
‘… in return for one more thing.’
Joe grinned. ‘I don’t think you’re in a position to make extra demands.’ But he did not walk away.
Stevie said, ‘You knew Bjarne, didn’t you?’
‘I was glad to hear he got what he deserved.’
Magnus said, ‘Someone blew off the top of his head.’
Joe’s grin grew wider. ‘Enough to make you believe in karma.’
Magnus said, ‘I’m guessing you weren’t bosom buddies.’
Joe spat on the ground. ‘Bjarne was good at spotting people’s weaknesses. It helped make him into a successful trader. It also made him an utter cunt.’ Joe hesitated, but perhaps possibilities for discussion were limited, because he continued. ‘He knew we were short of women and promised us a dozen, if we could sort him out with enough fuel to help him win the election.’
Stevie’s cheeks flushed. ‘He promised you young girls from our islands?’
‘He didn’t promise they’d all be young, but he gave his word there’d be some virgins amongst them.’ Joe snorted. ‘Like I said, not a nice guy.’
Magnus nodded towards the brightly coloured tents on the green. ‘Married men are easier to handle than single blokes. Were you tempted?’
Joe shook his head. ‘Ramsey would have gone for it. You know what the upper classes are like. Their own upbringings are so fucked up they think you can breed people, the same way you breed cattle or horses. Ramsey likes the idea of filling his territory with a new generation of serfs.’ A shadow crossed his face. ‘I don’t disagree. We need a new generation, but Bjarne was all about power. I wasn’t about to give him any kind of foothold into our operations. I reminded Ramsey the islands have their own president and that it might put ideas into the men’s heads if we went around helping to depose leaders. We’ll fix the woman problem in our district our own way.’
The flush that lit Stevie’s cheeks had spread across her neck and down her chest.
‘You seem pretty sure you could depose the president of Orkney.’
Joe shrugged, ‘It was Bjarne who was sure. He said people were desperate for technology to be restored and that there were girls of the right age on the islands who no one would really miss. He reckoned that if we could do a swap, he’d be president.’
Stevie said, ‘Bjarne was a shit who judged people by his own standards.’
Joe said, ‘How many of you are there on Orkney?’
Stevie looked him in the eyes. ‘Enough.’
‘Fifty settlers?’ Joe raised his eyebrows. ‘Maybe a hundred?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘A bunch of your kids go missing, but no one launches an armada. I only see two of you here and I’m guessing you’re going to leave little Moon in our tender care. It looks to me like Bjarne wasn’t as far off the mark as you’d like to think.’ He nodded to where Pistol lay on the grass, sleeping off his meal. ‘You’re not even sure your kids are worth the life of one dog.’
Stevie snapped, ‘That’s not fair.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Joe shrugged. ‘It makes no odds to me but remember Ramsey will want proof. I think he specifically mentioned something about the head.’ His mouth gave a quick twitch of disgust. But whether it was prompted by the vision of Pistol’s severed head, Stevie’s devotion or Lord Ramsey’s lack of a princeship was unclear. ‘You’ve got until morning.’
He turned his back on them and walked towards the encampment.
‘The power behind the throne.’ Magnus sank to his haunches and watched Joe pick his way through the camp, talking to people as he went. ‘It makes sense now why Bjarne hated Willow hanging out with Shug. He wanted her isolated and intact.’
‘Do you think she knew?’ Stevie sat on the ground and called Pistol to her. The threat to the dog knotted her stomach.
‘If she did, I wouldn’t blame Willow for killing him.’ The miles still to be travelled and the impossibility of crossing them in time weighed on Magnus. He looked to where the dog lay, sleek and untroubled, on the grass. ‘Will you do it?’
‘Do you think I should?’
Pistol felt Magnus looking at him and beat his tail lazily.
‘If it’s between finding Shug or saving your dog …’ Magnus slipped into ashamed silence.
‘And Moon? Do we abandon her as well, to save your boy?’
‘I don’t see we have much choice. She wants to stay.’
Stevie put a hand on Pistol’s head. She felt the aliveness of him. ‘He probably saved my life back there, Moon would have shot me.’
‘Shooting him might help save more lives.’
‘I’m too tired to think straight.’ Stevie put her head in her hands. ‘Christ knows what fucked up deal Bjarne was trying to put together, but he had a vision of life beyond Orkney that I don’t possess.’
‘For what it’s wor
th, you had my vote. I know Brendan was going to vote for you too and plenty of others.’
‘More fool them.’
