by Grey Durose
Barridge swung around in his seat and gave Hain a disapproving look. Colin was aware that the slight was intended to wound his pride but his awareness didn’t spare him any hurt feelings. ‘I’ll be in the rear, if I’m needed.’ He muttered, as he squeezed past Hain who, as usual, was taking up as much space as possible. He slipped between the curtains and through the airlock (which Hain had left open). He closed the door behind him, it clunked satisfactorily.
‘Colin! So glad you could join us.’ Daphne said as Colin turned, a welcoming smile on her face. ‘Shabani and I were just discussing the merits of tea.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know much about it, La… Daphne.’ His eyes flicked nervously to Shabani as he finished speaking, and was alarmed to have his gaze met by two large, impossibly dark, eyes. Colin nodded.
‘Daphne was telling me that tea is seldom drunk in your lands. That coffee is the preferred beverage.’ Shabani said.
Colin, taken aback by this sudden vocalisation, struggled to reply, ‘Yes.’ Was all he could manage.
‘Mr Champion was probably brought up on a diet of coffee. I myself was a stranger to the delights of tea until my late husband passed in to the arms of Mithras.’ Lady Daphne lamented.
‘Was your husband averse to tea?’ Shabani asked.
‘I’m afraid to say, my late husband was rather averse to anything he hadn’t been used to for at least five years, myself included.’ Daphne giggled and the contagious mirth spread across the room as first Shabani’s booming laugh then Colin’s chuckle joined the chorus.
‘Was ‘e really that bad, Daphne?’ Colin asked, then thought better of it as his childhood instincts kicked back in, ‘I don’t mean to be nosey, of course.’
‘Nonsense, Colin. It’s your curious mind that’s got us this far, and I’ve no doubt we’ll be needing it again before this journey is done. However, in answer to your question, my late husband was a delight. The Oliphants are an ancient line and Julian – my late husband – once told me they could trace their line all the way back to the ancient Emperors, Scipio, to be precise. They were Africans long ago and when they moved to Britannia they brought their war oliphants with them.’ Daphne rolled her eyes.
‘Do you not approve of Africans?’ Shabani asked, noticing an uncomfortable shuffle from Colin.
‘Oh, no dear, it’s not that, dear.’ She reached across to lay a reassuring hand on Shabani’s. ‘It’s just that it reminded me of how terribly stiff and formal poor Julian’s parents were. I don’t think I ever saw his father dressed in anything but formal attire, and his mother, well, let’s just say I firmly believe that she slept in a cage of whalebone.’ There was more laughter and Daphne had a mischievous glint in her eye.
‘Are you married, Shabani?’ Colin asked. He’d been curious about the customs of people in far off lands he’d never been to and had been aching to find an excuse to ask questions.
‘I have eleven wives, Colin. All of them larger than me.’ Shabani replied.
‘What?’ Colin couldn’t hide his astonishment.
There was a short pause, during which no one spoke, then slowly Shabani’s straight face began to crack, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Champion. I’m playing a little trick on you.’ He said, snorting with laughter.
Colin blushed. ‘So that’s ‘ow it is, is it?’ he was a little annoyed at being caught out but when he saw Daphne; her whole body shaking and her hand over her mouth, tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks; his irritation was quickly extinguished.
Once she’d gathered herself and wiped away the tears Daphne turned to Colin again, ‘Come and sit, Colin dear, you’ve been standing there all this time and you were at the controls for hours.’ She patted the seat next to her. The seats were arranged around a lightweight metal table which was riveted to the floor, Daphne on one side and Shabani on the opposite side.
‘I don’t mind if I do.’ He began walking over to where Daphne had indicated. ‘I ‘ave to say, though, I quite like being able to guard the door against that Hain fella.’ As soon as he said it he remembered that Shabani was Hain’s sworn companion. ‘I’m terrible sorry, Shabani. I didn’t me…’
Shabani held up his huge hands to stay Colin’s apology midsentence ‘Think nothing of it, Colin. I’m quite aware that Sebastian Hain is an ass, I have travelled with him for years and have seen how he treats people and have experienced it myself.’
