The Texts of Festival

by Mick Farren

  * * *

  Once they were beyond sight of the crowd around the Highway Gate, the troop captain gave the order to relax the brisk parade pace. With no more spectators to impress the whole troop began to relax, the thirty riders broke the. formation and the neat column dissolved into a string of horsemen riding in groups of twos and threes.

  Billy Joe eased the carbine off his shoulder and laid it across his saddle. He cursed his luck to get picked for a four day fool’s errand into the wilderness, just as One-Legged Terry had fixed him up with a hot number. As the sun grew hotter, he stripped off his denim surcoat, with the colours of the Allied Metal Factors across the back, and pulled a jug of beer from his saddle bag. As he pulled the stopper, Hud Daley, the troop captain from the lord’s squad, pulled his horse over to fall into step with Billy Joe.

  ‘You wanna pass that brew over here, Billy Joe?’

  ‘Sure captain, here.’ Billy Joe passed the jug over. ‘How long you think we’re gonna be chasin’ these said outlaws roun’ the boonies?’

  ‘Dunno man. Jus’ foolishness if’n you ask me. If’n them outlaws really jumped a caravan they’re gonna be long gone by the time we get there. Bes’ we can do is ride out to wha’s left of it, take a look an’ go home.’

  ‘Yeah, how long you reckon all tha’s gonna take? I got a thing goin’ with One-Legged Terry.’

  ‘I don’t aim to stay out more’n five days, mebbe stop overnight in Afghan Promise each way, an’ get some laughs. No point in bustin’ yer ass.’

  ‘Stay out five days, an’ go back an’ say the outlaws were long gone?’

  The captain grinned.

  ‘I never said that. We gotta “preserve the security of Festival, an’ pursue the wrongdoers”, th’ lord tole me hisself.’

  He laughed, ‘I reckon five days, an’ be home for Celebration. One-Legged Terry’s lining some little number for me too.’

  Billy Joe took another hit on the jug and they rode in silence. A stopover in Afghan Promise was some consolation; the little commune had grown over the years until it was a wide open highway stop. There’d be a chance for some action tonight after all.

  * * *

  Iggy sat at the chief’s table with Oltha and Winston and watched the interminable knife game. One by one the tribesmen had eagerly taken turns to sever their fingers. They had even offered him a place in the line. Iggy had politely declined the invitation.

  Since the caravan had been taken the time had begun to drag. Iggy was starting to find life in the makeshift camp more than tedious.

  They had loaded the loot from the raid into a wagon, hitched it to the puller and, under the direction of Winston and Banana, they had rolled the machine down a side road for perhaps a mile. Oltha had followed with his men and they had made camp. Messengers had been dispatched to bring in the remainder of the tribe and preparations had started on the next stage of their campaign.

  While Banana had worked on the puller Iggy had watched with some interest, but once the machine had been announced as being in perfect working order Iggy had started to become bored. The camp was full of gun-cleaning, knife-sharpening outlaws, and the invitation to Oltha’s tent had been an added nuisance, since he had hoped to get some of Oltha’s boys into the joys of crystal while they were in camp. The old man seemed to watch his men like a mother hen, and Iggy had found no way to get a few of them some place quiet where he could casually pass round his stash. Then an idea struck him that could be the answer to all his problems.

  ‘Why don’ we ride to Afghan Promise, take a few of the boys an’ check it out?’

  Winston turned from watching the game.

  ‘How long befo’ the resta the hillbillies arrive?’

  ‘Dunno; two, three days, plenty of time to get there an’ back, an’ have us a time.’

  ‘Sounds good to me; how ’bout the chief? We leave him in charge?’

  Iggy leaned over to Oltha.

  ‘Ya ever bin t’ Afghan Promise?’

  ‘We have never before come this close to Festival.’

  ‘It’s the only town ’tween here an’ Festival. I was thinkin’ it might be worth a visit.’

  The chief looked surprised.

  ‘Another raid so soonly?’

  ‘No, no chief, not a raid; jus’ ride into town, have a bunch a drink, look the place over an’ split. Plenty of heavy cats there, we take mebbe a dozen boys, we’ll jus’ look like travellers. They’ll think we’re hired guns lookin’ fer a gig.’

