The time had come for her to make one more journey, this time in the real world. She would walk the streets of Abyrne and where her feet led her she would finish her life. She felt certain that she might find one tiny truth out there that would comfort her on her way.
She swung her legs out of the bed.
It was hard. Harder than she’d expected and for a moment she thought about lying back and forgetting all this nonsense in her head, all this diseased madness, and sleeping her life away to the end. But the moment passed and her bare feet touched the cold, gritty stone floor. She examined her legs beneath her bed-shift. They were thin and wasted. Her arms were the same. But her stomach was bulging and firm. She was pregnant with disease. On standing she had to reach for the wall with both hands and lean there for several minutes until the whirling of the world and the whiteness across her vision receded.
Finally, she found her robes and gowns in the small woodwormed closet and dressed. She put on her Parson’s boots, laced them loosely for she did not have the strength to do more, and slipped away from the room and the Cathedral. Her small footsteps took her away from the centre of the town, away from the dirty, scrawny townsfolk.
She found herself on the road out to Richard Shanti’s house.
Trucks brought the men to work as usual but when they arrived it was chaos. Without power there were still plenty of jobs that could be done but no one was sure how to organise it. The electricity occasionally went out in the town but it never, ever, went off at MMP.
Even Torrance was stumped. He stood in a circle of worried men.
‘We can move the carcasses along by hand from station to station, I suppose. But skinning’s going to be harder.’
‘Fucking understatement,’ said one of the skinners.
‘What’s the word from Magnus?’ asked someone else.
‘Well, it’s two words in fact,’ said Torrance. ‘Keep working.’
‘How’re we going to stun them?’ asked Haynes.
‘Right,’ said another. ‘We can’t just haul ’em up and slit their throats. It’s against the teachings.’
Torrance had that one covered.
‘We’ll do it by hand. Lump hammer and steel peg. Same effect exactly. A little more elbow grease.’
There were shrugs around the group. Most of them weren’t stunning so they didn’t mind one way or the other.
Then there was general chatter among them.
‘Did you see the explosions?’
‘No. Heard them, though.’
‘They say it can’t be fixed.’
‘I heard that too. We might be working manually forever more.’
‘I’ll take a pay rise for that.’
‘Yeah right. Magnus’ll cut your bollocks off and eat ’em in front of you first.’
Laughter.
‘Did you hear what he did to the gas crew?’
The laughter died away.
Torrance filled the gap.
‘Let’s make sure nothing like that ever happens here at MMP, right lads?’
Everyone voiced agreement.
‘What about the dairy, Boss?’ It was Parfitt asking. ‘We can’t milk them without the equipment running.’
‘Only one option,’ said Torrance. ‘You’ll have to put calves on most of them until we think of something else. Meanwhile, do as many as you can by hand.’
‘By hand? Isn’t that a sacrilege?’
‘Forget the teachings for now, people need their milk.’
Parfitt looked dismayed.
‘Don’t worry, lad. You’ll work it out. And, all of you, don’t slack off because of this. It’s no excuse. Just remember Magnus’s words: keep working.’
Torrance watched the black bus turn into the main gate and park. It was full of black-coated figures. Only one of them disembarked. He recognised Bruno, Magnus’s top dogsbody, striding across the plant’s forecourt. Stockmen moved out of his way.
‘Somewhere we can talk?’ asked Bruno when he reached Torrance.
Torrance shrugged.
‘This way.’
He led Bruno into the slaughterhouse and up the stairs to his observation balcony. There was a small office up there with a desk and two chairs, glass windows all around.
Torrance parked himself at the desk.
‘Have a seat, Bruno.’
‘No thanks. I’ve got a message for you from Mr. Magnus. He says keep this place running no matter what it takes. Hire more men if you have to and he’ll budget for it.’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘Mr. Magnus believes it is.’
‘We don’t need more men, Bruno. We need electricity and gas. Then the men we’ve got can work as fast as Magnus wants. We’ve only got one chain in the slaughterhouse and that chain goes as fast as we can stun cattle. It won’t go any faster no matter how many men you put on the job.’
‘He doesn’t want to hear this, Torrance, believe me.’
‘I’m sure he doesn’t. But someone has to understand what goes on up here and it ought to be him. I will do everything in my power to keep the plant working as efficiently as possible until Mr. Magnus gets the power back on.’
Bruno shook his head.
‘I can’t see that happening any time soon. It’s going to take years to fix the gas power station. We’re not even sure we can fix it.’
‘What? Why not?’
‘We’re short of the right kind of materials for a start. Mainly it’s a lack of knowledge. The maintenance engineers are going to have to learn how to put it all back together. They’re starting almost from scratch. When the Father created the town, I don’t think he was expecting a bunch of heretics to blow bits of it up.’
Torrance was quiet while he considered the implications of running the plant forever without electricity. It was possible but it would take a lot of doing. If Magnus demanded the same efficiency as before, they’d have to create more chains working manually in the slaughterhouse. They’d have to take men on for milking. If they couldn’t create gas from waste, none of the herds would move in trucks any more. Men would be hauling carts of meat into the town. Everything would change. Torrance felt the first naggings of doubt about the order of things, the first tugs of fear over the future.