‘Why on Earth do you put up with him?’ Daphne asked.
‘I couldn’t stand him for a week, let alone for years.’ Colin added.
Shabani laughed, not his usual booming laugh, softer. ‘My friends - I hope I can call you my friends – as you know, Sebastian saved me from slavers but when he did so he did not end the practice of slavery. Across Africa, in many of the new colonies and even in the little Empires that came from Rome, there are many places where I, or even Mr Champion, might find ourselves enslaved.’ A soul sadness washed across his face as he spoke. ‘I have lived as a slave - though thankfully not for long - and let me tell you; it is no way for any human being to exist.’
‘I’ve ‘eard stories about what they do to folk. It’s enough to make your hair stand on end.’ Colin said. ‘My mother never wanted me to travel. She was always afraid I’d be carried off by slavers and never seen again.’ He added.
‘Your mother was right to be afraid.’ Shabani nodded.
‘I notice the Royal court has been extolling the virtues of slavery, recently. Surely there must be slaves who aren’t treated too badly. More like servants, really.’ Daphne said.
Shabani shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you have been misled by your society friends, Daphne.’ He shook his head then began to speak again, ‘Let me tell you what it is to be a slave: firstly, you are taken. No slave chooses that life. Often, in the taking of slaves they will see members of their own family killed. Next, they will be chained or bound and forced to walk from the place where they were taken, to the nearest slaver town. Slavers will not waste food or water or new shoes or sympathy on a slave; the slaves get enough to keep them upright, no more. If you fall, you are beaten. If you talk, you are beaten. If you cry, you are beaten. If you fight, you are beaten harder. At the town you are thrown in cells to sit in darkness and to listen to and smell the fear of the others, while you wait to be washed down and sold.’
Daphne opened her mouth to speak but, in an uncharacteristically bold gesture, Colin placed a hand on her arm and shook his head.
Shabani continued, ‘When you are sold, you don’t know who your owner is. Yes, as you suggested, Daphne, they may be kind to their slaves but these people do not consider their slaves as men and women like themselves, more like a pet that can talk. No better than a clever bird.’ Shabani paused a moment, to collect himself. ‘Most slave owners consider their new property to be no better than a cow or a sheep. If their livestock will not do as it is told, it must be beaten. If it is not working hard enough in the field it will be flogged until it moves faster or falls dead. Cattle must be bred, too. I will spare you that part of my tale, Daphne.’
‘Don’t. I’ve been blind. I always pride myself on thinking for myself and my blasted compassion. Finish your story, Shabani.’ Daphne insisted.
Colin looked at her with concern on his face. ‘Per’aps yer Ladyship shouldn’t hear this. August would be appalled.’ The sharp look Daphne gave him was all the reply Colin needed.
‘Please continue, Shabani.’ She said, a little less heat in her voice.
‘I will, but under duress.’ Shabani took a deep breath; ‘The women are bred, like animals. The owners want more slaves but don’t want to pay for them. They employ overseers, men with whips and guns who watch over the slaves and punish them whenever they feel like it. These overseers are also charged with increasing the stock, by rape.’
Daphne resisted the urge to cover her mouth and swallowed hard against the rising nausea. She closed her eyes and tried hard not to see what she was being told.
‘I think that’s enough, Shabani.
’ Colin urged.
‘But what about the children?’ Daphne asked. ‘What happens to them?’
‘I’m afraid they are born slaves. They become property as soon as they are born and will be set to work as soon as they are useful. No one knows who fathered which child, so some of the girls may eventually be raped by their own fathers.’
Daphne let out a small cry of despair. ‘And we name this the World of Savage Demons! When we return, this will stop. I swear it to you Shabani, by Mithras and all the old Gods.’
Shabani nodded. ‘It is my life’s work, now. Thanks to Sebastian, I am able to make this choice.’
