His father-in-law had also noticed the boy. He issued an instruction and the youth was dragged from the crowd to stand before the Mayor. Fred saw him try to draw himself erect, but pain kept him stooped. His face was white and dark blood stained the front of his clothes.
Spight grabbed the boy’s chin and twisted his face up to look into his own. ‘You’re no good to me either. There’s no way you’ll be accepted as cargo. Your friends didn’t exactly do you any favours by rescuing you, did they?’ He turned to the men who had led the prisoners out. ‘Take him back to Bodingleigh. I have another use in mind for him if he heals, and if he doesn’t, we’ll hang him as a terrorist once we’re done in Dartmouth.’
There were a few half-hearted cheers, and cries of dismay from the boy’s friends as he was dragged away from them. A middle-aged man lunged forward before being beaten back. He looked familiar. As if he could feel Fred’s eyes on him, the man’s head turned until their eyes met. The prisoner’s face paled, but he didn’t look away.
A shock of recognition and a flare of rage shot through Fred as he realised he was looking at an old and unloved acquaintance. The further realisation that Spight must have known the man was there, and hadn’t told him, stoked his fury. The heat that spread from his head down his spine made him feel he might combust where he stood.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you had the Major locked up in that shed? I would have liked to have some time alone with him.’ Fred was keeping his voice low, but he knew it must be clear to anyone watching that he was furious with his father-in-law, if only from the way he had stalked up to Spight and was hissing in his ear. He could see Dug and some of the others straining to hear what was being said; he tried to relax and unclench his fists.
Spight looked at him coldly. ’That’s precisely why I didn’t tell you – I didn’t want you damaging the livestock or upsetting the rest of it while you indulged yourself in some stupid vendetta.’
As if shooting the old man hadn’t upset them! While they argued he could see consternation spreading all across the flotilla as speculation mounted about what had happened. With Fred still struggling to articulate his outrage, Spight continued, ‘I don’t know why you’re still obsessed. After all, you could say you won, in the end. You got Flora and your place in my household.’
The old man knew why Fred had married his daughter. So what? If anyone approved of a practical over a romantic motivation for marriage, it should be him. It wasn’t as if Fred hadn’t loved Flora, even after she had betrayed him, and it wasn’t as if there had been others lining up to marry a woman pregnant with another man’s child. Particularly a woman with a tongue as sharp as Flora’s. Spight had played a significant part in returning society to a state in which single women, particularly unwed mothers, were fair game for any man who wanted to take advantage; he should be grateful that Fred had ignored the sly comments of the villagers and got her down the aisle before the bump that would turn into Hector Jr was too visible.
And then he’d raised the boy, enduring people’s whispers about Hector Jr’s true paternity. It had not been an easy row he’d been hoeing all these years.
Remembering that, and knowing he still had some way to go before he could enjoy the harvest, Fred nodded in seeming acquiescence and forced an ingratiating grin.
‘And I’m happy to be part of it still, Sir.’
*
Seeing his father and grandfather in close proximity to each other made Junior nervous. It always had. There was an air of incipient violence whenever the two men were close together for longer than a few minutes. Which could be why they all lived in such a big house with plenty of rooms.
At least if they were looking daggers at each other they wouldn’t have eyes for him. He had spotted them from the road before turning his bike onto the quay and they were far enough away for him to be able to slip into shadows before they saw him. Dismounting from the bike, he stashed it in a hedge and crept closer to find a place from which he could observe what was going on without being noticed and sent home.
People were being put on a boat, and it wasn’t being done gently. Men were standing by cleats, ready to slip the mooring. If he was going to make a move he had only a few minutes left in which to do it.
At last all of the passengers were on board. The crew were onshore having a last cigarette, waiting for the boats ahead of them to move out into the river and the order to move off. While their backs were turned, Hector crept forward and ran for the stern. There was no ladder, he had to climb down using his toes – jamming them into gaps between the stones of the wall – and then drop, landing as quietly as he could. He picked up one corner of an old tarpaulin lying on the deck and crawled under it, cursing as cold rainwater trickled from its creases and down his neck.
A couple of minutes later he heard other feet landing on the deck and coachroof, men’s voices shouting to cast off. The engine rumbled into life below him, sending vibrations throughout the boat.
‘Right, let’s get this lot downriver then.’ His father’s voice, sounding bullish, like it always did when he knew he wasn’t in charge but was hoping no one else had noticed. Too late to get off the boat now. Hector Jr had better keep his head down if he didn’t want a beating.
*
Primrose and Will abandoned the electric car in a derelict farmyard soon after dawn and proceeded on foot. Here, so far from Bodingleigh and anyone who might know them – or wonder why they didn’t – they could walk openly on the road, which made progress easier, even on a surface pocked with craters. They were on the outskirts of Dartmouth, still a large town by post-Devolution standards, with a lively if illegal market in goods from traders sailing over from the Brittany coast; strangers were more common and less remarked upon here than elsewhere in Devon.
