Straybeck Rising

by Michael James Lynch

  Ryan stepped back, annoyed not just at her words, but at the truth he heard behind them.

  “It’s fine if you don’t want to listen to me,” Alia continued. “Or even your dad for that matter. But won’t you at least listen to the one person who has only ever wanted the best for you?”

  At first, he had no idea who she meant. Then John’s face swam into focus. Instinctively he fought against the image, but it felt too right to be ignored. Everything that John had risked had been to keep Ryan safe. It was a painful truth to acknowledge though and Ryan was suddenly ashamed of how he had treated his brother.

  “Go and see him,” Alia said, quietly. “Make it up to him. He’ll forgive you Ryan. Then ask him what he thinks you should do.”

  But he didn’t need to ask because he already knew what John’s answer would be. “I’ll go tonight,” he said quietly.

  Since the explosion in Karasard, the gunnermen had driven round declaring a city-wide curfew. Even so, Ryan felt confident he could dodge their checkpoints and set out in the early hours of the morning.

  There had been no more snow in the night and, despite the cold, what little there had been was now meltwater in the gutters. Ryan ached all over as he limped slowly away from Alia’s house and through the Slum District of Straybeck. She had patched up most of his injuries but the gash in his back was still snagging against his shirt as he walked.

  He had been thinking about Brynne most of the day. No matter what Alia said, there was still a loyalty too deep to shake. Ryan had to know if he was okay and he had to tell him in person that he was leaving the insurrection. He owed him that much.

  There were three drop-sites they had used in the past to get messages to each other. One was in Karasard, but there was no way he could reach that tonight. The second was at the park where he’d waited for Caylin. The third was the old underground station in the Manufacturing District. Ryan chose a route he had used before which took him through the rear yards of the shops in the Trade District and then out onto Friary Lane.

  The streets here were wide, black and empty and Ryan was instinctively cautious. He waited on a high wall at the edge of the district for ten minutes, tuning into the sounds of the night. It was empty as winter.

  As he descended into the underground world below Straybeck, the only sound was the thump of his heart and the quiet step of each foot. One solitary bulb was still lit partway down the platform and it struggled to hold back the shadows all around. Ryan quickly covered the length of the platform before his nerve could fail him. He found the bench where he had met Brynne all those weeks ago when he had collected the spray-cans. He ran his hand beneath it and all down the sides, checking for a note. There was nothing. Ryan unfolded one of the two scraps of paper he had taken from Alia’s house and scribbled a short note.

  Alive? Safe? Meet? R

  He folded it into a square and positioned it beneath the bench leaving one edge poking out from a crack in the stone. He retreated up the platform, climbed the steps and crept back into the night. After leaving an identical note under the bench at Straybeck Park he jogged the last couple of miles onto the Victory Estate.

  As he left the cover of the park, the wide streets and low walls of the estate felt like the most dangerous part of his journey. The moon was almost full and it was a crisp cloudless night. The bells from the church struck three times, their low chime carrying like a solemn warning over Straybeck.

  Ryan crept ever closer to his house, moving off the roads so he could use the network of paths and alleyways. Eventually he found the wall with hand holds that were familiar even in the darkness. He was over it in an instant and found himself crouching on the old brick outhouse where he and John had played as children. With light feet, he dropped down into his rear yard and surveyed their house.

  He had expected it to be in darkness but to his surprise saw a candle casting a brave light over the kitchen. Sitting beside it and reading from a book was Ryan’s dad. He had a half empty bottle of spirits beside him and a full tumbler in his hand. His head was resting on his knuckles as he scanned the pages of the book with weary eyes.

  Ryan moved closer, scuffing his toes against something on the ground. It only made a slight sound, but his father was alert and at the back door before he could hide.

  “Wait.”

  Reluctantly Ryan turned to face him. His dad was clearly drunk, or at least close to it. There was an edge of emotion in his voice that Ryan rarely heard.