There was a sudden jolt and the Oliphant began to descend. ‘The sun must be goin’ down, August said we’d be landin’ for the night.’ Colin remarked.
‘He mentioned something about refuelling, we have a long journey ahead.’ Daphne said, her mind elsewhere.
‘Long journey? We’ll need to turn for ‘ome, soon.’ Colin was confused.
Shabani coughed. ‘I don’t think August has been entirely honest with you, Mr Champion.’
Chapter Eighteen
Jacqueline was feeling bruised after her violent encounter with George. She still wanted to know who he really was, especially having seen the bizarre ritualistic dagger he was wielding the night before. A return to his Paris address was not on the cards at this stage, even though he'd seemed injured at the time and the prospect of taking him on when fully fit wasn't an inviting one.
The pull towards Italy was too powerful to resist now and she bought a ticket on the sleeper train. She'd be in Rome by the next day and she needed to focus on the task ahead. She took a taxi to the station and boarded with plenty of time to spare. The extra expense of a cabin to herself was well worth the privacy it afforded; there's nothing worse than having to share a small space with a nosey stranger. She settled in then decided to get something to eat and a glass of wine. She knew only too well that you can get a decent glass of wine anywhere in France, even on a train.
It was dark and the lights were on all along the train, including the corridor outside her door. She span round as she left her cabin, to make sure the door was secured, and felt herself very aware that her neighbour was mimicking her actions perfectly. The two passenger's looked at each other and their gazes met. Jacqueline's heart skipped a beat; it was George.
George couldn't prevent a look of surprise from shooting across his face, and there was an uncomfortable pause before either of them could think of an appropriate verbal response to the situation.
'Are you stalking me?' They said in unison. Another awkward silence followed.
'Yes!' George blurted, with a forced smile.
Jacqueline summoned up a giggle, 'You're doing a good job of it, so far. Where're you headed for?' She asked, trying to make it sound casual.
'Rome. Part business, part pleasure.' He replied. He was trying to speed things along, he didn't really want to engage with her face to face, it wasn't like she was going to just tell him anything he wanted know. They'd met three times now and she was the right build for his nocturnal visitor.
'Same here. I love Rome, so much history.' she added, just trying to seem polite until she could make her getaway.
'Really? What business are you in now?' He enquired. He found himself pursuing a conversation he had no logical reason to be in to begin with.
'Business?' Jacqueline was a little confused.
'I said my trip was part business and you replied: me too.' He explained. George could smell blood; if he could catch her in a lie it would make her a more likely candidate for the burglar and if she became flustered she might let something drop that she was previously withholding.
'So I did!' Jacqueline's cheeks began to feel hot, she'd never blushed before, not once in her entire life, but she presumed that was what she was now experiencing. 'I have a friend in Rome who wants to open a restaurant and needs investors, I have a little money put aside so...' She improvised. She felt a twinge of pride, on the spur of the moment it had been a fine bluff well delivered, blushing aside.
'I see. Well, good luck with that, anyway. I was just heading down to get a bite to eat...'
Before he could finish the sentence Jacqueline interjected, 'Love to!' It had come out as unexpectedly for Jacqueline as for George, she knew she should stay away from him but a part of her subconscious was in open rebellion.
'Oh, are you? I mean: why not?' He fumbled for a response and it was the best he seemed capable of. He could easily list a dozen reasons why not? but it seemed politeness and surprise had dragged them both, kicking and screaming, in to a dinner date.
They both approached dinner with extreme caution but a couple of glasses of wine and some good conversation had made two hours fly by. George had found himself liking this woman, he hadn't expected that and, if it came down to it, he would be sorry to have to kill her.
Jacqueline was feeling much the same; he seemed like a nice guy. Not a pushover, like most the men she met, and she had an increasing feeling that there was something special about him. It would be a shame to have to end his life, if it came to that, she thought.
