Kill All Kill All

by Craig McNish

  “So we could go from here to London and back here again in less than a single day?”

  “Easily.”

  “Then we should go to London! I have heard many stories about the place and wish to see it for myself. There is talk of large palaces, massive gardens someone like I might walk around freely and all sorts of wares to be bought and sold by a great many traders. When could we start this journey?”

  “Whenever you like. We can go now, if you want.”

  “Well, that would be a wonderful thing! It could be that we will marry while we are there, for I would wager that the churches in London are far grander than ours. You should have only the finest, Miss Jane, and on our return I will find us a farm and make it a success so we will have wealth beyond measure! Indeed this is truly a part of my life that I should never forget.”

  “I'm sure it will be” said Parkes with a smile, unlocking her car and rolling her eyes as she had to show Mills how to get in and fasten his seatbelt. “Especially when I dump you a hundred miles from here in the middle of nowhere and get the hell out” she muttered under her breath before taking her seat behind the steering wheel and starting the engine.

  *

  FIVE

  Ferryhill, County Durham, 1683

  The twenty-sixth day of August, and Brass Farm was even more busy than on a usual day. The harvest was almost complete now, with two full fields of wheat cut down by many pairs of hands artfully swinging a sickle or scythe and bales loaded onto large carts that were drawn by teams of well-worked oxen. John Brass thought this to be the most abundant harvest in as long a time as he could possibly remember – over three tonnes, he reckoned, or maybe even close on four – which rendered the need for more hands to be hired and help complete the work. There had been no shortage of willing labour, for Mister Brass was known to be a fair and honest man and indeed he had paid his workers well.

  “Tonight is the first night of the full moon again, you know” Mills mentioned as he and another man – a young lad by the name of Roger Herrington – hauled up a large bale to two men stood on the back of a waiting cart. The oxen stood quiet and patient, most likely glad of the opportunity to rest awhile. Herrington was an amiable sort but tended not to speak much, most often if he was spoken to first. He tried to think of a suitable reply to Mills' remark.

  “I have noticed that it changes shape and also its position in the sky, but that is all. It is beyond my knowledge, but I already have other things to concern myself with here that are more pressing – my wife Judith is with child and will surely deliver any day now. It is fortunate I managed to find work with Mister Brass when I did, for the wages I earn here will soon be spent with another mouth to feed.”

  “The shape of the moon changes each seven days and the names go thus; new moon, first quarter, full moon, third quarter. I believe there are other parts to these cycles but I do not know their names. But the full moon on a clear night is a sight to behold, don't you think?” It seemed to Herrington that Mills had paid no heed to his comment and as such was perplexed by his reply.

  “I suppose. If my wife gives birth to a boy then we will call him Zachary, after my father. Should it be a girl then her name will be Rose, after Judith's mother. Fitting names, don't you think?” Herrington waited for Mills to say something, and when he did it was not to give answer to his opinion on the question asked.

  “It is strange that sometimes we should be able to see the moon during the day, is it not? And there is never an occasion where it cannot be seen at night, unless it is hidden by the clouds. Have you ever thought why that might be?” Herrington was a peaceable man but also intolerant of those who lacked manners. Here he was, trying to make talk with the man he was working alongside and his words were treated with complete disregard. He had to make his feelings known.

  “Why is it you continue to speak of the moon when it has no part in the life of no man here, or anywhere for that matter? I have no interest in how the moon should look, or whether it can be seen in the light or the dark or even at all! It is of no importance to me! And yet I ask you kindly for a word on something of note and you ignore me like I had never spoken at all! Why, that is the act of an ignorant man who cares not for anything but himself, I should think! I would ask that we talk on matters close at hand or not at all! Thank you!” Mills was surprised by the outburst, as were those nearby who were able to hear Mills' witterings and think just as Herrington.

  “You would do well to remember that I have worked for Mister Brass and his family a good while longer than thee, Herrington” Mills said with menace. “This has been my home and place of work for one hundred and twelve days now. A word from me and you would be working here no longer, I reckon. And what would your wife think of you when you were no longer earning wages and unable to feed your child? You should treat me with a greater respect if you do not want your family to be living on the street and begging for food.” Herrington became alarmed, for Mills had spoken with a passion that many might say he was telling the truth.

  “Mills is a dreamer” a large man by the name of John Hogge called out to Herrington. “Pay him no mind, lad. You do your share, Mister Brass knows that. He won't rid himself of good workers. But if you prefer then maybe you and I can change places – I can handle Mills well enough.” Herrington was all too quick to take up Hogge on his offer.

  “So, Mills, why the interest in something so distant that does nothing to make a man wealthy or his land prosperous? We all know it is the daylight that makes our crops and animals thrive.”

  “You don't find it marvellous that this tiny object can light up the ground when it is dark? I have no way of knowing how far from here it might be, but I would reckon a good way further than any man can ever travel. Why, it would be like lighting an oil lamp here on this farm and having it sighted in Van Dieman's Land!”

  “And if it is so marvellous, why does it not show itself at every opportunity? The daylight makes it barely show, and even at night you cannot see much of it a lot of the time. So why would that be?”

