Blackthorn

by Terry Tyler

  As I leave the courtyard of Thorn Lodge, the first person I see is Byron, who asks me to check that Jay Field is still being held in the jail block.

  "I'm sorry to ask again when I know you're busy―did you get my message? Can I tell Evie that you'll do this?"

  I hate lying to him, but I assure him that yes, of course he can. I feel as though I'm in a transparent, invisible bubble, removed from the world. Byron looks at me oddly, but I can't worry about that right now.

  I hardly even notice him walk away.

  The gate guards outside Wolf's house greet me; we put our hands to our hearts, and share the Light.

  "Is the new cleaner here yet?" I ask Danny Foster. "Young lad, fair hair?"

  He frowns. "Didn't know there was one―I haven't seen him." He looks at his colleague, who shrugs, with little interest.

  I pat Danny on the shoulder, as I have seen others do when they wish to convey reassurance. As I remember Jet Lewis doing to me only yesterday. "I expect he got here before your shifts started, or came in through the back gate with Tara. I'm here to perform his induction re protocol when working in the governor's house―nothing to worry about."

  Danny doesn't care; my instinct is to tell him to stand up straight and stop slouching against the wall, but today his slack attitude is of benefit to me.

  The door is open, as is usual. Tara is busy mopping the entrance hall.

  "Morning, sir."

  "Good morning, Tara; is Governor North up?"

  She stops, and leans on her mop. "He's gone to church, sir, like normal."

  Good. "Oh, silly me, of course he has," I say, and force a smile. The tone of my voice sounds unfamiliar to my ears; even my choice of words is odd. I indicate the small pack on my shoulder. "I've been to fetch some medication for him. Maybe you would be so kind as to open his private living room, so I can put it in his cabinet?"

  She looks unsure. "Peach keeps the keys in the kitchen―I have to ask her before I take them, but she's at church, too."

  "Well, you have my permission to open the door." I do the shoulder pat once more; it appears to be effective. "My position gives me authority over housekeeping staff!" I laugh, as though any suggestion otherwise would be risible.

  "If you think that would be okay―"

  "Don't worry; if Governor North disapproves, you can blame me!"

  I wait while she gets the keys; after opening the door to the right wing, and then the living room, she stands, waiting. I tell her that I want to inventory his medication stock, and do not wish to keep her from her work; I can see myself out. Again, her expression conveys doubt, but I am a lieutenant; she will not question me.

  The true contents of my pack are not medication but instruments that will allow me to unlock both the door to the cellar, and that of Jay Field's prison cell, together with a set of clothes for his role as the new cleaner.

  Once in my apartment, I will give him a small pack of supplies, and escort him through East Gate.

  By the time Wolf North finds out that for one hour he had a mysterious new cleaner whom he neither employed nor laid eyes upon, Jay will be gone. What the consequences will be for me, I do not know; I will deal with them when the time comes.

  As soon as I hear Tara moving off across the entrance hall, I leave the living room, and make haste to the cellar.

  The door is open.

  I call out Jay's name.

  There is no reply.

  It smells different.

  Cleaner.

  I spot a small oil lamp on a tiny shelf halfway down the stairs; it is lit, so I take it.

  I reach the bottom, and feel my way, hand on the wall through the darkness, to the back of that dank room, holding up the lamp, expecting to see Jay asleep on his cell floor.

  But the cell is empty, the door wide open.

  There is nothing inside it. No bucket, no chains with their heavy metal cuffs.

  Nothing but the acrid odour of cleaning fluid. My nostrils find another smell, floral and sweet. I follow my nose; it emanates from scented oil in a lighted burner, in the corner of the cell.

  There is no indication that Jay Field was ever here.

  I drop my pack, stumbling against the wall.

  A momentary surge of naïve optimism tells me he might have been taken back to the jail block, but I know he hasn't. I know he is gone.

  I recall something Munroe said, back at the jail block, a year ago.

  I chose to ignore it, as I have chosen to ignore so much.

