The Texts of Festival

by Mick Farren

  Elly-May blushed and stared at the floor.

  ‘Okay, so whadda we do?’

  ‘I guess the first thing we do is take a walk outside.’

  ‘An’ get jumped by a team of horny tribesmen?’

  ‘We can’t stay here for ever.’

  ‘I guess you’re right.’

  Across from the Shirrif’s House some tribesmen were unloading sacks of grain from a wagon. They looked up as the two women came out of the house but otherwise took no notice. Elly-May relaxed slightly; maybe they would be regarded as Iggy’s property and no one would interfere with them.

  Her high-heeled boots kicked up tiny puffs of dust as the two of them walked slowly down the hot street, expecting to be stopped at any moment. As they passed more outlaws who looked at them without comment, Elly-May began to feel a lot safer.

  At the end of the street a team of prisoners, stripped to the waist in the hot sun, was building a barricade and it was obvious that the women could go no further in that particular direction. They turned into a side alley and started walking in the direction of the stream that ran along the back of the strip.

  At the bank they halted and watched more prisoners up to their waists in water, driving long sharpened stakes into the stream bed. Further upstream women passed backwards and forwards with earthenware pitchers of water. As they came closer Elly-May realised that the women were divided into two distinct groups. Those carrying the water were naked except for strips of rag round their hips, while a second group, wearing homespun dresses and sandals, stood and watched clutching sticks and cudgels.

  Elly-May recognised some of the women carrying water as girls from the strip. Bruises, weals and scratches on their bodies gave ample evidence of recent mistreatment. So that was what happened to the survivors of a night left to the disposal of the tribesmen.

  She shuddered and clutched Anna’s arm.

  ‘Those are chicks from the strip!’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’

  ‘But look at the condition they’re in. That coulda happened to us.’

  ‘They’re the lucky ones.’

  ‘What happened to the rest?’

  ‘I don’ wanna think, I heard of girls tied across tables an’ left for anyone t’ use—an’ worse.’

  ‘Shit!’

  Anna stopped talking as they came up to the line of women. She and Elly-May, in their provocative outfits, contrasted sharply with the rags and homespun dresses of the others.

  One of the women struggling under a water pitcher stared hard from behind sweat-matted hair at Anna and Elly-May.

  ‘Dirty slags, safe with yer fancy men while we were out there bein’ torn up by those swine.’

  Elly-May started; it was Lucille, a big, full-bodied girl from the Hyacinth House.

  ‘Lucille, there was nothin’…’

  ‘Don’t talk to me you bitch.’

  Lucille lunged at Elly-May but one of the tribeswomen swung her stick, knocking Lucille to the ground. Three of them gathered round and kicked her back into the water line. They shot Anna and Elly-May hostile glances but said nothing.

  * * *

  For a time Iggy busied himself moving around the town, checking the construction work and talking with his men. He noted the increased tension in his conversations with Oltha. The chief, he guessed, had a suspicion that Iggy was up to something with Nath and the other tribesmen whom he was turning on to crystal. It was possible to avoid Oltha for the most part, using Winston as a go-between. For a while he pondered the problem that sooner or later the chief would realise how Iggy was stringing out his men; then there would have to be a confrontation. He dismissed the thought from his mind; by the time the confrontation came a solution would present itself.

  Iggy walked to the edge of the town and watched the construction of the barricades across the wide highway; then he strolled on a little way beyond the barricades to the start of open country. For a while he stared back at the growing defences. It was his town; he had come in from the hills; he was someone; he ruled his own town just like any lord. He turned, squinting against the sun reflected from the hot paving, and gazed down the highway in the direction of Festival.

  One more week and his army would go down that road and then Festival would fall. The lands of the south would be his: the greatest territory that any man had held since the disaster. The years of running, of killings in the dark, of looting for a few meals and a bag of crystal were over for good. He was about to become a legend, far greater than Joe Starkweather or the Festival lords, greater even than Rooney the Crow or the half-mythical Ogoth. He would become the witch king of all the south, with power to rival even the fabled Djeggar.

  His thoughts were cut short by the noise of the puller, across on the other side of the highway, dragging a felled tree towards the barricade. Its iron wheels rumbled on the pavings and high in the driver’s cab he could make out the figure of Banana, stripped to the waist, hauling on the steering rods. He raised a hand to Iggy who returned his greeting.

