by Ian Dyer
The mines of Christian Sands ran deep. Men toiled in them twenty four hours a day, seven days a week with the only rest bite coming at End Year and Reap Day. Smoke billowed from lofty chimneys and the clanging of machinery rang out across the city and fields. Christian Sands is in the heartland of the Lower Lands, a place where commerce and industrial powers still rule and a far cry from the dead holes that are the outlying desert towns such as Little Pond, Princeton, Juniper, and Rockfall. Those places were rotten to the core and soon would be desolate waste grounds awaiting the deserts clawing hand to tear them apart.
And it was in one of these towns, Rockfall judging by the name of the tavern which he had once frequented, that Doyle Cartwright found himself in. Or should I say; that it was Doyle’s dream that put him there.
He was stood out front of the tavern, its sign swaying in the hot wind. Doyle gazed at it through half closed eyes trying to mask out the suns intense glare. His eyes were drawn to a figure stood at one of the windows on the top floor but he couldn’t make out what he was doing only that a faint wisp of smoke was coming from something sat upon the windowsill. Somehow Doyle knew that that man was being watched. He was being watched.
The next thing he knew he was stood in the centre of town next to the water well and all around him were bodies of men and women and children; all of them were dead; blown apart by some monstrous weapon of destruction. His eyes scanned them like spoil from his own mine and his dream let him care little for them.
A shadow befell him now, releasing Doyle briefly from the suns radiance. He looked up and saw a man dressed in blue denim and a brown shirt. In a bag slung across his shoulder a black shawl peeped out. His face was hard, eyes as wide as a moon and God like. The man was smiling and Doyle found himself smiling back.
‘Good morning, Doyle.’ The man said without moving his lips and Doyle nodded back.
‘Welcome to Rockfall. Welcome to the future.’ Waving his right hand, the man in the brown shirt pointed behind him, there was a man scurrying from the town, blood dripping from his shoes, a gun in his hand that seemed too large to be real. Following the man with the large gun’s path back he saw a woman holding her large protruding belly and heard her sobs and felt her sorrow.
‘Which one.’ Doyle asked.
The man in the brown shirt put his hand in his jean pocket. ‘Neither. Both. All three. I don’t know. For you there is only the knowledge that one day these will become your future.’
Doyle nodded. The smiles remained on each other’s faces.
‘Who are they?’ Doyle looked over to the man running from Rockfall and to the woman then back to the man in the brown shirt. ‘Who are you?’
‘He is Stephen. The girl is Susie and the lump is yet to be named.’
The hot wind rushed between them blowing dreambush between their legs. The clothes on the dead bodies rustled life back into the corpses if only for a moment.
‘I am known by many names and will be known soon by only one. Know now that I am only here to warn you, Doyle.’
Doyle’s eyes widened but he kept on smiling.
The man in the brown shirt went on. ‘You have found something that should not be trifled with, Doyle. Do as she wants, do as Mike wants and all will be alright. Don’t do as they want and fuck with me Mike, all won’t be alright. I have no idea how quick I will come for it, it may be Tomorrow, it may be next week.’
With that the sky turned grey and clouds rolled in. Thunder rippled across the desert and Mike found himself in the Wastelands. It was hot and he was alone, the man in the brown shirt was gone. Rockfall was gone. That man, the pregnant woman, all were gone. Thunder roared above and the ground shook and kept on shaking causing Doyle to fall upon the hardpan. It was then that the beast of the desert, the demon that lived deep within its heart and feasted upon the weary lost traveller rose from the sand and consumed the helpless miner. Doyle didn’t even have a chance to scream.
Doyle awoke, a muffled scream in his throat, and found himself lying in his own backyard the sun in his face his body wet with sweat. Swallowing, he coughed hoarsely. Rolling onto his belly and retching hard he vomited up a bucket load of hot sand which piled up on the grass like sand dunes in the Wasteland; in its grain Doyle could make out the face of the Demon which had consumed him.
