He knew he was going to die in the tombs and the thought sent a shiver through his body while black spots appeared in the periphery of his vision. From the top of the stairs, Ryan heard the soft tread of someone moving closer and saw a faint light taking the edge from the shadows. He held his breath and pointed his gun at the sound. The footsteps grew louder, but the light was not from a gunnerman torch. It was the secret whisper of a candle coming to find him. Brynne. It had to be.
“I’m in here.” Ryan could only manage a low moan.
It was not his mentor who appeared in the doorway though. The figure was smaller than Brynne and seemed to shuffle forwards on unsteady feet. One of his arms hung dead-weight at his side, while the other was carrying a small candle which had melted to the stub.
The soft light revealed a face disfigured by trauma. The left eye was missing and smoke drifted up through the blackened socket. Behind that, the top of its skull had been blown outwards and skin was sticking up like a tuft of hair. Ryan stared in horror as he recognised Caylin, the forger, standing before him.
“Get back,” he shouted. “You’re dead.” Caylin’s corpse said nothing, but shuffled forwards while thick, black blood dripped from his eye-socket. “What do you want?”
Caylin glared from his one good eye. “I want you.”
Ryan awoke gasping for breath with his heart drumming noisily in each ear. He reached for the glass of water at his bedside and took a steadying gulp. It was the third time he’d dreamt about the forger and each time it left him with the same feelings of nausea and despair that he had experienced first time round. Ryan lay back on the bed but was unwilling to close his eyes for fear of dreaming once again. He lay awake for a long time before sleep came for him. Then, as the full weight of dawn fell upon the windows, Ryan rolled from his bed and slowly began to dress.
It was mid-morning when he finally left the house for his meeting with Brynne. He travelled quickly to the Worker District, his mind still drifting back to the dream. The fear that lingered since he had witnessed the forger’s murder was almost tangible. Ryan squeezed his eyes shut and pushed the images away. It cleared his mind for a moment, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they returned.
In this distracted state, he skirted the main factories and found himself outside the abandoned underground station just outside the old Manufacturing District. Long before Ryan was born, he guessed it would have been the thriving heart of Straybeck. As he stepped beneath the rusty metal arch though, it was hard to imagine it being anything but what it was now. A forgotten underground station that linked the mining towns of Insel with the foundries and factories of Karasard. Throughout the night, thousands of tonnes of metal ore rolled through its tunnels, headed for the capital city.
Ryan descended the cracked and moss-covered steps and found himself on a long narrow platform. There was only one light still working in the roof, but it was bright enough to see Brynne already waiting at the far end of the tunnel. He was propped against the wall, still as stone. Ryan felt his stomach flip over while he contemplated why the old man had requested that they meet here.
“How’re you?” Brynne said.
“I’m okay.” He didn’t mention the nightmares or his own growing sense of unease.
“Safe journey?” Which was Brynne’s way of asking if he’d been followed.
“All fine,” Ryan said quickly. Although when he thought back, he could barely remember the walk across town.
“So I bet you’re wondering why I dragged you out here.” When Ryan said nothing, he gestured at the bench beside him. “Take a seat. Check the rucksack.”
Ryan sat down and followed Brynne’s gaze to an old bag that had been tucked beneath the seat. He rummaged inside to find two spray-cans and a piece of black material. It turned out to be a balaclava and he gave Brynne a quizzical look.
“There’s a list of buildings I want you to tag. Little and often, that’s the key. In the next few days and weeks it’ll look like the whole city’s rising up.” Ryan didn’t know what to say. After the hours he’d spent worrying about the task he was going to be set, the idea of graffiti left him cold.
“What will I be writing?”
Brynne smiled indulgently. “That’s up to you my friend. Anything that gets the hackles rising. Anything that tells the truth.”
“But I wouldn’t know what to put.”