  ‘I have much to do here.’

  ‘Yeah, I thought I might take Winston an’ some o’ the boys. Mebbe you should send a coupla your boys so they kin report back, you dig?’

  Oltha looked thoughtful.

  ‘It seems like a good plan.’

  Iggy smiled. The suspicious old goat had swallowed it.

  ‘Sho’ it’s a good plan, we’ll know the layout befo’ we hit them.’

  ‘When do you go there?’

  ‘No time like now, I’ll leave Banana in charge o’ my boys an’ we’ll head out. If we ride tonight we kin get there by the afternoon, an’ mebbe get back by late the day after, ’bout the time your people show.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  Iggy glanced sideways at the chief.

  ‘How many of your boys you gonna send?’

  ‘I send Nath, and the brothers Rodo and Ona.’

  The game stopped and the three tribesmen stood up at Oltha’s signal.

  ‘You ride with Iggy tonight, he is to be obeyed as a chief. Go with him.’

  The three tribesmen looked at Iggy and nodded.

  Perfect, thought Iggy, they’ve fallen right in. He turned to Winston.

  ‘Pick four or five good boys an’ tell ’em to get the horses.’

  He turned to the three tribesmen.

  ‘Get your ponies an’ meet us by the fire outside.’

  They all bid formal farewell to Oltha who stood up as they ducked out of the tent flap.

  VIII

  Eggs Akerly’s joint was full of drunken soldiers. Iggy stopped dead inside the doorway. He had run from soldiers enough times to have an instant reaction to the sight of sleeveless surcoats.

  He pulled himself together and pushed his way through the crowd, followed by Winston and one of the tribesmen. He leaned close to Winston and dropped his voice.

  ‘Ya got the script we took off the bodies?’

  ‘Sho’.’

  ‘Gimme some.’

  Winston reached in his pouch and handed Iggy a handful of script.

  ‘Here.’

  ‘Thanks, now score some spirits an’ I’ll get a table.’ Iggy shouldered his way through the crowd towards a corner table.

  There sure were a lot of soldiers, he thought. Afghan Promise had no army of its own; it was only a strip of fun houses and a few shacks along the side of the main highway, a pull-in where travellers a day out from Festival could stop, get drunk and sport with the whores. Looking round he calculated there must be over two dozen troopers. What were a bunch of Festival soldiers doing this far out? They usually stuck close to the city. Unless, he grinned as the thought struck him, they were looking for him. A search party for the caravan robbers.

  Winston and Nath came through the crowd. Winston was carrying two jugs. They sat down.

  Iggy stared round the room. None of the soldiers were looking at them; most seemed too drunk to care about anything but the bar girls. Iggy took a hit of crystal and a swallow of the hard corn spirit. He hoped the other boys, were making out okay in the other joints along the strip. It was fortunate that they hadn’t arrived until after dark. If the soldiers were looking for them, it might have aroused suspicion if they had ridden in in broad daylight.

  ‘Lotta soljas in here, chief,’ Winston glanced round the room. Nath’s tribesmen looked uneasy in the presence of so many Festival men.

  ‘I’d really like to know what they’re doin’ here.’

  Iggy took another mouthful of spirit.

  ‘B
es’ way to find out’s to ask.’

  Two bar girls swayed past, Nath stared at their tight dresses and slit skirts and swallowed quickly. Iggy laughed and beckoned them over. They gave out the standard come-on.

  ‘You wanna good time, boys?’

  ‘Siddown an’ have a drink, we wanna talk with you.’

  ‘We’re workin’ girls mister, time’s money.’

  Iggy slapped a paper on the table.

  ‘Siddown!’

  ‘Anything you say, mister.’

  The two girls sat down, displaying cleavage and thighs. Nath looked as though his collar was too small. Iggy passed them a jug.

  ‘Lotta soljas in town?’

  ‘Sure, cheap bastards from Festival, want a reduction on everything. Claim they’re savin’ us from outlaws.’

  ‘Outlaws?’ Iggy pretended to look surprised. ‘Sho’ are a lotta soljas for one buncha outlaws.’

  ‘Ain’t you heard, dear? A caravan was turned over at Ruined Hill, they’re gonna get whoever done it.’