7
Dotty had left early on that Thursday morning and Ted awoke after sleeping in a little to a quiet house. In the kitchen he found some jam on bread and a mug of coffee that Dotty had made for him. The coffee wasn’t cold so he drank it down and consumed the jam on bread greedily.
By half past eight Ted was in his fields tending to the animals. His farm was on the east side of the river and the first set of buildings you come to on the great road from Ritash and the surrounding towns and villages. But being the first doesn’t mean the best and these lands were hard to grow on. Crops continually failed and irrigation was a key problem. The furthest field was perpetually dry and the nearest to the forest would flood in bad weather. Being a farmer was hard work, Ted knew this, was brought up with that persistently being told to him by his father, but Teds farm had pushed him over the limit. No crop was a guarantee. No livestock certain to reap a good profit.
But soon that wouldn’t be his problem. That problem would have been brought by Mike Thatcham. This afternoon, once the cows had been fed he would go into town and let Thatcham know of his intent to sell and that Dotty would paint the picket fence, paint the whole god damned house if he wanted too.
The sun was strong this morning and Ted’s sweat was already pouring as he walked the fields ensuring all was nice and tight. He scratched the back of his head before bending down and picking up another loose rock in the baron third field. All would be nice and tidy for when Thatcham came to visit and see the land that was for sale. No loose rocks, no weeds, no dirty machinery, no unhealthy animals.
Ted scratched again at the irritation on the back of his neck and swiped away anything that may have been there.
‘You can’t get rid of me that easy.’ A woman’s voice said behind Ted and he jumped and turned dropping the rock to the floor.
No one was there; just the view of the river and the bridge and the city ahead was all he could see. Shaking his head he reached down and picked up the rock and placed it in the back of his cart with the other dozen or so. The itch flared up again and he scratched at it hard.
‘I’ve got an itch you can scratch, Ted.’ The woman seductively said.
This time Ted turned but as he did he grabbed hold of a rock and held it up as if to strike whoever it was that was there.
But as before; he was alone. Only this time he looked out over the fields and in the distance the forest bended into the horizon. Ted held the rock as he looked about. The sweat on his brown was threatening to run into his eyes and he wiped at it with his free arm.
He lowered the arm holding the rock so that it rested against his thigh; then with the irritation returning he scratched the back of his neck and returned to the job in hand.
8
The voice was silent for the rest of the morning and, as planned, by one o’clock Ted was riding slowly into town toward the butchers that Thatcham owned.
He past the farms of Lawrence Gish and Varsity Williams as he rode in. Both farms were productive and profit friendly with both men securing the best machinery, the best labour and the best feed. Ted used to be extremely jealous of these men but those days had past. All he was jealous of now was the families that those men had. Families that Ted would never have again.
Moving past the farms the road swept through various storage buildings and factories and then crossed the River Strain over a massive wooden bridge constructed many years by the first settlers here. The river was wide, just over a mile at its widest and deep; so deep that the water black in places. The bridge spanned the river at one of its narrowest points and the settlements had grown around it. The river ran for miles and miles to the north were five rivers joined and flowed west all the way to the G
reat Sea.
His horse trotted its way across and he waved at the passers-by on the side of the bridge as they ventured out of town. The river flowed fast under the bridge its course unyielding. The water was green not the rich shade of blue he remembered back when he was a boy. The tips of the waves peaked white as the water rushed past the wooden struts holding the bridge up.
When he was a boy he had dreamed of sailing the Strain. Going from the mountains in the east all the way to the Great Sea and the white beaches that lay there, but his father had never allowed it. Told him to put away such boyish dreams and to concentrate on the job in hand; on the here and now and on the farm.
‘Boats are for fisherman, not farmers, son.’ Ted said to the river thinking back to his father’s simple but logical words.
On the other side of the river the road junctions and goes here, there and everywhere. The Great Road leads on through town and off into unknown parts. The other lanes go to the various districts of Christian Sands. Ted heads left which is the business district and the heart of the city.