  Jet Lewis. His missions down to the river with heavy packages. Late at night.

  Jet Lewis was in this house, yesterday.

  Of course he was.

  He'd been summoned to take care of Jay Field, as he said.

  Lucas Short disappeared from the jail block, too.

  Lucas Short was never seen again.

  Jay is already dead.

  Memories flash through my mind. Other names. Other odd disappearances, covered up with tales of escape; a cell door left open by mistake, Fisher's men assaulted whilst handing out food. No great loss to Blackthorn. Vermin let loose.

  Now, though, I recall my niggling doubt, time and time again. Each time, I brushed it away.

  I slump onto the floor, and I do the only thing I can. I pray to my father, my saviour, my god: I pray to the Light, because he is all that I have.

  I stay there a long time, in that damp cellar, because I cannot face the outside world, now I have faced the truth that my governor, to whom I have chosen to dedicate my life, has a side to his character so dark that the Light has not been able penetrate.

  I close my eyes, and I implore the Light to help us both.

  I clear my mind, and focus only on prayer, concentrating on the joy brought to this city by Ryder Swift.

  After a while I feel my soul lift, just a little. I block out everything but the just, the good and pure, and presently a curious warmth envelops me.

  I have heard a few others talk about this, and oh, how I have longed to experience it myself. Now that I do, it is more than I could ever have imagined.

  I feel the Light within me, within my very soul. As he knew that Ryder must be convinced, as he knew that Vic the logger would be a thorn in Ryder's side unless he was shown the one true path, he now knows that I need him like I have never needed him before, and he comes to me. Not physically, but within.

  The rush of euphoria is like nothing I have ever felt before. I see only one direction, the peace and joy of the Clearing as, at last, I experience my own moment of enlightenment.

  The Light shows me my true purpose.

  We are human; the power of both good and evil is within us all. Wolf has accepted the Light, which means he wants to be saved. I must go to him, tell him what I know, with neither judgement nor blame. I will go with him to talk to Ryder. Through him, Wolf will be saved by the Light.

  Ryder taught us that the man they called Jesus Christ was sent to those people of over two millennia ago so they would understand the creator's message―now, Ryder Swift is to us as Jesus was to those in ancient times―and didn't Jesus vow to forgive even the darkest human sin, as long as the subject repented?

  Ryder will help Wolf. The Light will forgive him.

  I love Wolf North; he is my master, and I his servant. What sort of man would I be, if I allowed him to risk being banished to Despair after death? This will be the most important action I have ever taken, the culmination of all that I have done for him over the years―knowing that his life may be cut short by illness, I will aid his path to the Clearing.

  My mother was more right than she knew, when she told me that I was born to serve.

  All doubt falls away; this is surely what I have been put on this earth to do.

  To save the soul of my master.

  Sitting in that dark, dank cellar, where only an hour ago I was wracked with hopelessness, I now feel hope.

  I bow my head and pray for the souls of Jay, of Lucas, and the others whose names I chose to forget, and
as I do so my sadness lifts, because I know they are at peace now, in the Clearing. And I alone can ensure that there will be no more who suffer as they did.

  What I do next will matter. I will matter. My life has true meaning, at last.

  I will be the one who saves Wolf North from Despair.

  At last I open my eyes. I see my dim surroundings, but they are beautiful to me now, because the Light is with me.

  Thank you, blessed Light, for showing me the way. Through you, I will sweep away the darkness from a corner of this troubled world.

  I stand, and I head up the stairs.

  My aim is to find Wolf, wherever he is. I will make sure we are not disturbed as we embark upon the most important conversation of both our lives.

  I feel light-headed; I want to run and shout. I want to tell everyone about my glorious enlightenment.

  Softly, I close the cellar door, and continue along that dim passage.

  The first thing I notice is that one of the double doors to the library is open.

  I feel a rush of anxiety, mixed with the joyful anticipation; if Wolf is here, this is where our talk will take place.

  But this is good. It seems fitting, somehow, that today will be the day I finally see this room.

