“Did they see your face?”
“Maybe, just for a second. But I don’t think they’d remember me.”
“We’ll need to get rid of your coat,” his dad murmured, grabbing it from the floor. He limped to the window and scanned the street in both directions. “And I want you to stay away from this girl, Alia. You’re forbidden from seeing her now. In school or out.”
“But Dad…”
“I don’t know her and I don’t trust her. She could be an informer or a spy for all you know.”
“She’s not. She’s just a girl.”
“Enough,” he growled. “These are my conditions. Until I find out more.”
“What are you going to do? Go into school?”
“No, nothing like that. And you don’t need to know anyway. If we’re lucky, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Keep your head down and stay away from the Trade District. You understand.” John nodded. “You can’t get involved with the gunnermen. All they need is an excuse.”
“What about the other stuff I told you? What about Ryan and that man?”
“Leave all that alone now too. You’ve done well looking out for him. But now let me handle it.”
“You won’t tell him that I said anything will you?”
“He’ll hear nothing from me. But no more following, okay?”
He nodded and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His dad walked past the bed, but then halted in the doorway. Hesitantly he placed one hand on John’s arm. “I love you, you know.” John didn’t know what to say and rebuked by the silence, his dad quickly left the room.
Chapter 26
It was maybe a year before his time in The Cathedral that Robb met Kellie Downs for the first time. He and Farren had been drinking steadily all day, working their way through the week’s wage. Back then they were working as unskilled labourers, the kind of graft that left them bone-weary at the end of each day. It was Robb’s first day off in weeks, but his body seemed even more worn-out than usual. With the combined effect of too much beer and too little sleep, he was slumped in the chair, supporting his head on one hand.
“Cheer up you miserable fucker,” Farren said, draining the last of his beer. “It’s the weekend, remember.” They were sitting in a packed bar in a rough part of Karasard. The room was thick with smoke and the rowdy banter of workers who had been drinking all day under a high sun.
“I’m knackered. I don’t know about you, but I can’t keep this up for ever.” They’d been clearing rubble heaps from the capital’s Trade District, making room for the architects and builders to begin. Even thought they’d been at it for months, the supply of war-damaged buildings still seemed endless.
“Give over. We’re in the prime of our lives.” Farren collected their glasses. “Same again?”
Robb nodded and watched his friend swagger to the bar. Behind him, the door pushed open and a momentary hush fell over the punters. Robb turned, curious as to what would make a room full of drunkards stop their chatter. An enormous figure parted the crowd, moving like a galleon towards the bar.
He was at least a foot taller than Robb, with an impressive beard, powerful shoulders and a heavy paunch. At the table next to him, Robb saw another man paying keen attention too. This one had a scar running from eye to jaw that made the left side of his face twist up in a snarl. Scar-eye straightened up, a look of obvious recognition passing over his face. From the expression he gave, Robb guessed it was not a fond remembering.
The newcomer, clearly an off-duty sevener, picked his spot at the bar, inadvertently bumping Farren to one side as he did so. Robb grinned as his friend did a double take at the giant who had taken his place at the bar. Not to be outdone, Farren clambered onto a chair so that he was of equal height with the sevener.
“Can me and my mate get some service please? We’ve been patrolling all day.” It got a few chuckles from the other customers and - to Robb’s surprise - the sevener put one massive arm around Farren’s shoulders so that they stood like a double act.
“Get down,” the wrinkle-faced landlady shrieked. “Both of you.” That brought fresh laughter from Farren.
“Yeah, come on, get down,” he scolded the sevener.
Realising her mistake, the landlady told him to piss off, and threw her dishcloth which landed on Farren’s face with a wet smack. It didn’t take long for him to charm his way back into her good graces though and he soon returned to the table with a pint in each hand. The sevener moved to the far corner of the room and found a quiet spot to drink.
Robb and Farren chatted idly for a while, but he could tell that his friend’s mind was elsewhere. After the third time he lost the conversation, Robb gave up and followed his gaze to a group of three couples who were standing at the bar.
“I might have known. Go on then, which one is it?”
“What?”
“Which one are you after?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Robb looked them over and found they were a strange mix. The men had broken away into a trio of their own and were entertaining themselves with jokes and stories. Next to them, two of the women were conspiring across their drinks and making no effort to include the third in their conversation. It was this woman who had clearly caught Farren’s eye. She had long blonde hair and a handsome face that was wearing a thoroughly bored expression. She must have been late thirties or early forties and as she locked eyes with Robb, the hint of a smile turned the corner of her mouth. He spun round quickly.
“She’s old enough to be your Mum.”
“You can’t buy experience.”
As he watched her lips lingering on the edge of her glass though, Robb guessed that you probably could in this case. Just then, his attention was taken by a stirring of the crowd beside them. It was the huge sevener who had lumbered up for a refill.
“There’s your mate,” Robb said.
“I don’t think this lot are too keen though.” Farren had also noticed the stares from Scar-eye and his friends at the next table. In truth they weren’t being subtle about it or keeping their voices low as they berated the seveners in general. If their words carried to the big man across the crowded bar however, he made no acknowledgement.