  Iggy slowly walked back towards the town, confident that with all he had going for him it would take more than Valentine and his half-assed soldier boys to stop him.

  * * *

  Elly-May and Anna hurried away from the women beside the stream. Since it was unlikely that they would be allowed past the barricades they headed back towards the strip.

  As they turned into the strip, out of one of the number of alleys that ran back at right angles cutting through Afghan Promise’s shack town, they almost walked into Iggy, standing talking with one of the tribesmen.

  He looked up as they approached.

  ‘Where do you think you two are goin’?’

  They halted.

  ‘Nowhere, Iggy.’

  Elly-May looked nervously at Anna, but even her partner’s solid confidence seemed to have drained away.

  Iggy surveyed them coldly.

  ‘Whaddaya mean, nowhere?’

  ‘We jus’ wen’ walkin’ tha’s all, we didn’ mean no harm by it.’

  ‘Walkin’?’

  ‘That’s all, ’onest.’

  ‘Got bored sittin’ inna house, huh?’

  Elly-May took a chance and smiled.

  ‘Tha’s ri’.’

  Iggy leered.

  ‘Too much energy maybe?’

  Elly-May kept up the cheerful, sexy pose.

  ‘You oughta know?’

  Suddenly Iggy hardened again.

  ‘What am I s’posed to know, babe? I don’t wanna know nothin’ ’bout you. All I know is that this is an army an’ no rest home fer hookers, an’ if you all so full of energy you better get somethin’ to get behind doin’, ri’?’

  He swung round and yelled at two tribesmen who hurried over. Iggy pointed at the two women.

  ‘Take these broads down your camp an’ tell your women t’ find ’em some work. Got it?’

  The tribesmen nodded and Iggy walked off. One of them grasped Elly-May by the shoulder and pushed her down the street.

  ‘Move!’

  Numbly Elly-May and Anna walked in front of the two men, towards where Oltha’s tribe had set up camp. Dimly they listened as the outlaws gave instructions to the headwoman. After they had gone the women gathered round grinning and jeering, their hands reaching out to grab Anna’s and Elly-May’s good clothes.

  XIII

  It was mid-morning and the Last Chance had rarely been so crowded at that time of day. It was not only the regular faces from the Drag, but labouring men and beggars from Shack town and the North side. Although some were drinking and smoking pipes, the atmosphere was grim. For an hour people had been asking the same question: Where was Starkweather?

  ‘I tell you, he’s sold us out!’

  A labouring man pounded his great calloused fist on the table.

  ‘He conned you all into goin’ quietly, he ain’ gonna get us no guns.’

  Frankie Lee turned on the man.

  ‘Joe Starkweather’s never let us down before; I don�
��t reckon he’s about t’ start neither.’

  The Last Chance regulars chorused agreement, but a beggar from Shack town rounded on them.

  ‘Yeah, if he’s so much with us, how come he ain’t here? You bar-flies got an answer for tha’?’

  Frankie Lee said nothing; there was no denying that Starkweather hadn’t kept his promise to show. Any excuse would only sound lame.

  ‘Can’t answer, huh? Mebbe yer precious Joe ain’t so into th’ people as he pretends.’

  The Shacktown men began to mutter angrily.

  Then the room fell silent as the swing doors banged and two soldiers in the lord’s colours came into the bar and provided a focus for the rising hostility in the bar. One of Madame Lou’s girls broke the tension slightly when, feet apart and hands on hips, she planted herself in front of the soldiers.

  ‘Lookee, the brave solja boys ’ave come to protect us po’ folks!’

  The crowd guffawed but continued to edge forward, surrounding the two men in black surcoats. Harry Krishna pushed to the front, waving his arms.

  ‘Hold it! Hold it! These boys are okay, it’s Luther an’ Mose, come in here alla time. Let’s hear wha’ they gotta say.’

  The crowd fell silent and Luther scanned the still hostile faces.

  ‘We ain’t s’posed to rightly be here, but we split from the Gate detail to tell yous what happened. It’s about Joe Starkweather.’