  “A very good question, Mister Hogge, and one that I wish I could give you an answer for! I daresay there are scholars elsewhere in the world who would be able to speak much more in detail on such a matter, but you will not hear of it from me. And what is to say that it plays no part in making our crops grow, or our animals strong? Surely if daylight was the best of ways to give life to all things then it would never go away for all that relied upon it would begin to die!” Hogge considered these words as he and Mills hauled another bale of harvested wheat onto a cart.

  “A fair point, Mills. I have to say, never have I heard a worker on a farm be able to talk on such things with such a strong feeling of truth in his words. You have never considered seeking a further education on such things?”

  “That is probably my greatest wish” Mills said with a deep sigh. “But a man needs bread so he can live and money to be able to buy it. I was very young when my mother took ill and died, and my father is often too sick for work. I had no other choice than to take what work was to be found so we might not end up living on the street.”

  “Well, 'tis a shame” Hogge told him, understanding the need over the desire. “If you work for Mister Brass long enough, it might be he can help you learn more than you already know.” This was a thought from which Mills took great heart.

  The afternoon meal was a welcome break, and something of a grand affair. With many of the labourers knowing little more than the foods of subsistence, which could be bland and unappealing, the meal they were served was indeed a fine one; bread, meat, potatoes and also a little wine as well as water. But the offering of pineapple was a rare treat; usually a preserve of high society, it was a show of just how highly Mister Brass regarded the men who did his toil for long, arduous hours, and a fine way of winning their respect so that they would continue to make such a fine effort. A lot of the hired hands would be gone in the next day or two when the harvest was complete, but it was certain that the
y would be willing to return if called upon. To find such a good employer was not easy.

  When it came to partaking of food, Mills would exhibit the most unusual of behaviours. It almost seemed that he himself was not aware of the actions he was taking, but it would be impossible not to go unnoticed by anyone who was sat nearby. And so he became the focus of many pairs of eyes as the conversation died and they watched the young man dine. It was something that Mills eventually became aware of.

  “You consider it good manners to stare at a man while he eats his food?”

  “Nah, but many don't act with their food in the way you do, Mills” commented a large and powerful man who Mills knew only as Dawson. “You sort the different items on your plate and eat small parts of each in exact turn. You chew each full mouth of food twenty times, and have the smallest drink of water after it is swallowed. Why, even a small child would not behave in such a way!”

  “It is my food Dawson and I shall eat it however I wish! Do I tell you how to eat, or to dress, or even to walk and talk? No, because it is none of my business, just as this is none of yours! And anyone else who should care to make comment better be good with his fists, for I will not respond kindly.” There was much laughter at this. With no doubt that Mills was a strong man, he had not the experience that a lot of his fellow workers possessed. There was sure to be someone in this crowd who would put Mills' words to the test, and it was not long before they made themselves known.

  “Maybe you would have preferred to be female, I think? Millicent Mills would be a very fitting name.” A loud peal of laughter, and the comment irked Mills greatly. “Or is it that you are a woman and only now making it known to try and win the affections of one of us lads? Maybe we should remove those breeches of yours and take us a look, just to be sure.” The talking was all from the mouth of Leonard Roe, a man who could toil for hours with hardly a drop of sweat on his brow, his small frame deceptive of the strength it held inside. Mills had studied each man over the days and there was one or two he found disagreeable. Roe was such a man, and Mills would have liked the chance to teach him a lesson. For the way he was running his mouth, Roe must have known this and was passing out invitation for Mills to try. He had already made known his intent to deal with any dissenters, and knew Mills could not back down now.

  “I think maybe you did not hear what I just said, Roe” said Mills to the man, standing up and moving in his direction where he was sat eating. You believe yourself to be above me in standing and able to make known your views without consequence? You are less of a man than I, merely a farmhand who is good for nothing but the most menial of work that could be given to even an incompetent idiot and completed easily. I think it is time someone taught you a lesson in respect, sir! You might wish to remove your shirt, I have no desire to spoil the clothing Mister Brass provided you with by the spilling of your blood.” Jane Brass had been outside when the commotion started, looked across to see what would happen next with some fascination.

  “You would challenge me to a fight, Mills? Ha! I think it probable you have just made a grave mistake, but it is one that you can learn from.” Roe stood up, removed his shirt and handed it to the man sat at his left side. Now he curled his large hands into fists, held them up ready to attack. Mills had no real desire to fight but was not going to have his character slandered in such a way, and he too took off his shirt and threw it to one side. Now all of the others stood, pushing and cajoling so that one man might throw the first punch.

  It was Mills who attacked his opponent first. A few steps forward to be sure he was in reach, and a left arm thrown in from the side which was quickly followed with the right. The first gave nothing but a glancing blow to Roe's cheek, but the second landed firmly on his chin and made him spin on his heel. Still though he did not fall and gathered himself quickly. A shake of the head to rid himself of its impact and he was ready again.

  “A lucky strike” said Roe, who fooled his opponent with a false punch into thin air before launching a fist into the stomach of Mills. This brought a cheer, a much louder one to follow when Mills landed a punch on Roe's mouth. An amount of blood was spit out, and possibly a tooth, but still he grinned at Mills through blood-covered teeth and taunted his opponent some more.