  I peep in, and gasp.

  It is magnificent.

  The shelves run from floor to ceiling, filled with books. For a moment, I stand and drink in the sight before me. All those words, all that knowledge.

  Slowly, I approach the shelves; I run my hands across the spines of the books, breathe in their smell; silently they sit here, waiting to nourish my mind.

  So many titles, most of which are unfamiliar to me. I wonder what they are about; so often, a title gives little indication, and my own collection is so limited.

  I turn my head to one side, reading the spines.

  The Picture of Dorian Grey. The Republic. The Wisdom of the Enneagram. The Reader's Digest Care of House Plants. Great Expectations. The Devil Wears Prada. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Beowulf. The Ladybird book of Mindfulness. The Five People You Meet In Heaven. Sons and Lovers. On The Road. Hollywood Wives.

  There seems to be no order to them, no system. Long ago, when Thorn North expanded the library started by Phoenix, teams were sent out to gather any books they could find, from shops, libraries and houses, and I imagine they were loaded onto the shelves with little thought. Once Wolf and I have embarked on our new beginning, I might suggest that I become his librarian. I could catalogue them.

  Yes, maybe I could ask for that little something for myself; another lieutenant could take over my duties; would I not have earned that?

  Oh, the joy, to be with these books, all day, every day!

  There is no one here, and I know I should leave, but I can't.

  My hand falls on the slim newel post of the spiral staircase. This, I cannot resist; I have never walked up a staircase like this.

  It's beautiful.

  I reach the mezzanine. Standing here, I feel like a king. I look down onto that perfect room, with its fireplace and desk over to the left, and, just below where I stand on this fine platform with its shiny wooden floor, a coffee table with three armchairs. Behind me, by a small, round window, is a sofa of an odd shape that I know is called a chaise longue. I sit; it affords me a perfect view of the north side of Blackthorn, with the House of Angels in the distance. If only I could sit here, reading, all day every day, I would never ask for anything else, ever again.

  A noise shocks me out of my reverie.

  Over by the fireplace, a door opens. I hadn't noticed it, because it is cleverly disguised as a bookshelf; maybe it leads to Wolf's study.

  My heart beats fast―and all at once my bubble bursts.

  I remember something Ryder said, about that first day in the clearing in the woods. How all those joyful feelings suddenly evaporated. The clearing was still beautiful, but his euphoria disappeared.

  This is what happens to me, now.

  As soon as I hear Wolf's laughter, I am brought back to earth.

  And away from the dark safety of the cellar, my plan seems less feasible.

  Am I really going to approach Wolf North and tell him I know about the cellar, then suggest that I accompany him to see Ryder, where he will confess his every sin?

  Am I brave enough to do this?

  Fleeting doubts nag at the back of my brain, but I try hard not to listen to them. Right now, I know just one thing.

  I am trespassing in my master's private rooms.

  On impulse, I lie flat on the floor; it is the only way I can think of to hide myself, though I am aware, even as I lower my body, that I would look extremely foolish if caught.

  I edge sideways; my head will be hidden by a large pot plant.

  I hear Wolf's voice.

  "... Hemsley? No, absolutely not."

  Extreme unease dampens any remaining confidence. Not only am I trespassing, but hearing oneself spoken about is always disconcerting.

  I am trapped.

  I peep out.

  Wolf is with Ryder.

  They sit down in the armchairs just below me; I dare not move for fear of a creaking floorboard. I lie as still as a statue, and hear liquid being poured out of a bottle. The sound is loud, in this quiet room with its high ceilings. All I can see is the top of Wolf's head, but their words float up to my ears as clearly as if I was sitting next to them.

  "No, Hemsley's a good errand boy," Wolf says, "but he'd be useless on a council, because he doesn't have the balls to speak his mind. I suggest Parks, Thomas, Ward―and Slovis, for an alternative point of view. Maybe the odd rep from lower down; possibly Henry Croft, the mill manager. Fisher's got his finger on the pulse―then there's Darius Fletcher. I'd strongly recommend him."