  “Come in. Out the cold,” he gestured back to the kitchen. “Please.”

  Ryan nodded and followed him inside. When he reached the table it immediately became clear what had kept his dad up until the small hours. The book he’d been reading was Ryan’s journal and for a moment he tried to fumble it out of sight. He obviously decided that there was little point and gently handed it back to Ryan.

  Part of him wanted to shout at his dad. To demand an explanation for the invasion of his most private thoughts. From the look in his dad’s eyes, he was waiting for that exact reaction too. It was a surprise for both of them when Ryan found he no longer had the energy.

  “I didn’t mean all of it.”

  His dad gave a tired smile. “Yes you did.”

  They sat opposite each other at the table and Ryan said the only thing that seemed to matter anymore. “Tell me about the Cathedral.”

  Chapter 49

  Robb knew that death was close, but he wasn’t afraid anymore. Ashgate had hurt him more than he ever imagined possible. He should have been proud of holding out for so long, but looking down at the ruin of his chest and legs, Robb wondered if the price had been too great.

  It had been hours since Ashgate was last with him. Hours since he had last been questioned about the Colonel. They didn’t know it, but Robb only had one thing left to tell. One last ember that he was shielding. He contemplated it now as he lay slumped in the corner of his cell. It was of no great worth anymore, but that had never really been the point.

  The door moved silently open and Robb realised they hadn’t even locked him in. For a brief moment, he imagined hiding himself behind the door or playing dead just beside it. When Ashgate bent down to inspect him he would grab him by the throat and squeeze the life from him. It was only a fleeting thought. He could barely make a fist, never mind overpower his sadistic gaoler.

  Ashgate was wearing a curious smile as he entered the cell. Robb tried to prop himself upright but the gaoler waved away his effort.

  “No, no,” he said politely. “Don’t get up.”

  Like a marionette with cut strings, he slumped back against the damp bricks.

  “I have a surprise for you Robbert.”

  A feeling of unease settled in his stomach but he stayed silent.

  “I have met with Under Secretary Lascam. He was in a briefing with the Premier himself about our little situation. You’ll be pleased to know that it is still Our Leader’s wish that you come and work for us. At least in the eyes of the outside world.”

  Robb frowned. He had expected a move like this when he first arrived. The promise of a pardon and a new life if he turned against the group. But the offer never came and they had beaten every secret out of him anyway. All but one. It made no sense for them to make an offer now when he had nothing left to bargain. Ashgate read the confusion on his face and knelt beside him. Close, but not too close.

  “We want you to denounce your former beliefs and say that you are helping the Government with their fight against the insurrectionists…people like your old friend Colonel Stephens.”

  “Why? Why not kill me?”

  “Partly for the risk that you become a martyr. The Premier does not want a popular movement rallying behind the figureheads of an old war horse like Stephens or the young bull Robbert Calloway. That could pave the way for another generation of misguided youngsters.”

  Robb snorted. “You do me too much credit.”

  “Maybe. Stranger things have happened,” Ashgate smiled. “But the main
reason he won’t kill you,” Ashgate smiled, “is because it amuses him not to. We will see you shame yourself and slowly ruin the name of your group. You will become a pariah for the rest of your life, unloved and mistrusted by your friends, hounded and victimised by the gunnermen. Now isn’t that more fun than a quick death?”

  “I won’t do it.”

  Ashgate was a patient man. “Yes you will. And whenever we say so, you will stand up in the town square and repeat your confession. You will betray the people in your group over and over again. And when you run out of people to name, we’ll find new ones for you.”

  Robb shook his head, staring at the stone floor. “I’ll kill myself first. You won’t be able to stop me. Not forever.”

  “You know,” Ashgate stood up and worked some blood back into his legs, “when you’ve worked in this profession for as long as I have, you develop an eye for reading people. I can tell immediately if a man will cry or scream or grit his teeth and think around the pain. I usually know who will vomit and who will shit themselves, who will faint and who will die.”

