by Terry Tyler
"Shut your eyes, would you? I need to change."
I grab a towel and find some warm trousers and a jumper.
"Okay, you can look now!" I offer tea and go to light the stove, but he's not talking, so I say, "It's not a biggie. You know he's been locked up before; I think he quite likes it."
"You don't understand, Evie. It's not like before. This is bad."
The kindling catches light, and I turn to look at him.
He looks worried. Proper worried.
"Whaddya mean?"
"I saw him. I was there, sweeping up, same as him. He was cleaning up round the tobacco stall, and I saw him put two bags of it inside that hidden pocket in his trouser leg―and that was when they swooped. Out of nowhere."
"What, you mean like they was watching him?"
"Yeah. There was two of them, and they wrestled him to the ground. Pulled off his trousers and got the tobacco out. They've been watching him for weeks, they said."
I drag a stool over to the stove; I'm still cold, even though it's bloody August and I'm wearing a jumper. I shove some wood in. "So how long's he got, then? A month?"
Cal shakes his head. "Evie, you still don't get it. This is serious. They didn't just chuck him into a cell like usual. He's inside the Law House. He's getting a panel."
Fuck. This is serious. For what they call petty crimes, you just get shoved in a cell until Fisher finds someone new to thump or Lieutenant Hemsley comes along and takes pity on you. But for more heavy stuff you get the panel. Seven of 'em, deciding what's to be done with you. They can keep you locked up for months, have you flogged, or, worst of all, evict you.
I lean forward, staring into the fire. "I bloody warned him. I knew he was getting too cocky."
"He was, yeah. Taking risks. Thought he was a bit clever. But one of the guards, he said, 'This ain't no minor offence. This is the organised acquiring of stolen goods for personal profit, and you're going to pay for it'."
I stand up; I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I feel weak, and shaky.
"I've gotta see him."
"You can't, mate. They won't allow it. I followed them up to the Law House, but that Fisher, he said the perp―the perpy-trators of level three crimes don't get no visitors, 'specially not when they come from Stinky Bottom."
I plonk myself back down, tear off a bit of pie and shove it in my mouth, pointing at it, in case Cal wants some. He dives in, cramming a huge chunk into his gob all in one go, then tearing off about a third of what's left.
"Hold up," I say, "don't eat it all. It's my dinner."
"Sorry." Then I feel a bitch for eating in front of him when he's hungry too, so I cut the whole damn thing in half and we share it.
We eat in silence until our stomachs are full, each in our own thoughts. Then I say, "What can we do?"
"Nothing. We can't do nothing. Just got to wait till he's had his panel."
"Yeah, but I'm not good at doing nothing and waiting." I wipe my crumby fingers down my trousers. "I'm going to ask Hemsley if I can see him."
Cal's eyes open wide. "What? You can't do that. A lieutenant won't take no notice of you and me."
I shrug. "He's just a person, same as us, and he's quite nice when you talk to him, Hemsley. And what you don't ask, you don't get, right?"
This has been a horrible, horrible day.
It's like those black clouds brought all this bad shit with them. Rumbling in from the north, on what should have been a sunny summer day, bringing Wolf North's crappy new rule. It's more scary than people realise, I think. Then that daft cow tried to off herself, and now my friend has been locked up. What's going to happen to him? Some people say that Wolf North takes a fancy to the young, good-looking lads like Jay. I don't want to think about that; it makes me feel too sick and scared.
I can usually brush off owt bad but today I feel like all this frightening shit means that Despair is just round the corner.
Maybe it is just those clouds, like I said to Dad. I dunno.
Fuck it. Tomorrow I'm going to go see Ryder and say I'm in.
Just in case.
Jay Field huddles in a corner, arms around his stomach, rocking to and fro; the rhythmic movement comforts him and eases the pain, just a little. His head hurts, too, and his lower back; all over his body, he can feel the guards' kicks and punches.
Okay, so he got a bit lairy with Fisher, but he didn't deserve this.
