by Arnot, Tim
The door closed. After a few moments there was the sound of a chain being released and the door opened once more.
‘Come in!’ the woman said.
Shea entered the house and followed her along a narrow, dark passageway and through the door at the end into a small but well appointed kitchen. She introduced herself as Angela, and pointed at a plain wooden chair by the table.
‘Have a seat. The kettle’s on, would you like some tea?’
Shea’s face lit up, ‘Real proper tea?’
Angela nodded. ‘Yes, it’s hard to get around here, and very expensive. But we like to keep some for special occasions.’
‘In that case I should be honoured,’ Shea said.
Angela poured the tea into two bone china cups. A third was set out on the dresser. ‘My husband should be back soon,’ she said.
Shea nodded and sipped his tea.
Some time later Shea heard the sound of a key in the lock. He jumped, but Angela held up a finger, signalling him to hold still. The door creaked open and then shut with a clunk. Footsteps came down the hallway and stopped outside the kitchen door. The knob slowly started to turn and the door creaked open. In walked Frank Bumpenny, the vicar.
Shea glanced across at Angela, who nodded, smiling. He stood and held out his hand. ‘Shea O’Connell, sir.’
The vicar shook the proffered hand. ‘Frank. Frank Bump-knee,’ He replied, over-emphasising the pronunciation. Shea realised it was probably a very old habit. ‘I guess you must be the kid we’ve been hearing so much about. You’ve caused quite a buzz…’
‘Yeah, about that…’ Shea started.
Frank cut him off abruptly. ‘I don’t need–or want–to know. What I don’t know can’t be forced out of me by the mayor and his cohorts, or by the Kingsmen, or by anyone else for that matter. The important thing is that you’re in one piece, and we must get a message to your parents to tell them you’re okay. I’m sure they’ve been worried out of their skins.’
‘I lost my radio…’ Shea began.
Frank held his hand in the air. ‘You can tell me all that in a moment. But first…’ he turned to his wife and kissed her on the cheek, ‘…what I could really do with, Angela, is a good cup of tea.’
Angela winked at Shea, who grinned. ‘Coming right up, honey.’ She poured a cup from the pot and set it on the table. They sat. ‘Shea and I were just discussing the price of tea, and how hard it is to get,’ she said.
Frank sipped at his tea meditatively and sighed, ‘That’s good.’ When he put his cup down, he asked, ‘So how much do you know, son?’
‘Not much, probably,’ replied Shea. ‘I know–at least I think–this is supposed to be Receiving Station Kilo-One-Seven, but I didn’t get a thorough briefing. I’m not really supposed to be here at all.’
‘No kidding!’ said Frank. ‘After you disappeared, all hell broke loose. Everyone and his mother has been looking for you, our side and theirs. And the mayor. So what happened?’
‘I was dumb. Too close to the ground. Got an arrow in the motor. Crashed.’
‘Well, at least you’re in one piece. Damage? What happened to the radio?’
‘Destroyed, I’m afraid. I was pretty well banged up, and had to hole up for a few days. I lost the radio somewhere before the crash. At least I searched the site and never found it.’ Shea coughed before continuing, ‘Had a little help from some locals. Nice girl…’
Frank raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Shea cleared his throat uncomfortably, reaching without thinking to adjust his collar. ‘Anyhow, she brought me supplies and some snares. Then I had to leg it out of there. Someone must have tipped off the local plod, as they turned up in force and grabbed the wreckage.’
‘Was it the girl, do you think?’
‘I don’t reckon it was, no.’
‘She could swing for aiding and abetting if they found out she’d been helping you in secret,’ said Frank. ‘Don’t let your trousers do the job of your head…’
‘I think I’m a fair judge of character. She didn’t tell anybody. But the big problem is that the plod, and possibly the Kingsmen too by now, have bits of at least one solar wing, even if it is busted.’
‘Well that’s a setback,’ said Frank. ‘As you know, they are still preaching their “electricity bad” mantra around here, but of course what they preach and what they do are completely different things. The Kingsmen are nearly as technologically advanced as we are, but they keep it secret.’
