The Village King (10 page)

V
otes
were cast
in the
church. Using the old collection box, which had a slot for visitors’ money,
each person cast their vote. From the ten people who stood, Charlie and Frank
joined two others, Jean and Linda, on the Council. Bet and Wilma became judges;
two fierce women no-one would mess with. Suzanne had not stood for any office, the
rumour being she was upset at not just having her authority simply handed back.

Warm firelight lit the room. With
everyone gathered inside, spread out amongst the pews, it felt safe and normal.
Charlie got up to speak, “Thank you everyone. As agreed, we’ll vote again next
year. The Council will run the village on behalf of the people. The Judges will
arbitrate on disagreements, by the authority of the Council, but independent of
it.”

Frank asked, trying to be jovial,
“A speech already, Charlie?”

There was a big laugh. Smiling,
Charlie said, “You’re right. Let’s toast the future. Slàinte.” He raised a
glass of whisky. There were choruses of agreement and everyone drank. After
that, there was applause.

Charlie stayed on his feet. “And
for all of this, we must thank a few people.” He looked around before raising a
glass towards Stephen. “To our friends; Mr Arnott and his family. Thank you.”

Another sip of the whisky and
some more applause. Alana leaned into Stephen during the noise and said,
“Family?” Stephen laughed. He looked across the room at Gary leaning against
the wall, still in the huff. Phil stood quietly next to him.

Charlie was still on his feet.
Expectant faces listened. “We have done so much in the last few weeks. It’s
hard work on the defences, but worth it. Our army leads us in this endeavour.”

Applause and another dram.
Stephen and Alana looked at each other, noting the phrase “our army”. Karen
stood, watching everything.

“There is one thing we must
decide though,” said Charlie. He made a show of looking round the room but his
attention was on Stephen. “We have a council and judges but we need a police
force.”

A few people looked down, unsure
of bringing this up. Gary straightened up and looked over at Stephen, seeing
now what Stephen had meant earlier. Phil, surprisingly, spoke up. “When Paul
was your Constable, did he take care of Rory?”

Some mumbles of agreement.
Charlie spoke loudly, “And what did happen to Rory?” Hush spread across the
room. Rory’s fate, and that of his friends, had been unspoken aloud until now.
Seeing Stephen’s expression, as he glared at him across the church, Charlie
softened. “We are grateful to be free of him. But we also need access to the
weapons.”

Having considered these topics might
be aired, Stephen and Alana stayed motionless and impassive. A general hubbub
of discussions arose as they waited for someone else to speak. Frank, for his
part, just looked at his feet.

Stephen stood. Charlie made a
show of conceding the floor. Stephen waited for a moment before speaking. “The
weapons belong to the British Army. They will be issued to its soldiers when
the time is right. As for the police, I have already decided that Alana is the
Chief Constable for this area.”

No-one moved. The church was
silent. Charlie stared at Stephen, unsettling him with calm focus, seemingly
having prepared his own responses and facial expressions. However, Stephen
stood his ground, letting them all wonder if Charlie would challenge him
further. Gary was right, thought Stephen, the people knew he had freed them
from Rory and Morgan, but he also knew things were turning. Feeling secure, as
Alana had put it, was making the villagers look in a different direction.
Charlie was attempting to seize the situation. Not so long ago, he was ready to
leave with Vincent when Morgan had stated his intent to stay.

As Alana stood up beside him, Stephen
imagined some of those thoughts transmitted to the look he gave Charlie. They
walked to the door and met up with Gary and Phil who caught up at the door.
Stephen looked back into the room. “Make no mistake. Have your council and your
judges. But remember who gave you them.”

He and his “family” left. Almost
immediately, loud voices could be heard inside. Outside, Gary said, “You were
right. Those bastards.”

“Don’t worry about that now,”
said Stephen. He put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “You’ve got your
mission.”

Gary nodded and smiled
gratefully. He thumped Phil on the shoulder. They ran off into the night,
unseen. Stephen and Alana made their way quickly to the kitchen in manse.
Whilst Karen slept in the other room, they checked their weapons, locked the
outside doors and kept watch all night.

S
tephen
nodded awake
at
first light. He could have kicked himself. How long had he slept? He looked
across the hall and saw Alana at the other window, her head on the ledge, sound
asleep. He looked out his own window. The village was quiet.