At last the opportunity arose for George to make his move. They'd been together for an acceptable amount of time for him to take a short break, 'I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me for a moment, the um, little boy's room is calling.' He stated.
'Sure, hurry back, though!' She said, then wondered why. For a few moments Jacqueline had forgotten herself and a huge grin had appeared on her face, completely unbidden. Her head was on an investigation but her heart was on a date.
George smiled, this time it was genuine, he was enjoying himself and very unprofessional it felt, too. He got up and made his way out of the carriage, his cane was quickly becoming a passenger. Once out of view, George hastened his pace, making his way straight back to Jacqueline's cabin. He had no trouble getting in unseen and quickly closed the door behind him.
The inside of the cabin was identical to his own, save for the luggage and a few items of clothing and toiletries lying around. George headed straight for the dark blue, wheeled case stowed under the bunk. It was locked with a combination but there was nothing special about the mechanism and, with some careful listening, he was able to open the case in a few seconds. Inside the case he found nothing; just clothes, but while he carefully rummaged he noticed the case was slightly thinner on the inside than it appeared externally. He began to run his fingers along the edge of the inside of the case, it was cleverly disguised but his expertise discerned a tiny latch.
Just then, someone ran past the door, startling him. The foot falls continued on, down the corridor, and George stiffened for a moment then breathed a sigh of relief and went back to his task. He sprang the latch and opened the false back; he found a surprising collection inside, a combat knife, an automatic handgun with ammunition clips and a few small throwing knives, all well maintained and of excellent quality. I think I have my burglar, he thought. He put the case back in exactly the same condition he'd found it in, careful not to crease the clothing, the sort of thing she might notice. He left the cabin and hastily made his way back to the restaurant car.
A few moments after George had gone, Jacqueline had seized her opportunity. She quickly ordered a couple of coffees and asked for them to be left steaming on the table, as she followed George's route out of the carriage. She knew she wouldn't have much time, since the toilet was closer to the restaurant carriage than their cabins were. She broke in to a jog as she passed along the carriages and didn’t stop until she reached the door of George's cabin. She slipped inside past the simple lock and quickly closed the door behind her. The cabin was the same standard design as her own, so she had no trouble finding his carefully stowed bags. The smaller of the bags was just a backpack and the contents were a collection of travel documents, snacks, wipes, a bottle of water and a locked phone. She turned her focus on the larger piece of luggage: it was a fairly old-fashioned looking carpet bag. It had evident
ly seen a considerable number of years of use - judging from the looks of the fraying and faded pattern - but was still in one piece, though there was some evidence of patching and stitching over the years. She opened the bag and began to carefully root through the contents. It was mostly filled with dark clothing and a pair of hiking boots, handmade, probably Italian, 'Only the best for our George.' She whispered to herself, though the spite in her tone wasn't heartfelt. She dug to the bottom, but there was still nothing odd, surely there has to be something, she thought. She padded the bottom of the bag with her hands and found it was firmer than she'd expected it to be. Running her hands around the edge revealed no sign of a false bottom but her instincts told her something wasn't quite right. Jacqueline pulled the contents to one side and stared at the bottom of the bag. Long ago, her grandmother, Daisy, had told her: 'sometimes you can't always see things just by looking at them with your eyes. Some things you have to see with your mind, your eyes can be misleading and that can be exploited.'. She regulated her breathing, taking long slow breaths from her diaphragm, relaxed her muscles and looked again at the bottom of the bag. A few moments passed then gradually something began to take form. Where there had once been the plain bottom of the bag, she could now see the outline of the ceremonial dagger George had fought her with in Paris. As she continued to focus her mind, a pair of identical handguns became visible, along with their silencers. By the guns was a coil of tubing and a plastic cased pump, she had no idea what it was for. At the very bottom, below the other objects, was a pile of papers and travel documents. She was running out of time and, just as she was losing focus, she managed to read the first few lines on one of the papers, it said Belgravia and then a list of names, the same names as she'd been hearing on the news. The cultists who'd been slaughtered before she could find them.