It doesn’t take long for him to reach the main commercial road and Ted stops at one of the many stables. The building can house up to fifty horses but today there are only a handful inside so Ted finds the cleanest and ties his horse up making sure there is enough fed and water to keep him going for the next couple of hours.
Ted trundled down what was called Main Street and his gaze didn’t drift to the windows nor the stalls that passed him by. He noted some of his friends as they walked by but he was in no mood to chat nor did he have the time. He simply nodded and walked on. His work clothes were scruffy and his hair a mess of tangles. He would have liked to have been more suitably dressed to meet Thatcham but it just wasn’t to be and most of his nice clothes were either damaged, being used as dish cloths or just plain too small.
He reached Thatcham’s Butchers slightly out of breath. Looking through the window he could see two men working; neither of them Thatcham.
He opened the door, the bell attached to the top ringing as he did. The smell of dead meat was all around. The floor was covered in saw dust and the tables festooned with cuts of meat for the paying customer. As it was Ted was the only person apart from the two workers on the shop floor.
‘Good afternoon, Sir.’ One of the workers said. ‘What can I do for you today? We have fine steaks; four for a copper coin.’
Ted looked at the steaks on the table. His stomach crumbled as he thought of frying them up with some fresh spuds. He smiled at the thought.
‘Sounds good.’ Ted looked back to the butcher. ‘But not today. I am here to see Mr Thatcham. He isn’t expecting me but if you let him know that Ted Night is here; I am sure he will see me.’
The butcher nodded and in his eyes Ted could see he was no message boy. But, none the less, the man walked out back and into the storage area where Thatcham keeps his office.
Two minutes later the man returned and ushered Ted to the back.
‘Mr Thatcham is in his office. He will see you now.’
Ted nodded at the man as he walked by. The man stunk of sweat, meat and beer.
‘Second door on the left.’ The man said as Ted entered the dark, smelly store room and when he knocked on the second door he wasn’t surprised when he was asked to come in by Old Man Thatcham.
Ted opened the door and walked into Thatcham’s office. It was well lit by electric light and the walls ordained with pictures of great landscapes, machinery and animals. Books were housed in cabinets and files rested upon files stacked high from floor to ceiling. Mike sat behind a rather too large table and sat at a rather too large chair. On his desk where various papers, pens, notes and a new looking map of the local area. With a quick glance Ted knew his farm was circled in blue ink.
‘Good afternoon, Ted.’ Mike said as he nodded to Ted and ushered him to sit at the only other chair in the room. ‘Could I get you a drink, or something to eat maybe?’
Ted sat on the old creaky chair. ‘No thank you, Mr Thatcham, I fine.’
Mike nodded and his eyes looked at the tatty farmer. ‘Please, Ted, call me Mike.’
There was silence for a moment as Mike gathered together his papers and folded the map placing it under the wooden desk in an unseen drawer.
Ted could feel the weight of the room pressing down on him. There was something about this office that seemed unnerving, he couldn’t say what it was or describe it when he thought of it but there was something in the office that put weight upon a man’s shoulders and made him crack with the pressure.
Mike broke the silence and Ted was grateful for it. ‘So, Ted, have you come to an answer on my proposition?’
Mike was a large man. Not fat but getting there. As always Mike was wearing nice tailored trousers with a crisp blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He had a full head of hair which had turned grey only recently. He stood tall and was once a giant of a man. His face was very round, with a chunky nose, set chin and wide eyes which seemed to shine in the electric light. You almost feared for your safety when giving Mike an answer you knew he wouldn’t like.
‘Yeah, Mike. I have made my mind up.’
Another short silence. Mikes eyebrows were raised.
‘Well?’
Ted sighed. ‘I will sell you the farm, all in, nothing left.’
Mike clapped his hands together and a smile beamed from ear to ear. ‘Excellent. Excellent. I won’t see you poor Ted me boy, but what with the state of the cattle price these days and the cost of land depreciating by the second you must know I can’t give you top price neither.’ Mikes eyes were firmly upon Teds; trying to read the situation.