A wood store stood flush against the castle wall, a simple structure, formed of three plank walls and a corrugated iron roof. Stevie went to it. She pulled off her jacket as she walked and folded it into a cushion.
Magnus followed her. ‘We need to make a decision.’
Stevie put her jacket on the ground and curled up in the shadow of the shed. She took her gun from its holster and slipped it under the makeshift pillow, within easy reach.
‘When I wake up, I’ll know what to do.’
Pistol shifted and lay against her, lending her some of his warmth. She draped an arm across the dog’s back and closed her eyes.
Magnus sat beside her. Stevie’s breathing grew even. He wondered if she had gone to sleep so that he could absolve her of responsibility and shoot the dog. He glanced at Pistol. The dog opened one eye and returned his gaze. The croft had taught Magnus respect for animals, but he knew he would kill the beast in a heartbeat, if it would make a difference to Shug’s survival.
Joe was talking to the men at the barbecue. Magnus’s stomach groaned at the thought of roast meat, but he sat where he was, travelling the map south in his head. If there had been no mishaps the kids would be in Glasgow by now. His imagination stalled. He barely knew the city, could not envisage how it would look after the Sweats. Instead he saw Shug standing on a platform, his mouth forced open, teeth being examined by rough hands, the bidding beginning.
He got to his feet and whistled to the dog. Pistol raised his head, unsure about leaving Stevie, but Magnus knew how to command dogs and the second time he whistled, Pistol got to his feet. Magnus expected Stevie to wake, but she had perfected the soldier’s trick of sleeping where she fell. She merely stirred and dropped into a deeper slumber.
‘Here, boy.’ He patted his leg. The dog came to heel and he led it through the camp towards the woods.
Twenty-Eight
Magnus felt eyes following him as he made his way across the camp with Pistol at his heels. The woods waited up ahead. Cool and dark. He had shot poor Mira, but the dog had been in pain and ready for death. Killing her had been a kindness of the sort he would seek for himself. Shooting Pistol would be a pointless waste.
Joe had quoted Machiavelli, ‘better to be feared than loved’. Magnus wondered if Shug might still be safe if he had been a stricter father. But Bjarne had been a hard man, a disciplinarian, and look where it had got him – killed with a shotgun, a murdered wife and a foster-daughter on the run.
Pistol trotted off to greet another dog. Magnus called him to heel. Better to be feared than loved. Pistol butted his leg and he stroked the dog’s ears. Pistol obeyed out of affection, not fear. Would Lord Ramsey really furnish them with a vehicle and a full tank in exchange for the dog’s head? Magnus distrusted the promise, but it was his only hope.
Joe was still standing by the barbecue. He saw Magnus and held out a hunk of venison, speared on his dirk. Magnus was hungry, but his stomach gave a queasy flip at the sight of the meat. He shook his head and kept moving.
Joe’s teeth tore at the chunk of meat. His lips were glossed with grease, his mouth full.
‘I hope your knife’s sharp. That dog’s got a thick neck.’
A fat man in a red tracksuit top and jeans called, ‘How much for half an hour with your woman?’
The fat man’s companion punched him in the arm. ‘Ten minutes would do me.’
Another man laughed. ‘Three minutes.’
The reverse auction continued. Magnus glanced towards the woodshed. Stevie was hidden in its shadows. The men’s tone was jokey, but there was an edge to it that made him want to walk back to where she slept. What he had to do would not take long. He bunched his fists and walked on.
The woods were full of shadows, a good place for a killing. Pistol snuffled through the undergrowth, stopping occasionally to mark his territory. Magnus’s knife was sheathed on his belt. He had sharpened it on the whetstone in his cottage a week before. It was a hunter’s knife, designed to cut through flesh and gristle. Better to be feared than loved. His own fear was born of love. He feared what might happen to Shug, dreaded the consequences of not reaching the boy in time. Magnus called to the dog and it came to him. ‘Good boy.’ He patted its head, then crouched down and put his face against the dog’s muzzle.
Magnus’s childhood dog had been a cairn called Robbie. He had often buried his face in Robbie’s fur when he was young and thought the world was against him. The cairn had been put down not long after he left for London. Magnus had elected to stay in the city and let his mother take it to the vet. Guilt at his neglect could still touch him, despite all the other guilty deaths wrought by the Sweats and its consequences.
He held Pistol’s collar, wondering the best way to go about things. Pistol wriggled and growled. His strong front legs almost flung Magnus to the ground, but he held on tight. Shhhhhhh, he could not lose it now. Pistol barked and tried to bolt. Magnus reached for his gun and felt the cutting edge of a cold blade against the back of his neck.