‘I heard they hanged a man here a few days ago.’ A grim turn to the conversation.
‘Yeah. It was a… local initiative on the part of the mayor. Don’t know who the guy was. Probably one of Griffin’s own goons. Nothing came over the comm anyhow.
Frank paused, looking at Shea and searching his face for a reaction. ‘Oh, and that girl you’ve been seen with…’
Shea started to protest. He thought he’d been careful not to be noticed, not to stand out, and he was surprised to hear that he’d been spotted with Flick, and worse, recognised.
Frank saw Shea’s reaction.
‘Yes. Seen,’ he said, ‘although it was me that saw you up at the Folly cavorting about like it was May Day.’
‘Flick…’ Shea stuttered eventually. ‘She’s been good to me, and I have to admit I do kind of like her. And it was–is–May Day.’
‘Felicity Carter. She lives down the hill at the Crown Inn. Got a younger brother and sister,’ Frank said.
‘Yeah, I met them. The girl is sweet–Rosie–but the boy… There was some sort of trouble between him and the mayor and the Kingsmen at the Choosing. I don’t know what it was about, but I think he could be a problem.’
By now it was starting to get dark outside, and Angela lit a couple of candles and set them on the table.
‘Obviously I can’t make you,’ said the vicar, ‘but I strongly recommend that you stay away from them. Now, we have to make plans to send word that you are safe, and to arrange for a pick up…’
They continued their discussions over dinner.
‘He was disappeared. They carted him off to who knows where…’ Bill Watson was expounding the now legendary story of Adam’s departure with the Kingsmen. It had been the topic of many conversations in the bar that evening, more than a few of them started or contributed to by Bill. Flick had overheard some of them, and it was wearing a bit thin.
She put the drinks she was carrying down on the table. ‘That’s enough, Bill, if you don’t mind,’ she said. ‘We’ve checked his room, and his things are gone. He must have come back here after the Choosing and packed a bag.’ She looked at each of the Watchmen sitting around the table before asking, ‘Is that what happens when somebody is disappeared? They come home and pack a bag? Is it?’
They shook their heads.
‘The Kingsmen chose him fair and square, and that’s that. He’s their problem now.’ She raised her voice so it carried over the din of the room.
‘Sure looked like he was arrested from where I was,’ someone else said.
‘Well, he wasn’t,’ Flick said indignantly. ‘Dad went and spoke to them after, and they told him. And he spoke to Adam too. Does that sound to you like arrested? Look, everyone, whatever you might think, he was–is–my brother. Now I know what some of you thought of him, and I’m not saying you’re wrong, but he’s not here now and I will not hear another word on the matter.’
There was silence, and a lot of people studiously looking at their drinks. After a moment someone said, ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say.’
Flick looked round the bar, identifying the speaker. She pushed through the throng of drinkers, eyes blazing and grabbed the man by the collar. ‘Stuart Johnson, you are barred.’ She dragged the man, still holding his pint and protesting vociferously, to the door, and pushed him through it. ‘Now get out and stay out!’ she screamed.
The man stood there in the doorway, blinking, as if unsure of quite what had happened. Flick, seein
g his hesitation, reached out and grabbed the pint pot from his hand.
‘I’ll have that back too, if you don’t mind,’ she said, before slamming the door and turning back to the room.
The room was deathly quiet as Flick made her way back to the bar.
‘Excuse me, Miss…’
She spun round. It was Stanley. He had his hand in the air and was looking somewhat sheepish. ‘What?’ she snapped.
‘If that pint is going spare, I wouldn’t mind finishing it off for you,’ he said. ‘Save it going to waste…’ He flashed his best puppy dog eyes,
Flick looked down at the pot, and the brown liquid it contained. ‘Oh, have it,’ she said, and plonked it unceremoniously down on the table.
Shea pressed back into the archway. Pools of light from the flickering lanterns illuminated the cobbles, but he stayed in the shadows. He had snuck out after the vicar and his wife had gone to bed, and now he was watching, hidden, as Flick went about her business grooming the horses in the stables. She was talking to herself, and every now and again he caught a snatch of the conversation, although he couldn’t make out the individual words.