Ted felt the pressure squeezing him and he wished he had said yes to that drink.
‘The price is still one hundred and fifty thousand gold coin. No more, no less.’
Mike held his stubble chin in his right hand and breathed heavily as he thought it over. Ted had to seal the deal.
‘Come on, Mike. You know it’s worth it. Don’t make me beg,’ Ted stood up and paced back and forward, ‘One hundred and fifty thousand is a good price considering you are getting a farmhouse, four farm buildings, six dozens chickens, forty pigs plus pens, four hundred head of cattle, one hundred in sheep, eight horses one of which is a prize stallion still producing and three thousand acres of land not to mention the bees plus me and all my equipment, my know how and land it sits on.’
Ted stopped, leant over and put both hands on the chair. Pity was in his eyes.
Mike leant back in his grand chair; thoughts of what happened that morning far from his mind.
‘I thought we discussed a figure much less than that not one month ago?’
‘We did, but that was before I had time to think about it. Time to weigh up what I had and what the farm can do for you. What we discussed before was a poor evaluation. I, as you Mike, had enough beer to fell a beast that night. It wasn’t an ideal situation to discuss such things.’
Mike nodded but kept his gaze on the farmer.
‘Let me think about it, Ted.’ Mike stood and offered is hand, ‘Two days.’ It wasn’t a question.
Ted took the offered hand and shook it. ‘Okay, Mike, two days. One hundred and fifty thousand gold coin.’
Releasing their handshake Mike sat back down and Ted stood up straight. The room felt less intrusive now, the pressure was relenting a little and Ted was happier for it. It felt like a massive weight had been removed now that the offer was on the table and with one hundred and fifty thousand gold coins in the bag his worries would soon be over.
Then Ted remembered young Dotty.
‘Dotty will paint your fence and anything else you need doing. Just name the day and she will be there.’
Mike smiled. ‘Good, good. Send her over Tomorrow if you like. Say eight o’clock?’
‘Eight is fine. Just make sure the paint is there and don’t mention anything about the sale to her; you know how Dotty…’ Ted looked to the floor in shame. ‘well, you know how
Dotty can be.’
9
Yeah, Mike knew how Dotty could be, knew all too well how stupid Dotty could be. Twenty minutes after their meeting had finished and Ted was well on his way back to his farm Mike couldn’t stop thinking about how much of a great man he was and how stupid Ted was being. Stupid like his daughter. Stupid like everyone.
Everyone except for him.
Even his own wife had been stupid, but not anymore. She was long dead and that was good. Life with her still around didn’t bear thinking about. She had tried to foil Mike, tried to get him to buy things at their proper value, tried to make him sell things he didn’t want and tried to make him treat people with respect. But he was way too clever for that and a suicide was the best way for her to go. A very sad suicide with an even sadder suicide note just for good measure.
Ted was another stupid one. Maybe not like all the others as he was more unlucky and foolish than plain old stupid but it all came to the same thing in the end. You make your own luck in this world. Ted was right about the money. It was worth one hundred and fifty thousand. As a matter of fact, looking at the price of land, and of cattle and of machinery it was worth a whole lot more. A lot more like about another one hundred thousand more. Probably even more with the discovery.
Mike laughed as he reached down and unrolled the map he had been looking over before Ted’s arrival. On it he had marked the farm, plus (unseen by Ted’s eyes) new roads that would be laid, new buildings that would be built and new factories that would churn out wares to sell to all the major towns and cities from here to the furthest reaches. Mike would be richer than he had ever dreamed of once this farm was bought and the land that it was on was used correctly.
Doyle Cartwright had shown him the sample from the dig he had done on Teds land and that sample was sat on a shelf behind Mike; its black gloopy mess screwed up tightly in a glass jar.
Mike reached up and took hold of the glass jar. ‘Two days to think about it, Ha!’
He looked into the black mess and swirled it around.
‘Black gold.’ Mike whispered.