  He leaned over and gripped a handful of Robb’s hair, pulling it up, exposing his throat. “It’s not always the ones you expect either Robbert. There are men like your friend Farren, swaggering in here, full of bravado, fighting the guards. As you saw, it doesn’t get them very far. Then there are the quieter ones, like yourself, who have that extra something.”

  “You were always a mixed bag. An enigma. Right from the beginning I thought we’d end up at this crossroads regardless of what I did to you physically. Still, you can’t blame me for trying, ay?” Ashgate gave him a wink like they were old friends. He released Robb’s head and then walked to the central fireplace where he absently turned a metal rod through the coals, stoking them back into life.

  “So if there is someone who no longer cares for their own life, part of my job is to find out what they do care about.” He turned to the doorway. “Bring her in.”

  Outside there was the sound of a struggle and moments later a young woman thumped to the ground at Ashgate’s feet, landing heavily on her elbows and knees. It was Eliza. Shocked and pale and cradling the cheek where the guard had just punched her. Her mouth was covered by a length of filthy bandage which formed a makeshift gag.

  Robb slithered across the floor towards her, but Ashgate quickly kicked down on his back. Eliza’s eyes went wide as she screamed for him, the bandage muffling any sound she made. She lunged towards him, but the guard grabbed her shoulders and pitched her back against the heavy wooden door.

  “So Robbert,” Ashgate said calmly. “You can see where things are headed.”

  “You fucker. I’ll kill you.” The threat lacked conviction and they all knew it.

  “If I were you Robb, I would start to show a little more caution. If not for yourself, do it for her.” Ashgate grabbed Eliza at the back of her neck and dragged her closer.

  Robb couldn’t understand it. No one had known they were seeing each other. At least no one outside the group. He had been so careful to hide their relationship from even his closest friends. Inevitably, Farren had found out and tried to talk him out of seeing her. At first, he had said that she was tying him down and stopping him from having fun. When that didn’t work he threatened to tell the Colonel, saying it was an unnecessary risk for their group.

  After a month or so, Robb decided to tell the Colonel anyway. Far from forbidding the relationship though, he had asked just one question.

  Do you love her?

  It was the first time Robb had thought about it, but he knew that he did. Colonel Stephens patted him on the shoulder and wished him good luck.

  For the following six months he had never been so happy. The night the gunnerman raided the safe house he had proposed to Eliza. Laughing and crying all at once, she had pulled him up off one knee and helped him to slip the ring on her finger.

  No one else knew. Just Farren and the Colonel. And now, in an archway cell of The Cathedral, he watched blood trickle down from her beautiful face and knew it was all because of him. She stared back, eyes sharp with fear.

  “If you hurt her,” he said, “you’ll get nothing from me.”

  Ashgate shrugged. “You’re looking at it back to front. You see, you’re not cooperating now are you Robbert? So if I hurt her…” he slid a knife from the table, “or kill her,” the knife stroked a line across her cheek, “or slice off little pieces of her face, it would be of no consequence to me. Can the same be said for you?”

  In one quick movement he hauled Eliza to her feet while Robb watched helplessly from the floor. “Hold her,” he shouted, and the guard secured her with a vicious arm lock. The gag around her mouth worked loose and Eliza gave a terrified scream.

  “Robb.” Her eyes were on him, but he knew he couldn’t save her. He couldn’t save her and kill himself.

  “Let her go,” he said without thinking. “I’ll do it. Whatever you want. Just let her go.”

  Ashgate smiled and once again scraped the knife down her face and across her neck. It was a feather touch, just enough to mark the skin. Eliza’s chest was heaving up and down with fear. Ashgate deepened his pressure drawing a line of blood from her skin about six inches across.

  “Stop it, please,” Robb crawled forwards, dragging his broken legs behind him “I’ll do it. I promise.”

  Ashgate’s smile never fell from his face. “I believe you will. But let this moment forever remind you of what it is to keep a promise.”