  A murmur ran through the crowd.

  ‘We heard you was waitin’ for him to come here an’ we came t’ tell you, well, he ain’t a-comin’.’

  There were gasps and shouts of ‘Tol’ yer!’ and ‘Copout!’ from the Shacktown men but Luther raised his hands and carried on.

  ‘Lissen, yous got it wrong, it ain’t Joe’s fault he ain’t here. The lord had him arrested. He’s locked in the palace under guard.’

  Confusion reigned as everyone tried to talk at once. The big Shacktowner yelled:

  ‘Lissen, it’s a con, Starkweather ain’t been busted.’

  The crowd shouted him down and, finding no support even from his partners, he then kept quiet. Luther started to look edgy.

  ‘Lissen yous guys, me an’ Mose gotta get on back to th’ Gate, but we ain’t kiddin’. The lord’s got Starkweather locked up inna palace.’

  They turned to leave but Frankie Lee stopped them.

  ‘What the fug’s Valentine busted Joe for? He’s about the only guy who could save the city. He gotta be insane.’

  Luther looked round grimly.

  ‘Sure he’s insane. Joe wanted to organise you folks t’ fight the outlaws, an’ it’s the lord wen’ apeshit at the idea of you folk bein’ give guns an’ had Joe busted. Tha’s all I know, so we gotta split.’

  The crowd parted and the soldiers hurried out of the door. Again everyone began to shout at once.

  ‘Le’s get ’im out!’

  ‘Yeah, get ’im out!’

  ‘Storm the fuggin’ Gate!’

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘Ri’ on!’

  Frankie Lee held up his hands.

  ‘Listen, shut up. If we go chargin’ up to th’ Gate, more of us is gonna get killed, ri’? Jus’ like Wimp. We gotta suss this out, ’cause I don’t aim to go rushin’ off an’ gettin’ meself wasted. Okay?’

  ‘Okay? So what’re we s’poseda do, bright boy?’

  The girl from Madame Lou’s who had confronted the soldiers turned on Frankie Lee.

  ‘You got some master plan? Huh?’

  ‘We’re gonna need guns.’

  Frankie Lee looked round.

  ‘How many o’ yous got guns here?’

  About a dozen guns were produced.

  ‘We gonna need a heap more t’get inside the walls.’

  ‘Then th’ only way t’ get them guns is t’ hit a gunmaker’s, just them as is armed. Ri’?’

  Frankie Lee thought for a moment.

  ‘Hol’ on, no dozen of us is gonna shoot their way into the Quarter. Tha’s suicide.’

  ‘I gotta nidea!’

  The girl from Madame Lou’s pushed to the front again.

  ‘Back at Lou’s there’s ol’ Ardbrass of the Chemical Guild sleepin’ off a night wi’ Dirty Rita. If we got ’im as an ’ostage we could walk ri’ past th’ guards, like.’

  The big labourer pushed forward.

  ‘She’s ri’, it’s worth a try. Le’s go get ’im.’

  ‘Wait,’ Frankie Lee raised his hand again, ‘just a couple of us, ri’. A bunch of us raise too much ruckus.’

  ‘So who’s gonna go?’

  Frankie Lee looked round.

  ‘I’ll go for one.’

  ‘An’ I’ll go for anotha.’

  The big labourer stepped forward. Frankie Lee looked at him.

  ‘You gotta gun?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Okay, le’s go.’

  * * *

  The door opened and a guard came in with a tray of food. Joe Starkweather stood by the window. He could see, from its high position, clear over the walls and out across Festival to the woods on the south side, beyond the river. The day was still young and smoke curled up from a hundred breakfast cooking fires. Soon, he thought, it would be the smoke of Festival itself. When the guards had apologetically locked him in, he had first raged at the lord’s wanton stupidity, but the anger had given place to a cold bitterness.

  As the guard set the food down Joe turned his head.

  ‘Any news?’

  ‘No Joe. Only that Valentine is plannin’ t’ send a force to recapture Afghan Promise. Scouts have set out already to check it out.’

  ‘Anything else happenin’?’

  ‘Oh yeah, Luther said t’ tell you that he’d tol’ the folks on th’ Drag ’bout how you was locked up.’

  ‘Yeah, how they take it?’