“Hey,” this time Scar-eye’s voice was too loud to ignore and a small circle of people turned to him. “Hey, I’m talking to you, you big fucking lump.”
The sevener took a long slow taste of his beer and seemed oblivious to the space that was now clearing behind him. Scar-Eye would not be ignored though. “What? You forgotten me?” He slurred the words slightly. “You forgotten giving me this?”
Robb thought he wouldn’t answer, but eventually the sevener spoke, his voice low and even. “I remember just fine. And I also remember why I got called that day, Mulloy.”
He stepped towards the table and the discomfort of Mulloy and his three friends was clear for all to see. “Speak to me again and it’ll be more than a scar you’re worried about. Besides, I know you don’t want everyone to know what you were doing that day.” There was no reply and the sevener raised his glass. “Enjoy your drinks.” Then he returned to his corner where he drank in silence. In his wake, normal conversation resumed at the bar and Mulloy, who was momentarily lost for words, took a long, fierce drink and stared angrily at the table.
Farren tapped the side of his head. “How mental have you got to be to pick a fight with a sevener?”
Robb shook his head but as the evening wore on, realised that Mulloy was not a rational man. Time and again his conversation trod the same path as he retold all the injustices he had suffered. How three seveners had come into his home unannounced. How they’d held him down and sliced his face with a knife.
“Me and my missus were arguing about the kids,” Mulloy slurred. “Nothing serious. But one of my neighbours must have done us. Fuckin informers. Anyway, those bastards…” he jabbed a finger towards the sevener. “They believed every word she said just cos the girl was crying abo
ut something. Left me with half a fuckin face. Well I’ve not forgotten what they did to me. I’ve not forgotten.”
And on it went, until everyone in earshot was sick of it. As stories went, Robb thought it fairly unlikely. It was rare nowadays to see even two seveners patrolling. He couldn’t imagine three of them turning out to anything short of a riot. Mulloy was a vicious looking individual, but he was all bone and sinew. A sevener would have little difficulty subduing him if it came to it. When the bell for last orders rang out, Mulloy leaned across the table so he could speak to the others without being overheard.
“They’re up to something,” Robb said.
Farren shrugged. “Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than listening to another of his stories.”
With a scrape of their chairs, all four of them were up while Mulloy fired one last glare at the sevener. The big man made no acknowledgement and they left the bar. The room had already thinned out as the more sensible workers staggered back home. A fug of cigarette smoke filled the empty spaces they had left and each table was littered with pint pots.
“One more?” Robb said.
Farren rose unsteadily to his feet, knocking the table as he did so. “It’s alright mate, I’ve got it.”
Robb looked at him suspiciously. “In two years, I’ve never known you buy a round out of turn. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just thought I’d get my mate a drink.” Robb turned to the bar and saw that the blonde was now standing alone and unashamedly beckoning Farren towards her.
Robb shook his head incredulously. “She’s not shy, is she? Go on then, good luck.”
“Cheers mate.” In a flash he was at the bar and flirting outrageously. For her part, the blonde was more than accommodating as she leaned in close, touching her hands to his arm and chest. The two women she was with seemed to have completely disowned her now and on a nearby table, her man was still deep in discussion with his two friends. Robb reasoned that a guy like that, so completely unaware, deserved whatever he got.
Across the room, the sevener unpacked himself from the corner table and carried a prolific stack of glasses to the bar. Farren reappeared at the table and plonked two more full pints in front of Robb. “I’m just going for some air mate,” he whispered. Behind him, the blonde strode outside without a backward glance.
“You’re a bad man.”
Farren gave him a wink and then gestured to the trio of men she had been with. “Keep an eye out, will you?”
Robb nodded wearily and watched him scamper for the door. As it opened though, he saw Mulloy and his three friends skulking back towards the pub, each one carrying a metal scaffolding pole. The door swung shut, leaving Robb in no doubt who their intended victim was. Even a sevener would come a poor second against four men armed with iron bars.
Chapter 27
The sevener placed his stack of glasses on the bar and left without a word. Robb took a gulp of ale and watched his huge silhouette drift past the window. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the table.
“Nothing to do with me,” he murmured and raised his glass again. Before he could take a drink though he slapped it down and strode outside. A chill breeze hit him immediately lending Robb a moment of clarity. There was no need for any heroics. He would catch up with the sevener, warn him about Mulloy, then return to the warmth of the pub and finish his drink.
It was a clear night with black skies and bright stars that showed the sevener maybe a hundred yards ahead. Robb was about to call him when someone else shouted up. It was a faint cry, but clearly that of someone in distress. The sevener heard it too and left the well-lit street to investigate. Three dark shapes emerged from a doorway opposite and silently followed him.
Robb jogged closer but before he’d made it halfway, he heard a deep grunt of pain and then the steady whump of those metal bars hitting something solid. He sprinted into the alleyway and saw the sevener laid out on the floor while four men rained blows down upon him. From the shadows to his left, a face appeared and Robb instinctively grabbed the figure by the throat and shoved him backwards.
“Robb? What the fuck?”
Farren stared indignantly up at him. His trousers were round his ankles and the blonde from the bar was perched on a rusted cooling vent with her skirt hitched up to her waist. She jumped up with a shriek and ran back to the road, pulling her clothes back into place as she went.