  ‘No kiddin’?’

  ‘You never heard about it, on the road?’ The girl looked auspicious.

  ‘We been in the hills.’

  ‘Oh.’ The girl lost interest and took a swallow from the jug and crossed her legs.

  ‘I don’ wanna hustle you, dear, but did you want us for somethin’?’

  Iggy looked at the round-eyed Nath and smiled slowly.

  ‘One of yous could take care o’ my buddy here. He’s a country boy an’ he ain’t too smart, but I’m sho’,’ he laid two more papers on the table, ‘one o’ yous could improve his education.’

  The second girl stood up.

  ‘C’mon then country boy, let’s go have a time.’ Nath scrambled to his feet and the girl led him towards the back door. Quickly Iggy called her back and pushed two more bills into the front of her dress.

  ‘Make sho’ he has hisself some crystal; know what I mean?’

  The girl winked knowingly.

  ‘Sure.’

  He turned to Winston as Nath and the girl left the bar.

  ‘We better move the party in here, case of trouble. Go round up the boys an’ send ’em in here. Meantime I’ll talk to this here young lady.’

  Winston got up and went to round up the men; Iggy looked at the girl.

  ‘You ever had a cat who was, like, into a lotta crystal?’

  The girl looked hard at him and nodded.

  ‘Then you’ll know about their, uh, special requirements.’

  * * *

  Billy Joe was drunk. He was dimly aware that most of his buddies were as drunk as he was. They had reached Afghan Promise just as the sun was setting, stabled the horses, headed for Eggs’s joint and got down to serious drinking. Some of the boys were out in the back tumbling with the bar girls, but most were crowded round the bar, laughing, shouting and singing.

  The room started to spin and Billy Joe staggered towards the main door of the bar. Out on the front porch of the bar he leaned against a post and was violently sick, and then clung there, taking deep breaths and hoping the night air would clear his head. He heard the click of heels and raised his head to see the blurred image of a girl coming towards him.

  ‘You all right, mister?’

  ‘Sure baby,’ Billy Joe pushed himself away from the post and stood swaying, ‘how’s about you’n’me goin’ in back, an’ you’ll see jus’ how all right I am.’

  ‘You got any money, solja? You gotta pay for your fun.’

  Billy Joe grinned drunkenly.

  ‘You ain’t gonna charge me, are you darlin’?’ He lurched towards her. ‘I’m savin’ you from them baby-eatin’ outlaws.’

  The girl sidestepped and he sprawled against the wall. Swinging her hips, she walked back into the bar, leaving Billy Joe clutching the wall and struggling to stand upright.

  ‘Come back here you bitch. Come back here an’ I’ll teach you some fuggin’ manners.’

  Billy Joe staggered inside the bar and looked round. The room appeared to swirl about him and he fought to keep his balance. He couldn’t see the woman anywhere and sat down heavily in a handy chair. The room spun and his head, cradled in his arms, rested on the table. For a while he shut his eyes but that seemed to make things worse. He opened them again and stared into a blurred mid-distance.

  He remained motionless for what seemed like a long while. A part of the blur connected with his dulled consciousness as being in some way familiar. With some difficulty he focused his eyes. The woman! The one with the long legs and black straight hair. He’d been longing to get those legs wrapped around his waist and now the bitch was over there, sitting at a table with some drifter. To make it worse, the drifter looked like a faggot.

  Billy Joe raised his head and muttered beneath his breath. Then, swaying, he climbed to his feet.

  ‘Godam whore, leavin’ honest soljas thuh to…’

  He lurched, and grabbed at a table to steady himself. Few heads turned; it was just another drunk mumbling to himself.

  ‘Godam whore!’

  Still she ignored him, laughing with the drifter, and drinking from his jug. Billy Joe raised his voice.

  ‘GODAM WHORE!!’

  The bar room became quiet, and the captain stood up and moved towards him.

  ‘You’ve had too much, Billy Joe, c’mon now.’

  Billy Joe pushed past him and lurched to the table where the woman and the drifter sat.

  ‘Wha’ you doin’ wiv me woman, mufug?’