“You’ll figure it out. You’ve always had a natural instinct for this kind of thing. You’ve always seen past the bullshit and found the truth in this city. Find a way to hold a mirror to the Government. They can’t ignore us forever.”
Ryan nodded, but still hadn’t the faintest idea what he would write. “Are you coming with me?”
“Not this time. There’s somewhere else I’ve got to be.”
The disappointment must have shown on Ryan’s face for when he spoke again, Brynne’s voice was suddenly sharp. “Hey, we’ve no time for egos. We’re close to something big now Ryan. Really big. I can’t say too much, but I promise I’ll explain it all soon. Just know that when it comes, we’re going to need all the workers to be ready.”
Ryan felt some of the old adrenalin kick in as Brynne spoke. He shouldered the rucksack and turned to the stairs.
“Not that way.” Brynne moved further into the shadows at the back of the platform and suddenly dropped onto the tracks, disappearing from sight.
“Brynne,” Ryan called. He glanced up the track in the opposite direction although there was nothing he could do even if a train were to appear. Cautiously he edged to the lip of the platform and peered over the track. Brynne was unhurt and waiting patiently for Ryan to join him. After a final check for approaching trains he clambered down onto the rails.
“Where are we going?” he said. Brynne didn’t answer straight away but walked him further into the tunnels as though he had perfect night vision. He stopped and reached into a cavity in the wall where he retrieved an old gas lantern. A moment later it flared into life and a breathy flame glared out at the tunnel, lighting their path.
“There are tunnels all over Straybeck. Some are smuggler routes and some belong to gunnermen agents.” Brynne pointed at a larger opening just up ahead. “This one though…I hear this was carved by the seveners centuries ago.”
“The seveners? Where does it go?”
Brynne pulled a torch from his pocket and handed it to Ryan. “Follow it straight until the tunnel splits three ways. Make sure you take the left route. After about half a mile you’ll find yourself at the bottom of some steps that lead up to Foundry Lane. No checkpoints. No gunnermen.”
“Foundry Lane? But that’s impossible.” Ryan was dumbstruck although Brynne’s face remained impassive. “Do I come back this way afterwards?”
“No,” the old man said quickly. “Never use these tunnels unless I’m here, okay? You’re only ever one turn from the gunnermen.”
“But if I try to come back through the checkpoints, they’ll search me.”
“Then stash the bag, blockhead. And meet back at mine when you’re done. Like I said, I’ve got somewhere to be today, but if I’m not back, use the place as your own.”
Ryan nodded, proud at the trust that Brynne was placing in him. He took hold of the lantern and made his first tentative steps through the tunnels below Straybeck.
Chapter 12
It was late afternoon when Ryan finally arrived back at the abandoned Chapel. He thumped down the cellar steps and dropped into a chair. There was no telling when Brynne might be back, but he was still buzzing from the mission and couldn’t face going home yet. Also, he wanted Brynne to know how hard he’d worked. He wanted the old man to be proud of him and remembered what he had said in the tunnel earlier that day.
Use the place as your own.
So Ryan went to the bottle of whisky and poured himself a glass. While it warmed his insides, he moved slowly around the cellar, flicking through the shelves of anti-government magazines. He picked two at random and placed them
in his coat pocket.
Ryan had never been alone in Brynne’s cellar before and the urge to explore was overwhelming. He checked in the mysterious wooden box beside Brynne’s chair but was disappointed to find it filled with nothing more than musty newspapers. Below them was a messy tangle of wires that relaxed into the room as soon as the papers were removed.
There was a tiny camera lens too and Ryan guessed it was some kind of spy camera. Disappointed, he spent the next few minutes trying to repack the box and place it back in the exact position beside Brynne’s chair.
He circled the cellar for a second time, avoiding the door at the back corner where a dark stain still crept over the stones. Ryan squeezed his eyes shut as the memory of Caylin’s ruined face appeared in his mind. He steadied himself against the bookshelf, breathing deeply before continuing his tour of the cellar. Finally, he stopped alongside a projector and box of reels. The top one had a marker-pen label that read Insel uprising.