  “Well, maybe you have more guile than that for which I give credit” said Roe. “But you will not have the beating of me on this day.” A few quick steps forward and he lowered his head, pushing it deep into Mills' chest and making him catch his breath. Mills staggered and fell backward, but brought out a leg as he did so and got the inside of Roe's left knee, causing the leg to give and Roe to join his adversary on the ground. Now the two men tussled, the fellows they worked with urging them to hit harder and quicker, give their own advice as to what should be done so each man might outwit the other. The continued noise had carried through an open window in the house and fell upon the ears of Mister Brass, who left his chair and his work behind to learn for himself the reason behind the shouting.

  “Father! I was just about to come and fetch you” said Jane at the unexpected appearance of the patriarchal figure at her shoulder. “A disagreement between Mills and Roe has led to this. They have been into this ruckus for some minutes now, maybe over five. You should call out and bring it to a stop, don't you think?”

  “Not so quick, girl” said John Brass to his daughter, being of the belief she had no such intention to summon him any time sooner than he would have arrived by chance. “Two grown men fight only for a reason they themselves feel is proper, be it a right one or wrong. If they are true gentlemen then they will know when to stop and both will shake hands when it is over, you can be certain of it.” And he too looked on with some interest as to who would eventually be the victor in this sparring contest.

  A straight-arm jab brought Mills' right fist into contact squarely with Roe's nose, followed by a sound of crunching bone and a spray of blood that trickled quickly and dripped to the ground. Mills took advantage of Roe's injury and landed two more strong blows in the near area, while again sustaining more blows to his gut and a vicious strike underneath his chin. It was this last blow that lifted Mills clean off his feet and set him crashing into the dry earth, and there he lay, feeling unable to move. Roe leaned across his decked opponent and blood dripped from his nose onto Mills' face. This would have been an opportunity for Roe to surely gain the upper hand, but instead he looked down at Mills awhile before holding an outstretched arm and inviting him to grab his hand so he might help him to his feet. A brief moment, and Mills accepted.

  “That's a good punch you have on you there, Mills, but I have no wish to maim you further and would reckon you might be the same. You are a man of your word and followed it with actions, just as you said. For that, you have my respect. No offence was meant by anything I said, it was merely an observation and words that were spoken in jest, but I'm sure that many a man in your place might be provoked into defending his honour. Now I say we shake hands and stop this foolish tirade so we might get back to work and earn our pay. What say you?” Mills still felt his breathing heavy, tried to control it more quickly.

  “I believe we have fought enough to sort our differences and can now make amends. Maybe my temper could have been more able to accept your words as no kind of threat, and I am sorry it should have ended in a common brawl. I hope your injuries are not so severe as to cause a great amount of discomfort for more than a day or maybe two.” Both combatants seemed appeased by this and shook hands before agreeing on a truce. Work was resumed and the two who had fought laughed briefly before parting ways to attend to their tasks.

  “There you are, my child” said Brass to his daughter. “It is not always possible for men to resolve their differences using only words, although many would wish otherwise. But just because they choose to come to blows does not make them lifelong enemies either. Each will accept what has happened and use it to aid their judgement at another time, and the more scrapes a man might have, the less it is likely he will feel t
he need to put things right with his fists.” And with those words, Mister Brass took his leave and went back to his study. Jane looked over the workers for a minute more before she too returned inside to complete her chores.

  *

  Work had come to an end when the daylight began to fade. With food and drink taken, the men swapped stories and sang songs before taking to their beds in the barn. The harvest would be completed tomorrow and each man would leave with their wages, go back to their homes and families then try to find more work. With some luck, maybe a few would be called back to work for Mister Brass when the time came to sow the new seed in autumn. They had done themselves proud, and their hard labour would earn them a couple of shillings extra in their pay, a gesture Mister Brass had kept to himself and would let the men find out when they received their wages.

  The night was a warm one, and Mills could not sleep. He left his bed inside the Brass homestead and dressed before exiting quietly through the scullery, so as not to disturb those who were sleeping upstairs. He took up a spot at the fence and rested his arms upon it, gazed up silently at the glowing moon which was completely uncovered in a cloudless sky, and wondered what it might be like there. He imagined it to be similar in many ways to his own world, with people and farms, animals and crops, for these were all things a man would need to survive. So many questions in his mind; what did the people who lived there look like? Were they a friendly sort, or would they be hostile and a danger? How would they speak? Mills allowed his mind to wander and it returned to him a number of possibilities.

  “I will visit one day and see it for myself” he said in a quiet voice that was full of promise. “Maybe I would even like to live there!” Mills continued with his musings as Jane peered out at him from her bedroom window. She had woken to hear talking and with the fear that it might be robbers, had gone to find out for herself and know whether to go and wake her father. She smiled as she listened to Mills talk about all manner of strange things, but always to himself, thinking that maybe it was no wonder that most in the town had found him odd. Jane though believed him to be a nice young fellow and her sister Elizabeth certainly enjoyed his company, when he could quite easily discuss at length any subject her ten year-old mind could think up when other elders would have smiled politely and paid her no real attention.