He almost laughed out loud. Was this how it was going to end? With his throat cut in some dingy outcrop of wood; the boy he had nurtured and raised abandoned to the cities? He whispered, ‘Stevie?’
A voice he did not recognise said, ‘Keep that dog under control or I’ll stick you.’
Something clinked in the trees above. Magnus looked up and saw rows of small mirrors, dangling from branches by invisible threads. Naked, pink plastic dolls hung by their necks, amongst the tinkling glass, and amongst them half-a-dozen severed male heads, their features twisted and grotesque. Magnus let out a small cry, but even as it escaped him he realised that the heads were false, fashioned from clay or papier-mâché. The mirrors reflected the last, pink rays of the sinking sun, forcing his eyes shut.
He lowered his gaze and relaxed his grip on Pistol’s collar. ‘Good boy.’ He patted the dog, reassuring it, wondering if the better plan might not be to allow the hound to let rip and damn the consequences.
‘Get to your feet and turn around.’
Magnus did as he was told. The girl was about Shug’s age. Her cheeks had been darkened with mud. Green leaves and twigs were tucked into her hair and clothing in an attempt at camouflage. She held a Bowie knife in her hand, big enough to cut a man’s head from his shoulders. Pistol strained at his collar. Magnus swallowed. His throat was dry, his voice cracked. ‘I’m going to have to let the dog go soon. He’s too strong to hold for much longer.’
The leaves in the girl’s hair shivered. ‘If he bites me you’re dead.’
‘That’s understood. If you put the knife down he’ll feel less threatened.’
‘He might but I won’t.’ The Bowie knife trembled in the girl’s grip.
Magnus said, ‘I’ll keep my hands where you can see them.’
Pistol strained and whined. The wind played through the treetops sending the glass mirrors jingling. A distant sound of laughter echoed from the encampment.
The girl slowly lowered the knife. Her voice shook. ‘Good dog.’
Magnus patted Pistol’s head and let him go. The dog gave three short barks. Delight mingled with admonition. He bounded through the undergrowth, back towards the encampment and Stevie.
Magnus raised his hands. ‘Joe knows I’m here.’
The knife was back in the air, the blade pointing at him.
The girl gave a nervous grin. ‘I hope he doesn’t fucking know I’m here. We’re going to slaughter your lot.’
Magnus was about to ask who ‘we’ were but the trees and undergrowth around him were moving. Faces appeared from the forest. Someone said, ‘You’re meant to knife him, not have a fucking banter.’
The girl’s eyes met Magnus’s. Panic beaconed from them. ‘He seems all right.’
‘Most of them probably are, on their own. But put them together with a bunch of their mates and they’re death to us.’
The speaker was a short girl with cropped hair and a sweet face. ‘Go on, stick him. The first one’s the worst. You’ll be fine once you’ve done him.’
Magnus felt his waters shift. ‘I’m not with that army out there. I’m trying to get to Glasgow. I was told I could get petrol and a car at the castle. That’s the only reason I’m here.’
‘See, he’s all right.’ There was a plea in the first girl’s voice. ‘He’s just passing through.’
The short girl said, ‘They say anything to get away. He’ll start crying if you don’t do it soon.’
The group were gathering around Magnus. They were all young, all camouflaged with mud and greenery. Their hair was cropped, their expressions fierce, and it was a moment before Magnus realised that they were all female. The realisation turned his fear up a notch.
‘He’s with them all right and even if he’s not we can’t let him go now. He’ll warn them.’ The short girl took her own knife from her belt. ‘Let’s cut his head off and stick it in the tree with the rest, that’ll be a proper warning.’
Magnus tried to load his voice with conviction, but all it sounded was frightened.
‘I promise you, I won’t tell anyone you’re here.’
‘He promises,’ the girl with the Bowie knife echoed.
‘I’m just a traveller heading to Glasgow.’ Magnus’s hands were in the air. He tried to step backwards, but the small group of teenagers had surrounded him and there were knives at his back too. ‘This is none of my business.’
‘Leave him alone.’ Someone was pushing their way forward, through the cluster of young guerrillas. ‘I know him. He’s from my island.’ The newcomer shoved the hand wielding the knife away. ‘It’s okay. Magnus is one of the good guys.’
The new girl was camouflaged like the rest of the children, her face muddied. It took Magnus a second to detect her features. ‘Sky?’
Sky grinned, her teeth gleamed white in her dirty face. ‘Hello, Magnus, what are you doing here?’
Magnus’s fear shifted to anger. ‘Searching for you and your bloody brethren.’