A band of yellow on the horizon
was lifting the gloom of the sky. The meeting in the church had gone on for a
while but had broken up quietly. A few drunken laughs were heard, not the
storming of the manse he and Alana had feared. Once Gary and Phil got back with
news of the bunker’s condition, they could make an informed decision about
their next move.

Gareth and Bet went out to their
positions on the gate without glancing up at the manse. Beyond that, Stephen
could make out the line of the trench works, spades and shovels lying at rest.
Staked out, it would lead from just past the gate round to the bend in the road
which led to the lower part of the distillery. At that point, a cliff and the
sea would keep anyone else away.

Now on top of his gate, something
caught Gareth’s eye. Stephen shifted his position to see what it was. His
movement disturbed Alana. She shook herself awake. Outside, Gareth jumped down
and ran as best he could up the grassy path, which led away from the village to
the forest. Coming towards him were two people. One of them had an arm over the
other’s shoulder, dragging him along due to injuries. Moments later, Bet was
banging at the manse door, shouting, “Stephen! We need you, Stephen!”

W
ith Phil
and
Gary away,
Stephen was loathe to leave Alana behind with Karen but she urged him to go.
“We’ll be fine, here,” she had said and patted her SA80. It had been Weaver’s
and, despite its worn condition, worked well. He kissed her goodbye.

When he stepped out the house, he
waved in at them through the window. Astonished, he heard Karen’s voice through
the glass. “Where is Stephen going?” Alana answered her but Stephen couldn’t
hear the reply clearly. He walked down the path and met Colonel Pullman and
Private Talbot. They were already mounted on their horses. Private Moore held
the reins of Stephen’s horse, Sabre, which had formerly belonged to Morgan.

He saw Pullman watch him closely
as he put his left foot in the stirrup. He bounced his right foot and pulled
himself up. When he had settled in the saddle, Moore stepped back. Pullman
smiled at him. “Been on a horse much?”

“A couple of times,” Stephen
said, referring to pony trekking on holidays past, though he knew he was
busted. Talbot grinned at him as the soldier nudged his feet on the sides of
his horse and moved off.

Stephen did the same thing and
Sabre trotted after. Pullman, mounted on Bess, followed and they caught up with
Talbot. They rounded the cattle grid and headed up the grassy path.

“No Gary and Phil?” Pullman
asked.

“Nah,” said Stephen. “I’ve got
them doing something else.” He saw Pullman and Talbot exchange a look making
Stephen feel suddenly vulnerable. Until recently, he had spent a lot of time on
his own, and was now beginning to realise he was relying on others a lot. Being
on his own with two soldiers, Gary and Phil out in the hills, and Alana and
Karen back at the village, he also felt overstretched.

Even this trip, to investigate
why Scott and Rob had been attacked in the woods, Stephen found himself with
two others, people he barely knew, relying on their insight and training. He
would have travelled alone until recently and would even have left this trip to
others. Still, he thought, you can’t set yourself up as the law and then not
uphold it. It had all started with Gary, of course, befriending him and teaming
up. He struggled to remember how that had even happened.

As they rode up the hill, leaving
the village quietly behind, he began to fret over Alana, and strange little,
mostly silent, Karen. A small girl, who spoke to Alana like a chatterbox, and
not to anyone else, gave him a purpose other than the dread over Ellen and
Jack. He was not really worried, though. Alana could take care of them both and
no-one else even knew the boys were out the village. He would go up here, have
a word with Joseph, or whoever was up there, and be back before dark.

The path became a little more pronounced,
having been cut when it was being used as an access road to the forestry land. Horses’
hooves clopped on stones as they kept going. Pullman asked, “You’ve met this
Joseph?”

“Yep,” said Stephen. “He was a
bit different from the others I’ve met. The woods have had people in them for a
while.”

“What’s up there, though?” asked
Talbot.

“Just trees,” said Stephen. “When
you brought back deer I was surprised. I thought the biggest animals up there
were squirrels.”

Pullman and Talbot exchanged
another look. There was definitely something on their minds, and Stephen
wondered if there was something else going on between them. Pullman looked back
at Stephen like she was going to say something, but she stopped herself.

Stephen pulled the reins back and
Sabre came to a halt. “What is it?” The other two pulled up, their backs to
him.