His cell inside the Law House has bare floorboards and contains nothing but a thin blanket and a bucket, with a ledge to sleep on. The smell of vinegar-based disinfectant mixed with vague wafts of bodily secretions makes him feel nauseous.
A shuffling noise outside the cell takes his mind away from his pain for just a moment. He stands up with great care, leaning against the wall to support himself; a hatch in the door is pulled open, and a weak sliver of light shines through.
"Your tea."
A gruff voice; a hand holds out a plate of something that smells like stew. Jay isn't hungry, but he knows he'll need it later, cold or not.
Through the hatch, a face leers at him. The man is sallow skinned and dark haired, possibly Indian or Middle Eastern in part; his long pony tail is greasy, his beard ungroomed. His name is Ham. One of Fisher's crew. Not as bad as Fisher, thank goodness. Fisher would've pissed or jerked off into the stew before he gave it to him; Ham would maybe just spit in it.
"What's going to happen to me?" Jay asks.
Ham laughs. "Not a lot."
"Do I get my panel tomorrow, then?"
"Nah. Friday. I've got your company for three days. You best get prepared for a long stay, kid―and it gets colder than a witch's tit out in that jail block over the winter!"
Jay feels his chest tighten. "But it was only a bit of thieving―I didn't hurt anyone―"
"Yeah, but it weren't your first offence, and you weren't just nicking, you was selling stolen goods." Ham grins, displaying a mouth filled with rotten teeth. "The Light don't like light-fingered shitbags, and nor do we. Best you forget all about your luxury life in Stinky Bottom, 'cause you ain't going to be seeing it again for a fair old while."
Chapter 25
Byron Lewis V
I failed her. She needed me and I failed her.
I went back to the House of Angels, twice, but each time I was told she didn't want to see me. The second time I refused to leave, until Daffodil asked her guards to 'escort' me from the premises.
I told Ryder, but he said there was little he could do unless she approached him for help; to plunge in might exacerbate an already delicate situation, he said.
Delicate, my arse. Useless toe-rag. He could have gone to her. Talked to her. Made her tell him.
This is on him, too.
I tell myself I tried, but it doesn't work; I could have tried harder.
I knew, as soon as I saw Silver's face. Knew it was Indra.
I plunged into the crowd, pushing people out of the way, caught up as I was in the tide of humanity moving out of the church, but in front of me I caught a glimpse of Ryder, escorting Silver, his arm around her shoulders.
"Ryder!"
He turned.
"The hospital," he called, "They'll have taken her to the East End; we're going up there now."
Bodies surged in front of me and I got stuck in a log jam of people. I elbowed my way through, ignoring the voices saying oy, watch what you're doing, mate, until a woman punched me in the head for stepping on her daughter's foot, and, mortified, I picked up the screaming little girl and found somewhere for her to sit until the crowd had dispersed. Her foot was fine, but I had to pacify the woman and give her money to buy totally unnecessary bandages and a cake to make her daughter feel better―and, finally, I managed to leave.
Of course Ryder was nowhere to be seen by this time, but down the road I found one horse tethered in the community stable, paid the boy to saddle her up, and off I went as fast as I dared, through the city centre. People jumped out of my way, shouting at me to watch where I was
going.
The rain was pelting down by this time and I was soaked through, but I hardly noticed.
When I got to the East End barrier I spent some time arguing with a particularly arsey guard before he would let me in; yes, of course guards were allowed to visit patients in the hospital, but I looked to be in an 'agitated state', and was I sure I wouldn't do more harm than good?
Maybe he was just arsey because he was soaked to the skin and likely to stay that way until the end of his shift, but a crown opened the gate. I tied the horse up outside the hospital, ran in, and a nurse answered my garbled request, pointing ahead―but I never reached the room where they'd put Indra, because as I turned the corner I bumped into Abe Slovis.
I tried to push past him, but he barred my way.
"If you've come to see my wife, you’re too late. She's gone."
I tried again, but he grabbed me by the upper arms.
"I said she's gone. Died on the way here."