She sounded angry.
Each word was accompanied by the sound of stone hitting stone. Shea was curious; what was happening in that stable? It sounded like a cross between stonemasonry and pitched warfare. He snuck a little closer, keeping to the shadows.
Something pinged across the cobbles, followed by an expletive, ‘Bugger!’
He ducked out of sight, pressing himself against the stable wall. The chink of stone against stone resumed and he was close enough now that he could hear what was being said.
‘…Stupid, good for nothing bastard…’
Shea winced.
‘…If I saw him, I’d tell Mayor Griffin right away…’
This was a different voice, and it dawned on Shea that Flick was not alone; she had another girl in the stable with her. He instinctively shrank back, and started to feel his way along the wall, back towards the gate. Then his foot caught against something on the ground, a loose cobble or stone or some such, and there was a clunk.
Shit!
Shea held his breath, cursing himself inwardly for not being more careful. Surely they must have heard that. The sounds from the stable stopped momentarily, but after a second’s pause they resumed.
‘Perhaps we should get up a search party, scour the countryside and find the scumbag.’ That was Flick.
The sound of stone on stone stopped.
‘This’d put a hole in his schemes…’ the other voice. There was laughter. Shea didn’t laugh, instead he wondered what torture they were dreaming up. The chinking noise started again, but this time it had a different beat, more rhythmic, almost musical.
‘…And the money from the mayor, we could split it and be rich beyond the dreams of average…’
‘Not “average”,’ said Flick, ‘avarice. Honestly Maggs, didn’t you learn anything at school?’
‘Yeah, but what sort of name is that?’ asked the girl, now identified as Maggs. ‘I mean, stands to reason that if it’s a dream, it’s got to be a person having it. You can’t say, “Beyond the dreams of rock…”.’
Shea continued edging towards the gate, but a voice, very close, whispered in his ear, ‘Move again or make a sound and I’ll gut you where you stand.’
A hand clamped over his mouth and he felt the point of a blade at his midriff.
‘Understand?’
He nodded, his eyes were wide with shock. He tried to look down, at the knife, but the hand clamped over his mouth was stopping his head from moving.
‘Good,’ the voice whispered. ‘Now, move.’
With the knife still pressing into his gut, he was pushed further along the wall towards an open stable door.
‘Rosie, what are you doing out? It’s way past your bed time!’ the voice had become loud, as if it wanted to be heard by everybody. Shea realised that it was Flick, and somehow she was covering for him. ‘Now, I’ll see to the horse, you just go to bed and I’ll be in soon.’
He wanted to say ‘Flick, it’s me,’ but he just managed a muffled croak, and if anything her hand clamped even tighter over his mouth. He sagged slightly.
Flick went back to a whisper. ‘In.’
She pushed him into the empty stable and said, ‘Now you stay there like good boy,’ as she shut the door.
Shea heard the bolt being drawn across. He pushed at the door but it wouldn’t budge. He was trapped.
‘And keep quiet!’ Flick hissed from behind the door.
He tried to look around but it was pitch dark inside the stable; there were no windows or other doors. Minutes passed. He couldn’t hear the voices of the girls in the other stable, not even if he pressed his ear to the locked door. He hoped they hadn’t gone off to fetch the mayor; it was late, but even at this hour, the mayor would come running if he thought that Shea had been captured. But the fact that Flick hadn’t given him away to her friend gave him some hope. Maybe the other girl–Maggs–would have turned him in, but hopefully Flick’s ruse had been enough to stop her suspecting. Always supposing that Flick hadn’t just locked him up so that she could keep the reward money for herself.
He slumped dejectedly onto the floor with his back against one wall. If he’d had a ball he could have thrown it against the far wall and caught it, but he didn’t, so he just sat.
He heard the distant sound of the main gate being shut and barred, then silence again. Okay, another moment and the stable door was sure to open and he’d be free.
But it stayed shut.
‘Okay Shea, or whatever your name really is, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t keep you locked up in here, and fetch the Watch on you!’