“Come on,” Robb shouted. Then he grabbed a plank of wood from the floor and ran at Mulloy and his gang. “Leave him alone.”
The four attackers rounded on him immediately and Robb could see they’d lost all reason. Mulloy delivered a vicious kick to the prone sevener while the other three advanced, their metal bars held like clubs.
“Come on lads,” Farren hovered at Robb’s shoulder, quickly re-buttoning his trousers. “There’s no need for this. You’ve made your point. Let’s go back and get a drink.” They showed no sign of hearing him though and continued to move forwards. Robb felt Farren’s hand on his chest, trying to guide him back to the road. “We’ve no fight with you,” he continued, keeping his voice reasonable. “Come on, let’s get back inside and find some girls.” He backed slowly away. “Better to get your dick warm in there, than freeze your arse off out here.”
Robb hadn’t moved an inch. Not since his hand first gripped that wooden plank. With each step that the attackers took towards him, a strange heat spread through his body. His vision had tunnelled so that Mulloy was the whole world. Robb’s anger turned to hatred and sank deep into his bones. It flooded him with a strength he’d never imagined and he found it intoxicating. He was no longer fighting to protect the sevener, it was just because they were in his way.
The nearest man took one more step and Robb swung the plank like a mace trying to cave his face in. He raised his metal pole to deflect the force, but still the wood splintered in half and dropped him to the ground.
The second man rushed in, swinging his bar in a high arc. Robb jumped aside and threw the now useless chunk of wood at him. The man swung again, but Robb ducked beneath it and delivered an uppercut to his chin which clattered his teeth together and sent him toppling sideways. Farren ran forwards, grabbing at the metal pole while Robb faced the last two men.
Mulloy was tall and wiry, while his friend was short and stocky. They both had a few years on Robb and knew better than to charge in. Instead they trod a slow circle around him, splitting his attention.
Robb shifted stance, holding his hands up like a boxer but leaving the fists loose. He knew he’d have to grab one of their bars when it came close enough. The longer they waited though, the more his resolve faltered. The initial fury was ebbing away and Robb experienced his first flicker of fear. Behind him, he could hear Farren struggling with someone but he had no idea who had the upper hand. Sensing his doubt, Mulloy’s scarred face twisted into a grin.
“You’re a dead man.”
Before he could make good his threat, a hulking shadow rose up behind him. As soon as Mulloy turned, an enormous hand grasped his neck and drove him backwards. The sevener let out a savage cry, thrusting Mulloy into the air and against the wall. His eyes bulged and fingers scratched uselessly at the iron grip around his throat. He gave a feeble swipe with the metal bar, but it bounced off the sevener’s arm and then fell to the ground with a hollow ring. Mulloy was dropped beside it like a rag-doll and left in a heap. His friends cowered away and then ran for the street.
That had been the first time he ever met Kellie Downs. They began a friendship that night that was to last even beyond his time in The Cathedral. Robb had always believed their loyalty to each other was unswerving. As it turned out, there were limits to the friendship though. He had paid a heavy price finding that out.
Right now though, Robb had no one else he could turn to and he figured the sevener still had a debt to pay. Which was how he found himself on the steps of the police station with a scrap of paper held tightly in his fist.
Town Hall. Tomorrow. 12:15
pm.
He placed it below his ID card and limped up the stone steps. The atmosphere inside the station was always eerie, even when it was full like today. A few faces turned to view the new arrival and some gave a terse nod of recognition while others quickly looked away.
Robb joined the back of the queue and scanned the large, church-like waiting room. It hadn’t changed in the past thirty-three years and he saw no evidence that it had changed in the hundred years before that. He wondered how many generations of seveners had worked in this city, always keeping the peace; holding that line between right and wrong.
At the front of the queue was a low stone wall which formed a barrier between the seveners and the public. Beyond that were a dozen sturdy, wooden desks in perfect straight lines. In and around them trudged the seveners, moving like monks going about their orders. The ceilings back there were higher than in the waiting area and Robb wondered if it had always been designed that way to accommodate the massive size of its inhabitants. It all added to the church-like atmosphere and pious detachment of the seveners.
Robb had been coming here since he was released from The Cathedral. It was supposed to be a process of Government rehabilitation. He would turn up at the station each week to declare that he was a loyal citizen who posed no threat to society. After five years he was allowed to come every month. Ten years after that they said he could do it every three months and now it was just an annual formality.
He was a month early for his sign-on date this year, but he doubted that anyone would notice. As he waited in line, he scanned the station and eventually caught sight of Kellie Downs speaking with another officer. He didn’t look a day older than he had in that alleyway fighting with Mulloy. He still had wide, powerful shoulders and a thick, black beard with only the merest hint of grey around the chin.
They made eye-contact and if Robb didn’t know better he could have sworn that a grin appeared on the big man’s lips. A moment later it was gone and Robb inclined his head just a fraction, enough to get his attention, but hopefully unnoticed by everyone else.
Straybeck Rising: Calloway Blood: Book one (Calloway Blood 1) Page 15