I knew it. I already knew it. I knew it as soon as I saw Silver's face.
I wrenched his hands away.
"You killed her."
He laughed. He actually fucking laughed. "Did I bollocks. I was miles away."
"You killed her. If she hadn't met you, she'd still be alive."
(Or if she'd never met you, Byron―)
"You sure you want to say that sort of shit to me?"
Still the bully-boy. Even now. "I want to see her."
"She ain't here. Already been taken."
There was no emotion in his eyes. Nothing.
"Who's taken her?"
"Who d'yer think? Your dear uncle Jet."
The fuck? I thought Jet only took away those buried outside the city walls. Criminals. The normal practice is for the dead to be carried up to the spirit field by the family, accompanied by guards if extra hands are needed.
"Why Jet? Why not you?"
He sniffed, wrinkling his nose. "Being buried outside, ain't she? Taking her out of North Gate."
"What for? She was your fucking wife, not a criminal―"
And that was when Ryder appeared, behind him.
"Ryder―what's going on? Why's Indra being buried outside the city?"
He slid past the ludicrous width of Slovis to stand with me. "I'm sorry, Byron. But suicide―life is a precious gift, given by our creator so that we can enrich the lives of others, procreate, play our part in making this Earth a better place. To destroy that gift―" He shook his head, as if the matter was out of his hands. "Having not encountered this situation before I had to ask for guidance. I received the Light's word."
He was almost looking through me; he spoke as though he'd learned the speech by heart, the words falling from his mouth in a dull monotone. "I have asked him for mercy, for Indra to at last find peace in the Clearing after the troubled life she has led, but―well, it's not up to me. All I can do is pray for her."
"You're telling me this Light character actually spoke to you and said, 'bury her outside the walls'?"
"The message I received is that taking one's own life is the ultimate sin. I conferred with Wolf on the matter, and this is what we agreed."
"But she hasn't committed any crime!"
"Not against another human, but against the Light, which is grave indeed."
I stood back and stared at them: that great oaf Slovis, who obviously didn't give a crap that he'd driven Indra to her death, and golden boy Ryder, calm as you like, delivering more bullshit.
I knew what was happening here. Wolf wanted her buried outside the city to discourage suicides, that was all.
"Fuck the pair of you," I hissed. "Fuck you for screwing up her mind, till she thought she didn't deserve to have a fucking life at all. It's your fault. Your fault she's dead. Fucking both of you."
Slovis charged at me, grabbing me around the neck, slamming me up against the wall, and for a moment I thought my number was up, I was helpless―but then Ryder stepped in, gripping his shoulder.
"Abe. Stop."
Those powerful slabs of meat released their hold and I fell back, choking.
"Stop, both of you," Ryder said. "This is a terrible, highly emotive situation, but aggression has no place in our lives now. Be still."
Slovis stepped back. His face and neck were flushed, the tendons in his neck taut; he was still itching to thump me, I could tell.
I swallowed hard, found my water bottle and glugged some down.
Ryder put one hand on Slovis's shoulder, and one on mine. "Listen. We resolve conflict by putting ourselves in the other man's shoes. The Light tests us, and this is how we show him that our acceptance is not just words we said in church one day, but a real decision to change the way we live."
Slovis grunted some form of acquiescence, but I was fucking speechless.
Ryder turned to me. "Byron, you're in shock, and you're hurting. Pain makes us lash out; I've been there, done that, more times than you know―I really do understand what you're going through, but this is not the time for casting blame. I suggest we all forget what's been said here today; when situations are fraught it's the most normal thing in the world to say a whole bunch of stuff we don't mean."
I took a step back, out of his reach.
"But I did mean it," I said. "I meant every damn word. Actually, fuck you even more than him, because everyone knows he's a total cunt but you're supposed to be the good guy. And when I told you what he'd done to her you didn't lift a finger."
The serene smile faded away, and he just stared at me. I saw something in his eyes that I've never seen before. Something hard. Like he resented me for daring to criticise him.