Other people were heading in the same direction, carrying wares or empty sacks, hoping to do business with the traders, or the small fishing fleet that brought in a daily if somewhat meagre catch. Will heard someone they overtook talking to their companion about the freighter standing offshore, and the deals it was offering. It must be the one Spight was on his way to meet. He checked his watch for the seventh time since they had left the car, and saw they needed to be at their rendezvous within forty minutes or they would be late. They still had two and a half miles to go. It was going to be tight.
Beside him, Primrose was clearly struggling but trying not to show it. Despite the huge weight loss, which must make walking less arduous in the sweltering heat, she could hardly be used to this much exertion after five years of doing little but eat. They had already been walking fast for an hour. Her face was shiny with sweat and she winced frequently as her feet rubbed in the ill-fitting shoes. Pennywort was growing on the shaded side of the road and he picked some for her, showing her how to extract water from the fleshy little pockets. She flashed him a tired smile of gratitude.
She also seemed awed by her new surroundings and overwhelmed by the numbers of people around them. It must all be a big change from life at the fat farm. Will sympathised, but he was frustrated by their slow rate of progress and terrified they would be late. It was hard not to let that show in his voice when he encouraged her to go just a little faster. He should have insisted she go back to Mrs P’s house, but she wouldn’t hear of it and he hadn’t had the heart to leave her behind.
When she’d called back, Mrs Mason had told him to rendezvous with the resistance in Dartmouth at eleven a.m., when they estimated all the ‘cargo’ would be assembled, but before it reached the freighter. Will checked his watch again and saw it was nearly ten-thirty. At least, from here, the route was downhill all the way. Trees grew to either side of the road and there was some shelter from the sun burning overhead, but it was still hard going.
He stole another look at Primrose as she struggled along beside him, biting her lip, tears glistening in her eyes as each step caused her pain. He could barely recognise the child he had played with at school, or the immense girl he had seen staggering in the d
ark just a few days before, trying to escape from the fat farm. He was impressed she’d had the courage to make another attempt, on her own; he had never heard of it happening before. If he had helped her the first time, she wouldn’t have had to undergo the extreme procedure that had turned her from morbidly obese to disturbingly rounded. And if he was honest with himself, would he still feel the same way about her bravery then? It was all very confusing.
As were the memories of the night before, of him holding and stroking her hand and hearing her breathe in the dark beside him. He had developed a painful erection, which had made sleep impossible. Just thinking about it now was enough to send the blood surging south from his brain.
He was aware of the admiring glances and open leers Primrose was receiving from men they passed. If she noticed the attention, she didn’t seem pleased about it. Her head was bent and she avoided eye contact as the crowds thickened. Will was annoyed on her behalf, as well as feeling a hot sort of possessiveness at the thought she might be tempted to smile back, or that one of them might like to take it further than looking. He would punch anyone who tried.
He pushed these thoughts and urges to violence aside. He had a mission to perform, he couldn’t afford to let himself become distracted by complicated feelings about girls.
*
A cool breeze blew across the surface of the river but still the heat under the cracked Plexiglass canopy of the old ferry was brutal. The prisoners lay in enervated heaps, too hot and depressed to move.
When he could see the austere, colonial grandeur of the old Royal Naval College up on the hill to his right, and the Major knew Dartmouth was only a short distance away, he stopped fighting it and finally allowed despondency to take a proper hold. All the way downriver he had been waiting for SCREW activists to appear and save the day. He was sure they would take the boats where the river was narrowest, hemmed in by thick woodland to either side. A rope stretched across and suddenly snapping taut as a prow hit it would be all it took to throw the lead boat into confusion and cause a pile-up.
He counted down in his head constantly, trying to work out how long it would have taken for Mrs Mason and the others to miss him and Will, and from there to come up with a plan.
But why should they come and rescue him, when he had gone against strict orders not to put Stage Two in jeopardy by mounting a rescue bid for Mal, and getting his own stupid self captured in turn?
Mal … Spight had been right; taking him from the fat farm so soon had put the boy’s life in further jeopardy. Now, he would be hanged, and there was not one thing the Major could do to stop it.
As the time passed and nothing happened except the day growing lighter and hotter, he had to admit he was beaten. By the time Dartmouth itself came into view despondency had succumbed to despair.
At least Fred wasn’t on this boat but the one keeping close behind, clearly not happy about it, but doing his duty as a good son-in-law. The Major wondered how long it would take for Fred to stick a knife in the old man’s back, or in his own.
The Major expected the flotilla to continue on past the town and out into the deep water by the castle, to meet the freighter for a transfer of goods. But instead the small fleet headed for the old harbour and moored up, strung along the ancient pontoon or against the high wall, which loomed over them.
This was the time to throw despair down on the deck and give it a good kicking. This could be his moment.
But heat beat him down and he watched the bustle of the crew through eyes that remained glazed with apathy.
*
Spight had intended to proceed directly to the freighter. He couldn’t relax until his cargo was aboard, his payment received and stowed on the boats, and he and it were safely on their way back to Longmarsh. But Dwight had called, insisting on coming on board to inspect the goods before he would sign off on payment. Reluctantly, Spight issued orders for all the boats to tie up.