The door was still shut, and Flick’s voice came from the other side of it. Shea moved closer to the door. He didn’t know who or what was beyond it, and he wanted to be ready for action, just in case.
‘Look, I know what the mayor said, and it just isn’t true,’ Shea said. ‘I didn’t do those things, I’m not a seditionist or anything like that. I’m just a kid, stuck a long way from home, and I’m simply trying to find my way back home. Surely you can understand that?’
‘Supposing that’s true,’ said Flick through the door, ‘and I’m not saying it is or I believe you, but just supposing, why did you disappear, and where did you go?’
‘Look,’ Shea replied, ‘the mayor had just unveiled a giant picture of me, and accused me of all sorts of stuff, and offered a big reward for my head on a plate. What would you have done?’
‘Fair enough,’ said Flick, ‘but where did you go?’
‘A place I know.’
‘Look. If you want me to trust you, you have to tell me everything and tell the truth. Now. Where did you go?’
Shea paused. He wasn’t going to tell her everything, not yet anyway.
‘Okay…’ he said eventually, ‘I snuck through the trees and down the hill. Then I holed up in a derelict house.’
‘What house? Where was it?’
‘You want every little detail?’
‘Yup. That’s the idea.’
Shea sighed. ‘It was at the end of Church Street.’
‘What number?’
‘I don’t know… There wasn’t a number on it.’
It was certainly true that a derelict house existed at the end of Church Street; Shea had passed it on his way to the vicarage. He’d even gone inside it and looked about and kicked stuff around a bit. That way, if anyone went looking, they’d think that maybe someone had been there and possibly stayed a while. It always paid to have a spare alibi handy; he never knew when it might come in useful.
Flick seemed to accept that information. There was a rattle as the bolt drew back and the door slowly opened. It was dark in the courtyard, save for the one flickering lantern that Flick thrust into the doorway.
‘Okay, you can come out, but very slowly, and don’t make any sudden moves. I’ve still got that knife and
I’m not afraid to use it. I’ve gutted all sorts of animals, from rabbits to deer, so I’m not squeamish at the sight of blood or anything, so just watch out.’
Shea held out his hands and slowly inched out into the courtyard.
‘Hi!’ he grinned.
He wasn’t expecting the slap across his face and it took him quite by surprise, and he staggered back, lost his balance and fell onto his backside.
‘Oww!’ He rubbed his cheek. ‘Well, I suppose I do deserve that,’ he said, grudgingly.
‘Yeah, and a whole lot more, or I’ll be no judge of character,’ Flick said.
‘Look, it’s hardly my fault everyone wants to grab me!’
‘Why isn’t it your fault? You must have done something, and don’t you dare lie to me, or I really will gut you.’
Shea looked about, at the windows of the inn. There were some lights showing through the ground floor windows, but none from upstairs.
‘I’ll tell you. But not here,’ he said.
Flick grabbed his jacket and pulled him to his feet. Without saying a word she pulled him into her workshop and shut the door.
‘Now, spill,’ she hissed.
‘What do you know of the Scavs?’ Shea asked.
‘I know you are one. The stories say you are all murderers and thieves and rapists. Are you?’
‘A murderer and a rapist? Of course not! And nor is anyone else I know.’ Shea was shocked to the core; how could she think that of him? ‘As for the other, well I may have borrowed a few things here an there that didn’t strictly belong to me, but I didn’t steal them. Never! Come on Flick, it’s me: you know me!’
‘Do I?’ Flick said. She studied his face intently.
‘Look, the Scavs–us–we move around a lot. That’s probably why people don’t like us and make things up. When we’ve gone, they say what they like and no one is there to disagree or tell them they’re wrong.’
Flick appeared to consider this. ‘That’s plausible,’ she said after a while. ‘So where do you come from, if you move about so much, where are your roots?’
‘Originally we came from out west, from beyond the sea. A land called Dublin. That’s where I was born,’ Shea said. He knew he was probably saying too much, especially if Bumpenny was right and she couldn’t be trusted. But if he was being honest, he trusted her more than he trusted a lot of people. And he had already told her about his sky-kart. And she was holding a knife.