Bruno interrupted his thoughts.
‘We’ve got to make sure that something similar doesn’t happen up here.’
‘You think they’re going to attack the plant? Why would they do that? It’s suicide.’
‘From what I’ve seen, this lot have death wishes. I’ve seen …’
‘What?’
‘Doesn’t matter. This guy Collins that leads them, he’s crazy. There’s nothing he won’t try. That’s why I’ve brought some of our boys up here. They’re going to keep an eye on your perimeters. Especially at night. Make sure you look after them, right?’
‘I’ll let the stockmen know.’ Torrance rubbed a hand over his mouth and beard. ‘You really think they’ll try something?’
‘I don’t know but we’re not leaving it to chance.’
‘I should arm the stockmen.’
‘Too right. Get them bladed up, Torrance. This place has got to stay on track or the town’s in big trouble.’
Bruno turned to leave.
‘Wait. What about the Welfare? Have they sent word? They must have an answer to all of this. They should send out the Parsons and seize this Collins man.’
‘I don’t know what the Grand Bishop’s response has been to the destruction of the power station but I know that Magnus has already asked Welfare for help and that they weren’t very cooperative. Him and the Grand Bishop…they don’t get on.’
‘Fuck me, Bruno. Two men with a disagreement is no reason to let the town be overrun by lunatics.’
‘That’s what I’ve been thinking.’
‘There must be something else we can do.’
‘If I think of anything, I’ll let you know. No reason why we can’t work together.’
Torr
ance nodded. No reason at all.
Twenty
They didn’t knock.
She heard footsteps, glimpsed dark figures passing the kitchen window and hadn’t even the time to be frightened when they walked through the back door. They entered as though into their own mother’s house and threw themselves down on kitchen or living room chairs. So nonchalant, she half believed they were meant to be there – friends of her husband and he would follow them in at any moment.
He didn’t.
One of the men, his hair long, black and greasy, couldn’t be still. He paced around the open plan ground floor picking things up, half inspecting them, putting them down. It was as though she didn’t exist. She found her voice and began to speak but the restless one held up his hand to silence her without even looking her way.
‘Where are the children?’ he asked.
It was easier now to stay silent than to talk. She didn’t answer.
The greasy-haired one gestured with his head to two of the others and they slipped upstairs.
‘No.’ She ran towards them, still holding a wet dishrag. ‘Wait. Please just tell me why you’re here. You’re not Welfare. What do you want?’
The leader grinned through bad teeth.
‘How do you know we’re not Welfare?’
‘You’re not…Parsons.’
‘We could be…undercover Parsons.’
The others laughed.
‘You can’t take them away. We’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Denials. Without an accusation even being made. I smell a guilty conscience.’
‘I swear to you, we’re good townsfolk. We live by the Book.’
‘Oh? And what book would that be?’
She could see how her confusion amused them. Why would they toy with her this way?
‘The Book of Giving, of course.’
‘Sounds a bit old-fashioned to me. Bit…dated. Sounds like the sort of book we could burn and no one would miss it.’
The two men descended the stairs, each carrying one of her daughters.
‘Ahh. Soon have the whole family together, won’t we?’
The girls and their bearers were smiling.
‘Please.’ She dropped the rag and took hold of the man’s hands. ‘Please don’t take them away. I told you, we do things right in this family.’
The man smiled in genuine amusement.
‘I’m sure you do, Mrs. Shanti.’ He removed his hands from hers. ‘But I’m really not interested in how piously you run your household. I’m merely here to extend you an invitation from my employer, Mr. Rory Magnus. He’s requested the pleasure of your company.’
‘But I…I mean we…this is something to do with Richard, isn’t it? What has he done? Tell me what he’s done.’
‘Mrs. Shanti, I don’t know what you mean. All I know is that you and your daughters and Mr. Shanti are all required to be the guests of Mr. Magnus.’
‘Required? I –’
‘He’s very particular about who he invites. I’d say you were all very honoured. Wouldn’t you, boys?’
There were nods all around the room.
Hema and Harsha could hardly contain their excitement.
‘We’re all going to go for a ride in the big black bus, Mummy. We’re going to see the biggest house in the town.’
Maya knew she had a choice about how she handled their captors. If she struggled, protested and begged it would frighten the girls. If she went meekly, calmly, at least they would be shielded for a little longer.
‘Well, in that case, I’d better put my best shoes on.’
Torrance tapped a pencil against a chipped mug in his office. Shanti watched his face for clues, for any sign of what the man was really thinking. There was nothing there but veils. What he said after his long silence was unexpected.
‘We have to reduce the herds.’
‘Reduce?’
‘It amounts to a cull, really. Management of numbers.’
‘But why? It’ll result in a reduced yield. More people going hungry.’
Torrance shook his head. He had the look of a teacher trying to explain something to a small child.