  Ryder says, "How about Nicky Chen?"

  "No, he's too much of a yes-man, like poor old Hemsley. You need people who aren't afraid to give an opinion."

  My heart thuds. Pain pierces my chest. My stomach churns.

  Poor old Hemsley.

  A yes-man.

  An errand boy with no balls.

  Is that how he sees me?

  My dear mother said that eavesdroppers never hear good about themselves.

  Oh, Ma.

  And they're talking about―what, exactly? A council? For future government? Has Wolf made up his mind, then, that Swift will be his successor?

  I hear Ryder Swift laugh. "Poor old Hemsley. Yes, he's a bit of an old woman, isn't he?"

  I shut my eyes.

  I feel a lump in my throat, and tears dampen my lower lids. Tears of shame, and sorrow for myself.

  I am in pain. Shock and pain.

  I liked you. I admired you. I felt good in your company, I thought you liked me, too. I thought we were friends.

  Poor old Hemsley.

  "He has his uses."

  "What about Vic?" Ryder asks.

  Wolf laughs. "You're kidding. He's served his purpose, but I can see him getting a little too chatty with enough drink inside him."

  "I was thinking of the view from the workers, but you're right, yeah. He's put his heart and soul into it, though, hasn't he?"

  I hear the clink of glasses.

  Wolf: "Ah, it's the fine detail that builds the picture."

  Clearly this is a continuation of an earlier conversation, in that other room, because I have no idea what they're talking about. There is movement, then I detect the musky scent of marijuana; I know the herb relieves Wolf's pain. Slowly, carefully, I inch forward to gain a better view.

  He is handing Ryder a pipe. He says, "Old Peter was the icing on the cake, though. You excelled yourself there."

  This, for some reason, affords them much mirth.

  "Yeah, well I had plenty of time to think that one up," says Ryder Swift. "Four bloody weeks; I've never been so fucking hungry in my life. Or so bored."

  I can't work out what I'm hearing. I want to ask them to stop, repeat what they just said. Tell me what the hell they're
talking about.

  "All in a good cause, my friend, all in a good cause."

  Ryder: "I still can't believe the way it's taken root. I never expected it to get as big as this."

  "Oh, I did. Give people hope when times are bad, and they'll accept anything. You only have to look at the rise of the Nazis to understand that. You ought to actually read those books I give you, instead of just skimming them!"

  More laughter.

  Wolf: "What amazes me is that human beings believe they're important enough to save. If I was a divine being, I'd use my super-powers to help glorious lions or the mighty eagle, or clever little green aliens on another planet, not a bunch of shitty old humans. Or ants―now, those little fuckers really do know how to work together as a team!"

  This makes them laugh, too, as they pass the pipe back and forth. There follows a bizarre discussion about the possibility of giant ants rising up to rule the earth; I recall seeing others similarly affected by marijuana in the past.

  When their laughter settles down, Wolf speaks again.

  "We've done it, my friend, and I don't know about you, but I've enjoyed every minute."

  Ryder: "I dare say you have. You don't have to hold those blasted prayer meetings twice a day!"

  A great uneasiness washes over me; I actually shiver. My chest is tight. This is fear, confusion, completely bewilderment, a cold, creeping dread.

  I am standing in front of a door that is about to open, and I am terrified of what is behind it, but I can't stop it―

  Wolf: "Ah, it'll get easier, now the spadework is done. Now we can just sit back and reap the benefits." He laughs. "As some old pope was supposed to have said, it has served us well, this myth of Christ. As the myth of the Light will serve us, and is already."

  The door is open. The monster is revealed.

  Shock stabs me from throat to chest, from heart to stomach.

  The myth of the Light?

  But I felt him, just an hour ago, in that cellar. I felt the Light's warmth, his presence in my heart. He was with me.

  As the myth of the Light serves us.

  My head swims.

  I hear low chuckles, the chink of glass against glass, and my governor speaks once more.