The mining camps at Insel were notorious for their riots and pitched battles with the gunnermen. The reprisals by the authorities were equally famous for their swiftness and brutality. There was already a reel on the take-up spool, so before he set the motor running, Ryan detached that wheel and placed the film on top of the box. When he read the label though, he was left staring open-mouthed.
R Calloway.
Why did Brynne have a tape with his name on it?
He flicked on the machine and a square of white light shone on the far wall. Ryan re-attached the film onto the feeder spool and watched as a rush of numbers sped past. When the image cleared, it showed a man sitting in the centre of a grey room. He was in his early twenties, wearing a loose-fit jumper and staring directly at the camera. Behind him, two gunnermen were standing to attention and on the wall between them hung a banner of Premier Talis.
One other thing. The man in the chair was Ryan’s father.
The film had been magnetically layered with sound and Ryan heard a young woman’s voice speaking from somewhere off camera.
“What of the threat to Our Leader? What else has been planned?”
His father replied with a voice that was so familiar and yet seemed totally alien to Ryan. “I don’t know of any future plans at this point,” the young Robb said. “Except for those I’ve already described.” When he looked into the camera, Ryan was surprised to catch a flash of anger in his eyes, but it was soon replaced by the all too familiar look of shame.
“While Colonel Stevens remains free,” he continued, “there will always be a threat to Our Leader. Unless immediate actions are taken by the Government, the Colonel’s group will only grow in its organisation and ambition.”
“The group that you were formerly a part of.”
“That’s right.”
“And that you are now helping to eliminate.”
The young Robb’s jaw clenched tight.
“That’s correct.”
There was the sound of paper turning over, as though the interviewer were reading from a script. “Can you confirm once and for all Mr Calloway? Where do your loyalties lie?”
Robb’s voice was calm and still.
“With the Government. With Premier Talis.”
The screen held on Robb’s face while back in the cellar, Brynne strode quickly across the room and jabbed at the off button with one finger. Silence descended on the room.
“I hadn’t wanted you to see that,” he murmured eventually.
“I don’t…” Ryan began, but then realised he had no words to use. He turned away, afraid that his emotions would spill out. “I’m sorry.”
Brynne removed his jacket and dropped it onto his chair. For a moment he seemed distracted by the old wooden box and shifted it slightly with one foot. He reached for the whisky bottle and poured himself a generous measure before topping up Ryan’s glass.
“I’m the one who should be sorry,” he said eventually. “I haven’t watched that footage in years. But recently…well I’ve found myself thinking about the past more. Much more than I’d care to.”
“Did you know my dad before he did that?”
Brynne nodded, looking suddenly old and worn out. He opened his mouth to speak but when no words came, he drained the glass of whisky, allowing a slight grimace to twist one side of his face.
“Ah, but these secrets are killing me,” he said. “I suppose it’s being with you these past few months, it’s churned up some old memories. Things I’d buried a long time ago. Certainly nothing I’d wanted you to find out about.”
“I always knew what he was,” Ryan said quietly. “I knew what he’d done. But seeing it on screen like that…what could make him do that?”
Brynne took a seat, reached for the whisky and re-filled his glass. “Pain?” he said. “Fear? Money? Everyone’s got their limits.”
Ryan felt sick in his stomach. “Are you saying he did that for money?”
Brynne screwed his face up, apparently troubled by the question. “I don’t know. It’s more complicated than that. I don’t blame your father for what he did. Honestly I don’t. You beat a man bad enough and then offer him the world…well as I said, everyone has a limit.”
“Was he always working for them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It was a lifetime ago.”
Ryan was ashamed. Even here, in this place where he had proved his worth over and again, the shadow of that bastard was still upon him.
“You shouldn’t feel responsible Ryan,” the old man said. “It’s not your debt.”