‘No one goes hungry because of a lack of meat, Rick.’
‘There isn’t enough to go around as it is…Bob.’
If the familiarity annoyed Torrance he showed no sign of it.
‘It’s true, that’s what people think. But that’s just what Magnus wants townsfolk to believe. It keeps the price high, funnels the town’s wealth in a very particular direction.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Torrance appeared to make some kind of mental decision.
‘Look, Rick, I like you. You’re a good man. A great asset to MMP. So I’m going to tell you something. But first you have to swear to me that nothing I say will be repeated. To anyone. Ever.’
‘I’m not sure I want to be party to that kind of information.’
‘It’s too late for thinking about what you want. We have to start thinking about our jobs and our futures. I’m going to need men like you to help me manage the changes. Men I know I can rely on to do their jobs properly.’
Torrance stood up to tell it. Shanti listened in pale shock. Hundreds of Chosen slaughtered for nothing. Flesh dumped by the ton on the borders of the wasteland. Townsfolk starving in the midst of a glut. And now this.
‘The thing is, with the power plant shut down indefinitely, there’s no way we can maintain previous yields. Cattle will age past their prime and be useless to anyone. Less money coming in will mean fewer jobs or, at the very least, pay cuts across the board. Everything will have to be done by hand, without power – at least until we can build up gas reserves again, but that could take years. The trucks won’t run, the chain motor won’t run, the milking machines won’t run. There’ll be no more automation. Not for a long time. Instead of slaughtering the steers, we have to start thinking about reducing the numbers of fertile cows and getting rid of most, if not all, of the bulls. That will halt the growth of the herds. We have to cull the milkers too. There’s just no way we can service them all. So, starting tomorrow, I want you to round up the oldest dairy cows and the oldest bulls. Bring them in for slaughter.’
Shanti waited. It didn’t seem as though Torrance was finished with him. Torrance sat back down and continued to flick the pencil against the cup.
‘Will there be anything else?’
Torrance looked up.
‘Isn’t that enough?’
Shanti shrugged.
‘I…’
But there was nothing else to say. He turned and left.
Behind him he could sense Torrance’s expression. Something like a smile.
He had the children taken straight to the maids to be looked after while he spoke to their mother.
They ushered her into the drawing room – a more fitting place to meet than his study – where he was lounging, still in dressing gown and slippers, and medicating himself with a large vodka. He dismissed Bruno and the boys and poured her a measure.
‘I don’t drink,’ she said as he passed her the chipped crystal tumbler.
He smiled.
‘You do now.’ He gestured towards one of the sofas. ‘Make yourself comfortable, Mrs. Shanti. May I call you Maya?’ He waited neither for her to sit nor reply but sat down once more in his own armchair and put his feet up. The silk dressing gown slipped a little revealing one lumpy, trunk-like thigh. He made no effort to cover himself up. ‘I suppose you know why you’re here?’ No reason not to start testing her straight away. They were all short of time.
He looked her over. Long, dark, straight hair, a nicely curved figure – only a little spoilt by childbirth. Better than most in the town. Her face was too angular though, the eyes too focussed. He got the sense of a woman who manipulated but without any real intelligence. There was an underlying tension there too, some kind of frustration rarely addressed.
‘No, I don’t,’ she said. ‘I don’t know anything.’
‘But surely you can guess. Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Mr. Magnus, we’re a God-fearing family. We abide by the laws of the town. I have no idea why you’ve brought us here.’
Time to stop circling and pounce.
‘Your husband, Maya. Richard. We believe he’s not quite the man he purports to be. Has he been behaving strangely at home? Have you noticed…deviances?’
Her fingers tightened on the crystal tumbler just enough for the knuckles to whiten a shade. Her initially firm stare now skittered around the objects in the room. A little colour came to her cheeks before draining and leaving her pale. Excellent. There was dirt here somewhere.
‘He’s been…working very hard. Too hard.’
Magnus’s vodka hand started to shake. He rested it on his thigh, took the glass in his other hand and drank.
‘I don’t think he’s been quite as dedicated as you might believe. Tell me, have you ever known him to go anywhere else other than work? Does he have friends? Does he ever drink at Dino’s?’
‘Richard is not a drinking man. He’s not a gregarious sort, Mr. Magnus. As far as I know, he’s never done anything but come home after a day at work and collapse in exhaustion.’
Ah, so there it was. Shanti didn’t give out what a wife required, he was one of those rare, sexless automatons that did nothing but sleep and work. Great for MMP. Useless to his wife. Yes, Magnus could see the strain in her neck muscles, sensed the hunger in her crotch. She would want it hard and rough. She would welcome pain. How happy he would be to oblige.
When they’d concluded their business, of course. Not before.
Shanti visited the dairy and watched the dairymen struggling to milk the few cows they had in there by hand. It was obvious from the look of the cows that the process was more painful than the machines. Cows that had been milked had red udders with fingerprint-shaped bruises already appearing. He looked for WHITE-047 but she wasn’t there.
Meat Page 24