  The guard switched his grip and held Eliza’s wrist in both hands. In one deft movement Ashgate sliced off her finger to the second knuckle. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream and Robb saw the stump of her finger drop to the floor, the engagement ring still fixed tight.

  Chapter 50

  In the hours between night and morning, Ryan’s dad finished the tale. It was a hollow time when past and present seemed close enough to touch. He was weary in a way he’d never felt before, although his mind was wrestling with the new information he’d learned.

  “I never knew that was how Mum lost her finger. She told me it was an accident at work.”

  “We thought we were keeping you safe.” He gave a quiet laugh. “All these secrets. They seem so pointless now.”

  Ryan found himself nodding too.

  “You know, I loved your mother more than anything in the world. I still do. Maybe that excuses what I did. Maybe not. But at least it’s the truth.” He seemed embarrassed to be saying the words. Even so, Ryan could tell they were from the heart.

  “I promise you I’ve paid for my sins a thousand times over. But this…” he lifted Ryan’s journal from the table, testing its weight in the air. “This is not me. Not all of it anyway.”

  Ryan sat among the words, trying to find order in his own jumbled thought. “I believe you Dad,” he said eventually. “At least I think I do.”

  “That’s a start.”

  “I just,” Ryan began, and for the first time found himself treading around his dad’s feelings. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t lie.”

  “Lie?”

  “I know what they did to mum. I get that now. But after they let you go, why didn’t you just say you’d told them everything you knew. Why keep on finding people for them?”

  “Weren’t you listening?” Robb snapped. “I didn’t give anyone up. They just gave me the names and I said it was me who’d found them. It was Ashgate’s way of sticking the knife in. Destroying any life I had left.”

  Ryan wanted to believe it, but he couldn’t just forget what Brynne had told him either. His dad had been captured and then within a few weeks the whole group was destroyed.

  “If there’s something you need to ask,” Robb said, “believe me, now’s the time to do it.”

  “I heard,” Ryan said slowly, “that because of what you said, your entire network was captured and killed.” For the first time in years he felt no sense of satisfaction saying these truths.

  “Who told you that?
This man you meet up with? Brynne?”

  “Dad, he knows all about it. He was the one leading the mission.”

  “I’m sorry Ryan, but that’s utter bullshit. There were three of us in the safe-house that night. Alistair was shot by the gunnermen, Farren died in The Cathedral and I was left a cripple. Whoever this Brynne is pretending to be, he’s lying.”

  Ryan marvelled that his dad could be so blind to the obvious. “Dad. Don’t you think that…?”

  “No, you’re wrong. Colonel Stephens is dead.” He shoved away from the table and paced across the kitchen. “I can’t think straight in here,” he hissed. “Why should I have to talk in whispers, cowering in my own home?”

  He stalked through to the hallway and snatched his coat off the hook. Ryan was stunned by the outburst but followed him to the door.

  “Fuck the curfew,” his dad muttered and stepped out into the night.

  All this talk of the past had dredged the canal of emotions Robb had sunk years before. As he strode from the house, his anger pushed him onwards, but the pain in his legs forced him to slow down. Ryan slid into step alongside him, barely even breathing hard.

  “Where are we going?”

  Robb hadn’t thought that far ahead. He ran through all the possible places they could talk that were away from the patrol routes.

  “We’ll go to the city park. It should be empty this time of night.”

  The streetlights were out on most streets, but the moon was full and it showed them the way. Robb led his son on a looping route that circled around the static checkpoint. As he veered left onto Park Road, a hand gripped his shoulder.

  “There’s a roaming checkpoint,” Ryan said in a low voice.

  “Where?”

  “The next street. I came this way earlier.”

  Robb didn’t comment but felt a strange mix of both jealousy and pride that his son knew these streets better than him. He let Ryan lead the way, waiting until they’d passed the gunnermen before speaking again.