  Iggy looked up as the drunken soldier staggered towards him. He placed both his gloved hands flat on the table, watching the man intently.

  ‘One of you soljas, take this bum away befo’ he gets hurt.’

  With a snarl Billy Joe had grabbed for Iggy’s throat but one of Iggy’s hands shot out and chopped Billy Joe under the jaw. He sprawled backwards on the floor, shaking his head and pulling his knife from his belt. Knife in hand he moved more cautiously towards Iggy who edged sideways, away from the table.

  ‘It’s yer las’ warnin’ solja.’

  ‘I’m gonna cut yer…’

  Before Billy Joe could finish the sentence, Iggy had a gun in his hand.

  The shot hit Billy in the stomach; he folded in half, his legs gave way and he hit the floor.

  When Winston returned to Eggs Akerly’s with the rest of the men, the place seemed unnaturally quiet. Then he heard a shot and Iggy’s voice shouting ‘Hold it’. He slipped the repeater from his shoulder, and broke into a run. As he burst through the door, Iggy was backed, gun out, against the wall and a group of five soldiers were advancing on him. Winston fired a burst into them and Iggy dived for the floor, letting go two shots as he dropped.

  The rest of the Festival men milled drunkenly, reaching for discarded weapons and struggling to rise. Nath burst through the back door, holding his gun with one hand and his shirt in the other. One of the soldiers raised his gun but Winston fired another burst that cut him down, along with two of his fellows.

  Iggy yelled ‘Split’, and he and Nath made a break for the door, firing as they ran. Winston paused for them to get dear, then fired a quick burst as he backed out of the door.

  As the outlaws ran for the stables, soldiers milled out of the bar and bullets made angry humming sounds as they fired after them. Iggy swung round and returned their shots.

  Then they were mounted and the night swallowed them as they raced out of town.

  * * *

  After two days and a night Hud Daley was sick and angry. Angry at the way he had let his men get so drunk that they could be taken like children; angry at the outlaws who had gunned down nine of his men; and angry that after tracking them for a day and a night he and his remaining men had finally lost them. His eyes were red with fatigue, he hadn’t shaved and most of the men looked as bad as he did. At the very least he would be busted back to trooper, and would probably be lucky to escape a flogging when he returned to Festival with only two thirds of his original squad. After an a
fternoon’s fruitless searching, there was nothing left to do but give the order to take the trail back to the highway.

  The setting sun threw the trail into deep shadow as it wound between two low ridges. Preoccupied with his own failure Daley did not notice the movement on the ridge between him and the sun. Only when the man in front of him screamed and tugged at the arrow buried in his throat, did he realise that he was under attack.

  Another man, and then another, dropped from their saddles. Daley fired wildly into the dazzling sun as rifle shots rang out, adding bullets to the steady stream of arrows.

  Suddenly his horse collapsed under him and he was thrown to the ground. He rolled to avoid the hooves of the thrashing horse, and scrambled to his feet. Crouching he ran to where some of his men were firing at the ridge, squinting into the sun in an attempt to locate their invisible attackers.

  Halfway there, he was spun round as a bullet tore into his shoulder. The ground tilted and it was suddenly black.

  * * *

  Iggy ordered his men to keep firing until nothing moved in the little valley. Then cautiously they rose from cover and advanced slowly down the slope. At the bottom they halted, and looked around at the litter of dead men and horses. Iggy walked among the carnage: nothing moved; the slaughter seemed complete. Then out of the corner of his eye Iggy saw the captain of the troop raise his head. Iggy stood still and grinned as the man painfully tried to raise his rifle. For a moment he held it poised and then, before he could pull the trigger, slumped as his strength gave out.

  Still grinning, Iggy walked over to where the man lay, and put a bullet in the back of his head.

  ‘There, solja boy. You sho’ found your outlaws.’

  IX

  Blind Larry shuffled down the Drag in the grey dawn, his cane tapping in front of him finding a safe path in the potholed and rutted avenue. The rustle of windblown garbage and the creaking of a swinging bar sign provided a coarse background as he murmured to himself and sang softly:

  ‘Come on everybody,

  Come gather round friends.’

  A dog trotted quickly down the avenue, on furtive dog business, giving the muttering blind man a wide berth.