  ‘Dunno, don’ think Luther hung round, he was s’poseda be on th’ Gate.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  ‘Okay Joe.’

  The guard turned to go.

  ‘Lissen Joe, I’m sorry we gotta keep you here like this…’

  ‘That’s okay. It ain’t your fault.’

  ‘Thanks Joe.’

  The guard left and the key turned in the lock.

  Joe Starkweather looked dully at the food.

  * * *

  Merchant Ardbrass awoke with a start as something hard and cold was jammed against the side of the bed.

  ‘Shut up, or I’ll blow yer head off, got it?’

  Blinking, the figures of two men swam into focus. The one who had spoken was holding a pistol to the side of his head, while the other stood back a little and covered him with a shotgun. The one beside him glanced at the woman who lay by his side.

  ‘Okay Rita, get outta bed an’ keep quiet.’

  Slowly and carefully the naked girl sat up, staring at Frankie Lee with wide, frightened eyes.

  ‘Frankie, wha…’

  ‘I said shut up an’ get out!’

  Frankie Lee’s voice was cold. The girl slid out of bed, picked up her clothes and made for the door.

  ‘Remember babe, keep your mouth shut.’ Rita nodded silently and slipped out of the door. Frankie Lee turned his attention back to the merchant.

  ‘Okay Mistuh Ardbrass, get up now, easy an’ slow. Okay?’

  Carefully, the fat little merchant struggled into a sitting position and, watched by the two armed men, swung his legs over the side of the bed. Frankie Lee glanced at his partner.

  ‘Check his clothes for weapons.’

  The big labourer rummaged through the merchant’s discarded clothes and, having removed a small pistol and the man’s pouch, dumped the garments on the bed. Frankie Lee stepped back.

  ‘Okay, get dressed, but remember we’re watchin’ you.’

  The merchant, aware that he looked absurd in his chubby nakedness, struggled into his clothes, sweating profusely. When he was finished, Frankie Lee backed to the door, opened it a little and peered outside.

  ‘Everyth
ing looks okay, le’s get goin’.’

  He gestured with his gun.

  ‘Start walkin’ downstairs Mistuh Ardbrass, we’re gonna be right behind you.’

  The merchant looked round wide-eyed.

  ‘What do you want with me? I don’t have much money.’

  ‘You’ll find out soonly, jus’ walk.’

  The door opened out onto a gallery that overlooked the main room of Madame Lou’s. Nothing appeared to have changed since they had come in. One-Legged Terry, who knew the score, was still sweeping up and everything was quiet. Cautiously they started down the wide stairs, guns trained on the merchant’s back.

  They paused on the porch of Madame Lou’s and looked up and down the Drag. It was deserted except for two drunks and a beggar. Quickly they hurried the frightened merchant across to the Last Chance.

  * * *

  Valentine relaxed after the last of the court had filed out of the audience room. The morning had been exhausting but successful. He had finally rid himself of Starkweather and also bullied the merchants into providing two hundred horsemen for the expedition that would crush the outlaws at Afghan Promise. With another two hundred of his own guards the force would be more than adequate to deal with any rabble army of outlaws. Once that menace was out of the way, it would leave him free to stamp out the malcontents inside Festival itself and his troubles would be over.

  He yawned and stretched his long legs. It was a nuisance that he had given orders for the army to move out so soon. He would really like to have resumed the sleep that had been interrupted so annoyingly by Starkweather.

  The woman in the red cape had been really exceptional; it would probably be a good idea to take her with him when he rode with the army. Playing soldiers might be a novelty, but he would require other diversions while roughing it on the highway.

  He took a pinch of crystal to ward off tiredness and reached for the bell on the small table beside the throne to ring for Lazarus. Moments later the old man appeared. Valentine stood up.

  ‘Is my carriage prepared?’

  ‘It will be ready soonly, my lord.’

  ‘See it provisioned for two, and find the woman I had last night. Have her ready to travel, and then send the valet in to shave me and do my make-up.’

  * * *

  Inside the Last Chance the group of armed men gathered round Frankie Lee to receive their final instructions for the raid on the gunsmith’s. Frankie Lee paused as the doors swung open and Claudette hurried into the bar room.