A Kinder City, page 17
The afternoon wears on. Ragged-feathered birds fly past him, black, their calls harsh. Others come in from both sides. They mass together ahead of him at a turn in the path. Juno slows her pace. He smells foulness on the air.
A shape lies beside the path. He shouts out and the birds fly up with a clatter of wings and shriek at him and circle overhead. Juno pulls away and halts. He shakes the reins and jams his knees into her. She moves forward a few paces and stops. He slides down and grips the rein and pulls at her and she walks after him. They keep to the side of the path and she won’t look at the black mound. As they draw next to the dead horse she gives a whinny, long-drawn out and desolate, like the call of a creature who knows there is no-one to answer it.
He shields his face from the rank sweet carrion smell and forces himself to inspect it. The eyes have gone and blood stains the sable coat around the mouth and the nostrils. The yellow metal struts have worn livid patches in the flesh of the flanks and hind quarters. The contrivance of trumpet-tubes, flecked with blood, hangs down below the barrel of the chest. The birds have savaged the belly and more blood soaks into the ground beneath. He remounts.
A tremor runs through Juno from nose to tail and she tosses her head. She trots forward and canters, then she is galloping away from that place. Clean wind blows into his face. The hedge-rows hurtle by and the thunder of Juno’s hooves drowns out everything. He can think of nothing but clinging onto the reins and crouching forward, with his feet slotted into the stirrups. As they hurtle over the plain, he looks back. The dark birds circle and settle again onto their feast.
So he works his horses to death, too.
Later he sees more birds massing ahead of him and he slows Juno to a walk and takes her through a gate and along hedge-rows and back onto the path further on. He bows his head as they pass the place. The birds mass and shriek at him and fly back and Juno whinnies again, the long-drawn wail of respect for suffering.
The sky darkens. The towers are closer now and black against the evening sky. They pass the first farms at the edge of the Old Town. No-one else journeys in the night. The few people he sees wrap their cloaks more tightly round themselves or shrink back or disappear down side turnings.
Juno stumbles and slows even more, placing her right foreleg delicately, as if treading on marbles. He slides to the ground and halts her. Annie has put a flannel in the tack-bag. He strokes Juno’s neck and takes the cloth and wipes down her face. He talks to her while he does this, not really aware of what he’s saying.
‘I’m so sorry, Juno, I didn’t know about Franklin’s horses. We’ll find Sarah. It’s very hard for you.’
There are apples in the lunch pack Jeb gave him. He holds one out to her. He’s not hungry.
While she munches at it, he lifts her right foreleg and bends it and probes inside the hoof. He feels something hard and jagged wedged between the flesh of the sole and the hoof. He works his forefinger inside it. Juno whinnies and he tugs at it and feels a stab of pain and flicks it out. She whinnies again, more loudly. He sucks at the gash across the tip of his forefinger.
Juno presses against him. He hears the tramp of boots behind him and whirls round. Two figures in olive green cloaks come towards him, their faces masked. He gets a foot in the stirrup and swings himself up and Juno is off before he shakes the reins. He hangs, on fumbling for the other stirrup. The road he’s on heads straight for the mills, and that’s where they took Sarah.
When Juno slows he pulls at the reins and they trot down a side street and turn right onto another, then, some way along, a larger road under street-lights.
He navigates by the chimneys of Franklin’s mills. His route follows the by-roads, and curves round the edge of the Old Town and keeps away from the Pit. He passes through an area of ill-paved streets and meagre lighting with the rough-cast concrete facades of the residence blocks on either side. Juno’s hooves echo from the buildings. A poster of Franklin hangs on a street corner. He pauses and reaches up and tears it across and rides on. A chill breeze blows on his face. He meets almost no-one.
Sometimes curtains part in the windows and people peer out. He waves to a small boy in Enforcer pyjamas being held up by a young black woman to see him pass and the child claps his hands. Soon they come out on the broader streets nearer to City Square where there are more street-lights and more people out to enjoy the evening.
People look up at him and point him out to their companions. An older man with a grey beard waves and he smiles and nods. A crowd of children, some in ragged clothes, some of them better dressed in the drab denims and knitwear of the City, follow behind. Why aren’t you in bed? He thinks. He sits taller.
He comes out on Eastern Boulevard just along from the square. A group of young women outside a bar, in sequinned dresses that glitter blue and mauve and green, cheer and whistle and raise their glasses to him. They wave wristbands too, despite the mud on his trousers and his filthy jacket.
He turns at the entrance to the square and Juno trots along the side of the Halls of Justice and everyone falls back. When he reaches the rear of the building, he calls out ‘Martin!’ He dismounts and hammers on the gates and bellows ‘I’m back!’
The latch grates and for an instant the groan of the steel portal of Franklin’s Castle fills his mind and his throat tightens.
Martin stares at him.
‘Shh! Do you want everyone to know?’
‘I don’t care.’
He leads Juno through, the stink of the midden fills his nostrils, and she follows him into the stables.
‘So you brought her back?’ The stable lad pats Juno and strokes the side of her face. ‘Reckon you’re a horseman now. Maybe you need a wash and some clothes?’