"But you had no proof. I did actually go to Abe, to talk to him about it, and he assured me that Indra's claims were just stories, that's all, invented by a troubled mind. The mark on her face―that was unfortunate, and Abe admitted he did strike her, but only in an effort to calm her down because she'd become hysterical about Mary's pregnancy. It was pure jealousy."
"That’s right," Slovis grunted. "She was a nut-job, that one; a right bloody drama queen."
That story was actually feasible, but I didn't believe it. And Ryder's got his nose firmly lodged up Wolf North's backside; no way would he fail to support one of his lieutenants.
Ryder says, "I'm going to pretend this exchange never happened, gentlemen, and I suggest you both do so, too. Byron, go home and calm down and, later, I will find out where Jet has buried Indra, so that we can visit her grave together, and say a prayer for her."
The horrors of the day came crashing down on me, all at once, and I just turned and staggered out.
I'm sure I'll be told to leave Blackthorn soon enough, now I've accused one of Wolf North's inner circle of crimes most vile. Fuck them. Fuck Blackthorn.
Or maybe I won't wait to be evicted.
I did go home, as Ryder suggested, because it was the only place where I could be sure I'd be alone. No Indra to hassle me, not any more. I drank, although I knew it would do me no good. I drank, and I cried, for the poor girl who might have been able to work through her grief, in time, and with the right help.
I drank to put myself into a stupor, because I failed her.
Today I suffered through a hangover on early shift, made worse by the weather, which is back to clammy and stifling after yesterday's rain. Now I need to find the place where Indra has been laid to rest.
For that, I have to seek out my uncle.
I'm surprised to see him as I walk towards Thorn Lodge; he's outside the gates, chatting to a couple of his lackeys, one of whom is propping himself up against the handle of a large shovel. The deed must have only just been done.
Disgust seeps through my body, as it always does when I get too close to him.
He must be over fifty now, but he looks older; his face is a mass of creases, furrows and pock marks, his chin unshaven rather than bearded. His thinning, dark hair is greasy; a lank lock falls across his face. He's fatter than last time I saw him. Easy to indulge yourself when you're p
aid handsomely for making the murky problems of Wolf North's life disappear.
He sees me, and I catch a hint of amusement in those jaded eyes.
"My boy!"
He opens his arms in a mocking fashion; he has no more love for me than I for him. Waving away his men, he slings an arm around my shoulder and manoeuvres me towards a bench; old-guy groans accompany the cracking of his knees as he sits down next to me. He stinks of sweat, grease, smoke and booze.
"What are you doing up these parts, eh? Come to see your old uncle?" He pulls out a bag of tobacco, and fills his pipe. "Never a day goes by when I don't think of your da, you know that, don't you?"
I doubt it very much. "I've come to find out where you've buried Indra, that's all."
He burps; as he does so, a foul waft of onions hits my poor nostrils.
"Does that mean we can't have a bit of a chin-wag, too? Come on, lad; we're family."
Yeah. My only living uncle: a drug dealer, pimp, unorthodox undertaker and, I suspect, hired killer.
"I'm busy. Can you just tell me where she is?"
He lights his pipe, and makes a few revolting sucking noises. "Aye, if that's how you want it, you po-faced little bastard. You on foot? Go out of North Gate, head northwest for a half hour, it's a clear path through the trees, and you get to an old road. Wide 'un. Load of buildings. You know, ruins. Bit of vegetation out front. That's where you'll find her."
"You mean a waste-ground? You couldn't even bury her somewhere decent? Under some trees, in a field?"
He gives me a short, curt laugh. "She don't care; she's dead, ain't she? Wolf wanted her far away from here, so far away he got; I was just obeying orders, same's I always do. Anyway, I was sweating like a friggin' horse, and it looks like it's going to start chucking it down again―I weren't going to get soaked to the skin for the sake of some crazy bint who was probably just looking for attention an' took it too far. I said to my lads, this spot'll do, good as any."
I open my mouth, and shut it again; there's no point. A globule of pus like him won't understand a small matter like having respect for the dead.