He knew it was true but it didn’t hurt any less. Ryan left the chapel soon afterwards and they shook hands before he went. He supposed it was meant to show that nothing had changed, but it only emphasised the gulf that had opened between them.
It was raining hard when he stepped out into the Worker District and his clothes were soon drenched through. When he approached the checkpoint on the edge of the Worker District, he zipped his jacket to the top and pushed his chin into the collar. He wondered if the soldier that chased him would remember his face. Then - not for the first time - his thoughts fell back to the girl that had helped him escape. Ryan had planned to visit her the next day but didn’t want to risk the checkpoints. After that, the prospect had become more daunting with each passing day.
Ryan stopped; the rain and whisky making him reckless. He knew that changing direction in sight of a checkpoint was asking for trouble, especially with a pamphlet hidden down each sleeve. Ryan made a play of searching his pockets, pretending he had forgotten something. The gunnerman gave a disinterested glance and then turned back to the booth while Ryan headed for the Slum District.
It took him several minutes to find the exact street, but eventually he was standing beside the metal skip where he had hidden from the gunnermen. The rain had backed up at this end of the street and Alia’s front yard was covered by a shallow moat. Undeterred, Ryan picked his steps through the water and knocked on the door.
“Hi, remember me?” he practised. Then in a deeper voice, “Hey, remember me?” Through the frosted glass he saw someone approaching. Ryan ran a hand through his sopping hair and tried to act natural. To his surprise, an older woman opened the door and waited with a vacant expression on her face. She stared silently over Ryan’s shoulder.
“Err, hi,” he said. He followed her stare and checked that no one was standing behind him. “Is Alia home?” Through the doorway he saw her trot downstairs. He smiled as they made eye-contact but she rushed to the door and pulled the woman back inside. The front door slammed shut.
“Okay,” Ryan said quietly. He waited a few moments and then stepped back into the water and towards the road. Suddenly the door opened again and Alia reappeared.
“Hi.” Her voice was low and she wouldn’t make eye contact.
“Hi.”
“I thought the gunnermen must have got you.”
“No. I got away.” He looked up at the swollen grey clouds. “Can I come in?”
Alia didn’t answer. Sh
e looked inside the house and then back to Ryan. “I’m sorry, it’s just….”
Ryan bluffed a smile. “It’s alright. I was just passing by and thought I’d say thanks for last week.” He took a step back to the pavement.
“Ryan wait.” She quickly disappeared from view but left the front door wide open. A moment later she was out and running through the ankle-deep water like it was hot coals. Her coat was on but unfastened and as the water kicked up she started laughing. “We can’t go inside,” she said, “but I can still come out.”
“What about the rain?”
Alia looked down at her jeans that were already soaking to the knees. “It won’t kill me.”
They walked across the industrial estate at the side of Alia’s house. The one where she had told the gunnerman to search for Ryan. They took shelter in an old warehouse and he offered Alia a cigarette. She shook her head so he took one for himself and then leaned back against the wall. As they chatted he angled an occasional plume of smoke towards the doorway.
“Was that your Mum?”
Alia withdrew, her face suddenly serious. “Yes, but…she’s not well.”
“I didn’t mean anything.”
Alia reached over and snatched the cigarette from his lips with a smile. “Give me that.” She took a quick drag and then broke out in a fit of coughing.
“Regular smoker then?”
“Oh yes,” she said hoarsely. “All the time.”
Her hair was almost black with rain and she had dimples when she smiled. For a time Ryan forgot about Brynne and the gunnermen and even his father. The floor was littered with gravel and loose stones which they pitched out the doorway as they spoke. Ryan felt the weight gradually lifting from his shoulders, but it wasn’t long before Alia glanced at her watch and her face dropped.
“What’s up?”
“I’ve been gone an hour. I’d better get back.”
Straybeck Rising: Calloway Blood: Book one (Calloway Blood 1) Page 7