‘Later. Will you do something for me? Give her a good feed? I’ll be back in a bit to rub her down.’
‘I’ll look after her. She’s one of a kind, that mare.’
He flicks his sleeve back. David clicks wristbands and takes a deep breath and sets off, across the courtyard. The sky is clear, alive with bright stars. It’s colder than it was earlier. He doesn’t care.
The Halls of Justice are in darkness. He listens and there’s no sound, apart from the soft bump that horses make when they shift in their stalls, like a troop of soldiers at ease after a route march. A yellow light clicks on in a window high above. Someone stands there, arms spread, leaning on the sill. The light clicks out and he’s left staring up at darkness, as the silhouette fades on the back of his eye. He could swear it was Adam.
Truth to Power
Jan peers at him down the spiral case and her face lights up:
‘You’re back. Where have you been?’ She frowns. ‘Where’s your uniform? You look terrible.’
He shakes his head and squeezes past her.
‘Sorry, I really want to talk to you, but….’
He grasps both rails and heaves himself upward.
‘David!’ she shouts after him. Then louder, ‘David!’
By the time he reaches the top floor he’s gasping for breath. His heart hammers in his chest. He bends double and sucks air into his lungs. Someone grips his shoulder and hauls him upright.
‘Ashwood! Stand up man!’
Adam pushes him two paces forward and knocks on the door marked “Commander”.
David stumbles into the room and finds his voice and gasps out.
‘Sir! You must send Enforcers now. The Old Town. Franklin has Sarah.’
Ferris touches the balance at the corner of his desk. He looks up at David, and his voice is as mild as if he were speaking to one of his family. David feels a calmness within him. The clutter of words in his head clears.
‘David. I’m glad to see you back. Please tell me about your mission.’
Adam breaks in:
‘Ashwood, your report. And stand to attention when you address on officer!’
Ferris raises a hand.
‘Adam. Perhaps you could leave us for a few minutes.’
The door clicks shut. David swallows.
‘There’s no time. The Greenjackets took Sarah. She’s in Franklin’s mill in the Old Town. You have to save her.’
‘Calm yourself. Start at the beginning and tell me who the Greenjackets are. Your mission was to find out what’s happening in the mills. And take a seat. Do you want some water? You’re wheezing.’
Ferris smiles. Suddenly David no longer trusts him.
‘They’re Franklin’s guards. They’re thugs. And they bear the symbol of the City, the golden balance, and everyone blames us.’
‘That is unfortunate. Franklin has the contract to provide security in the Old Town. His operatives have the right to bear the insignia just as we do.’
‘He has Sarah. He kidnapped her.’
Ferris raises an eyebrow. David feels as if he is walking into fog and there are no waymarks.
‘You don’t understand. I’ve seen hideous things, unspeakable things. Franklin is buying the forest, the villages, everything. He builds steel castles and he poisons the air. He makes great road-beasts that swallow people. He traps horses in metal and works them to death.’
He wants Ferris to answer him, to be shocked or angry or grim, as if this mattered to him. He finishes:
‘You must save Sarah.’
‘We must live by the Law. Take a deep breath and drink some water. Why does this Sarah matter so much? Tell me everything from the beginning.’
The liquid cools his throat. He tries to think when he last drank water. He remembers the golden taste when he plunged his face into the stream at the edge of the desolation, with Sarah beside him. He draws breath and tells his story from the beginning.
Ferris listens. He interrupts once:
‘Tell me again about the beast they called the tractor, everything about it.’
David finishes and takes the jug from the side-table and refills his glass and drinks it down. He is exhausted. He could sleep in the upright chair. He hears Ferris cross the room. A few minutes later, the door opens and someone comes in behind him and speaks, a woman
‘Mr Ashwood. I believe you have a report. For the City.’
He looks up at a woman in a navy-blue trouser suit, her mouth set as if she is used to authority, her hair lustrous, sculpted. Rachel West, Chair of the Council, President of the City. He grips the table and pulls himself to his feet.
‘Madam. I’m sorry. Please, help Sarah.’
She perches herself on the table. There’s a young woman with her, holding a notepad and a pen.
‘Do sit down. We will do everything to save your friend. But there are larger issues. Please tell me your story. From the beginning.’
And he does. The words slip easily from his mouth. The Old Town, The Hall of Monsters, the Hall of Beasts, the third chimney, the battle with the road-beast and the wild ride, the village and Franklin’s bargain, the journey through the forest, the poisoned valley, and at its heart the iron castle. He stumbles as he tells her about the Greenjackets and the slave-horses and Sarah.
‘… and you must save her,’ he finishes.
‘Thank you. We have recorded your statement. Please sign here, the Commander can witness it. I will leave you now to consider the matter.’
‘But aren’t you…?’
She ignores him and turns to Ferris.
‘This is a complex matter. There are a number of interests involved. I will circulate this report to the City Council. Make sure Mr Ashwood claims a consultancy fee for it.’
She steps out of the room followed by her assistant. He stares after them and feels emptiness within him.
Later, he rests in the chair, eyes closed, but he can’t sleep. Adam is in the room, talking to Ferris, more than David’s ever heard him talk.