Once on the quayside, he sent Fred off to find the skipper at the hotel and tell him the cargo awaited his pleasure. He just hoped the ex-fatties wouldn’t get spooked. Perhaps shooting Jeremiah had been a bit of an over-reaction, but if there was one thing he could not tolerate it was betrayal. Jeremiah being in league with terrorists had been betrayal of the rankest kind, threatening his authority over his men as nothing else had in all his years in office. But at least he now had a suitable subject for Harrow’s experiments, if the boy recovered from his infection. And if he didn’t, he had someone for the populace to vent their frustrations on, and to use as a warning to any others seeking to undermine him. A hanging would suffice to serve both ends.
While Spight waited, he put Bob in charge of inspecting the perimeter he had ordered put in place around the ancient dock, to keep unwanted eyes from seeing what was tantamount to a slave auction. No one was to be allowed to come within one hundred yards of the boats, unless they were bringing the last consignment: children. The few businesses located nearby had already been told to take a holiday, and the fish market had been relocated to a dilapidated marina at Kingswear, across the river. Those traders that complained had been given the offer of turning the holiday into permanent retirement, and Spight was pleased to see no shutters had been raised. The hotel was exempt; he was confident its owner would not give them any trouble.
Bob returned and reported the perimeter was in place and being enforced. Shoppers coming in from the outlying villages were being diverted to an impromptu ferry service run by some enterprising youths with access to a pair of leaky rowing boats. Message delivered, Bob fell to biting his nails and staring across the river.
It was looking to Spight very much as if Bob would soon benefit from permanent retirement himself, and then Spight would be stuck with Fred for his second-in-command. He supposed Fred had earned it. It couldn’t be easy being married to Flora, she had a mouth on her that could strip paint. But the man was an oaf with no talent for the subtleties that had kept Spight in power all these years. It wasn’t enough to threaten people; you had to know when to offer the carrot as well as to apply the stick, and to be able to read people in order to know which was going to be more effective. Fred just set about himself freely with the stick. He had no finesse.
Perhaps Spight would have to wait for his grandson to become old enough to take over. The boy showed aptitude, but that would mean another decade or so of hard work for Spight. He would be well on his way to eighty years old by then. The thought made him feel tired.
The sound of boots scuffing cobbles reached his ears and he turned to find Dwight almost upon him, huge hand extended to offer another bone-crushing grip. Spight steeled himself and put his hand in the vice-like grasp. Behind him, he could see Fred, and Dwight’s Fred-equivalent, eyeing each other up.
‘’Bout time you showed, was thinkin we’d have to haul anchor to make it up the coast in time.’
Bluster, always bluster.
‘I think when you see what we’ve brought, you’ll be happy you stayed.’
The inspection took almost an hour, Dwight insisting on first visiting the warehouse where non-human goods were being stored. Meats, cheeses, vegetables and casks of cider filled the store, stacked high. He could have taken care of this bit of business earlier, Spight thought to himself, suppressing a snarl of impatience as he watched Dwight pawing through potatoes like he was the King of Spuds and would know blight if it bit his nose off, before proceeding to inspect every one of the six boats carrying live cargo.
At least he wasn’t stupid enough to say anything untoward to any of the livestock, taking the hand of the simpering maiden called Primrose and telling her he couldn’t wait to wine and dine her at the Captain’s table, at which she giggled and blushed prettily. Dorcas’s eyes must be failing her if she thought this girl was the best the West Country had to offer, but Dwight seemed satisfied he would find a buyer for her.
When it came to the newly captured prisoners, the Captain passed a cursory eye over them, prodded one or two to see if they were as scra
wny as he feared, and grudgingly pronounced, ‘They’ll do.’ Most of them looked at him with blank incomprehension, too traumatised to summon the energy to fight off his meaty hands, although Spight thought he saw the Major – slumped on the deck, looking sweaty and ill – tensing as if he was considering giving it a go. Go on, he thought, give Fred an excuse to batter you. He could feel Fred at his shoulder, willing the prisoner on. But the Major said and did nothing.
‘Cargo’s not up to the usual standard, I have to say, Spight. You’re gonna have to up your game, you wanna keep doin’ business with us,’ Dwight said as they left the last of the boats, climbing up the ramp that led from the pontoon to the dock.
Spight bridled at this insult to his livestock but perhaps the man had a point. The insurgents and other prisoners were a motley bunch.
‘I’m working on a new line of product,’ he told the skipper as he rubbed rust from the handrail off his palms.
‘Good to know. What kind of product we talkin’ about?’
‘A new kind of chemical weapon. Air-borne and deadly. I think your clients will be very happy with it.’
Dwight looked mildly interested as he said, ‘I’ll be sure and tell 'em. Where’s the little ’uns?’
‘Nearby, awaiting my word. We thought it better to bring them out last, when you’re ready to leave. Which will be …’ He made a show of checking his watch.
‘Any moment now, don’t you worry. I’m as keen to shuck the dust of this hick town off my shoes, as you are to show me the door.’
‘And my cargo?’ Spight had sent Bob to inspect their goods as soon as they arrived but turned to make a point of checking with his right-hand-man that he had indeed found everything to be as stipulated – though he knew this to be the case as they had discussed it already – and found that, some time during the tour, the man had slipped away.
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