‘We must act, Sir. This may be our only chance. I could take an assault squad into the mills. We’d have her out before anyone knew what we were doing. We’d have evidence.’
Ferris responds in his measured reasonable voice.
‘I’m sorry, Adam. You know I cannot authorise a sortie without the support of the Council.’
‘Sir. I’m a soldier, not a politician. We must take action. Now. The troops will expect it.’
‘And you know the rules. You may undertake training exercises. Nothing more. That is a direct order.’
Adam does not answer. His boots thud on the carpet as he marches to the door.
‘Adam,’ Ferris raises his voice. ‘Do you understand? I cannot permit an unauthorised raid on a citizen’s property.’
The door creaks as it opens.
David hears Adam grunt one word, ‘Sir.’ Then he mutters, ‘Only training exercises.’ The door slams behind him.
He sits at the corner of a long table in a high-ceilinged room with tall windows, the golden balance in front of him. It’s still night outside and he’s half-asleep. The President is at the far end, the Commander half-way down. Other people take their places along the sides of the room and sometimes pass notes to the two principals. No-one pays him any attention. Adam stands by the door.
Rachel West and Commander Ferris talk together, and ignore the others. He had no idea there were so many words in the world.
Ferris points to the folder.
‘Madam, this is a serious matter. Franklin has exceeded his brief. He is buying up land, water, the villages and the forest, all he can get. He is mining, making new things and selling them. This creates pollution.’
The President slips something in her mouth, chews briefly, and taps the wine-coloured folder in front of her.
‘None of that is beyond the One Law. Willing buyer, willing seller. The City is founded on trade and enterprise.’
‘He is experimenting with nature.’
‘He is a popular man. He develops new markets.’
‘He is poisoning our world.’
‘You exaggerate. Progress impacts on our environment and we deal with it. Look at the Pit. It is a price we pay. No doubt he will say that it is costed in.’
David dozes, his head on his hands. When he wakes, Ferris seems more confident.
‘The tractor. That is clearly a gift, not a bargain between buyer and seller. We might do something with that. We have a witness.’
‘But… it is trivial. He entertains people to fairground wagon-rides? He will buy the best lawyers in Market World.’
‘The Law does not admit exceptions.’
David remembers the wagon and the child in the river. He thinks of Sarah at the ford, when he slept on his feet, leaning on Juno and she tickled his cheek. He is instantly alert. He shouts:
‘You must save Sarah!’
The faces, wide-eyed in shock, turn to him. Only Adam, by the door, does not move. Ferris stretches out a hand.
‘I’m sorry. Thank you for your report. Please… a week’s home leave. Have a bath and get a meal and a new uniform.’
The President smiles as if she knew him.
‘Please, you have done well and you need to relax. Leave these matters to your superiors.’
She continues but the words swoop at him, like crows on the dead horse. They dive and peck and swirl round him, mocking him with their shrieking. He throws out his hands and sweeps the balance from the desk and it tumbles to the floor in a tangle of wire and pans and rods.
‘No! If you won’t save her, I will.’
‘Ashwood!’ barks Ferris. ‘You will say nothing of this to anyone, that’s an order. It is a delicate matter.’
‘I resign. I can no longer be an Enforcer. Good-day. Excuse me.’
‘Ashwood, wait.’
As he pushes the door open, Adam drops a hand on his wrist. He flinches and looks up. Adam nods once at him, as if in approval, and smiles, the only time David has ever seen him smile, and releases him.
He makes for the spiral stairs, then swerves and hurries on to the main staircase. He takes it at a run, stumbles on the first landing, recovers, and rushes down, three steps at a time.
Curtis is on duty at the exit desk under the tall windows that look out onto the square. He licks his lips.
‘Ashwood! Report.’
David strides past, then turns and walks back.
‘Yes?’
Curtis is on his feet, his face red. His moustache quivers.
‘Salute a superior. You’re on a charge. Gross insolence.’
‘Yup. How about very gross insolence?’
He’d never realised how short Curtis was. A tremor of enjoyment runs through him. ‘Or very very gross insolence?’
‘You…’
‘Didn’t they tell you? I’ve resigned.’
He places both hands against Curtis’ chest and pushes. Curtis staggers backwards and collapses into the metal chair.
‘Too many pies, Curtis. And click your own wristband.’
He carries on down the main steps and salutes the moon as it comes through the clouds over City Square.
Friends and Half-Friends
He crosses the Square, the same way he led Sarah ten days ago, to teach her the glory of Market World. His mind is full of that day, of the conceit that fizzed within him and how he lost what he most desired and rode Juno in pursuit and learned so much. He slows to a walk and wraps his arms round himself against the cold. He is older now.
Most of the stalls on Eastern Boulevard have been wheeled away. Some are folded and stowed in the angle between pavement and wall. Something rustles like a bird in the underbrush of the forest. A puff of breath shows white in the darkness and fades above one of the mounds of canvas and grimy blankets he’d taken for stall-holders’ gear. He catches sight of a face, eyes glittering in the dark, like an animal, watching him.