Expertly, Pullman backed her
horse up to be level with Stephen. Just as skilfully, Talbot turned his around
to face them both. She said eventually, “We took a kicking up there for those
deer.”

That surprised Stephen and then
he thought of their exhaustion on returning to the village the day he had
killed the officers. “What happened?”

Talbot looked off to the side,
embarrassed by the tale as Pullman told it. “Morgan shot the first deer, but he
only clipped it. Talbot and the Lieutenant went after it. Next thing you know,
they come riding back out chased by a gang of crazies.”

“They were waiting for us,” said
Talbot in mitigation. “And we’d stumbled on their camp. All armed with rocks and
crappy spears.”

Pullman picked up the story, “So
Morgan orders us to engage. We drop a few but there are dozens.”

“Dozens?” Stephen checked. As far
as anyone had thought, there were only a few nomads picking on the berries and easting
roast mice for tea.

“Dozens,” said Talbot.
“Eventually we scared them off but Gibson and O’Neill took a brick to the head
each.”

Pullman added, “We got our deer
and bugged out. By chance, Weaver got another one on the way back.”

“Shit.” Stephen sighed. “Is this
what we’re walking into?”

“Sorry, sir,” said Pullman. “We
should have said.”

Stephen nodded in stern agreement
but then he changed tack. “What options do we have?”

A breeze brushed the grass. They
were near the reservoir and it reflected the grey sky. Water trickled through
the dam overflow and headed to the Margaretvale river mouth. Talbot spoke
first. “I’ve an idea.”

S
tephen
and the
Colonel
approached the camp on foot, leading their horses. Grimy faces watched their
every move. Dozens of people, spread over a good-sized area, were living in the
woods. They dressed in old and patched clothing, some with two thin jackets and
others with soot-blackened puffed coats.

Children played and ran around
but the adults just stared. Camp fires crackled in front of lean-to shelters of
reclaimed materials and wood. They had been allowed through a narrow path,
leading from the old access road. Logs had been formed into a gate and pulled
back to allow them through.

Making their way through the
camp, they saw pens with pigs in them, and a few chickens behind a high fence.
A woman inside the fence held up an egg and stared coldly at Stephen and
Pullman.

Pitched at the end of the path
was a large tent. It looked like it had once been a marquee tent, the sort of
thing you would see at a garden party, but it had been modified. Forming a
circle, and domed at the top, it now resembled a yurt, like it belonged to a
Mongolian ruler. Tent flaps were formed by two large tartan blankets, out of
place in this setting. One was pulled aside and out stepped Joseph, easily
recognisable from Stephen’s last encounter, his face was open and smiling.

“Greetings,” he said as his
visitors stopped. He was dressed in clean clothes, made from wool and made into
fine blue cloth. His feet were in some kind of hide boots.

Stephen looked around. Nothing
seemed threatening. “Greetings, Joseph. My name is Stephen.”

“I know who you are, Stephen.”
Joseph pointed across to a clearing where Privates Davis and Anderson sat by a
fire. They did not meet Pullman’s eyes. Joseph said, “Your woman pulled a gun
on me. You have brought a soldier this time.”

Ignoring this, Stephen said, “You
assaulted two of our people.”

“They were attempting to take our
wood,” Joseph said evenly as if this explained everything.

“These woods belong to the
Crown,” said Stephen.

Joseph’s face fell into a cold
glare. He walked up to Stephen. “Crown? Whose crown?”

Stephen said, “And this soldier
represents the British Army.”

Joseph looked Pullman up and
down. “British Army. There is no Britain, Stephen. There is your village and
our forest.” One of Joseph’s men ran up through the woods. Joseph held up a
hand to Stephen and Pullman, indicating they should wait. Pullman tensed
slightly at the movement but did nothing. The runner stopped, nodded to Joseph,
who nodded back and gestured as if for him to come forward. Instead, the man
turned and ran away.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,
Joseph,” said Stephen. “We can trade. We’ve got whisky. We could trade you for
wood. You would come under the protection of the British Army.”

Joseph smiled indulgently.
“Whisky. Trade.” He chuckled, passing time while waiting on something. Stephen
felt the situation slipping away from him though he had expected this would not
have been the same as when he had scared Joseph off before. After hearing
Pullman’s story of Morgan’s Unit being overwhelmed, Stephen had imagined the
people in the forest were becoming more organised, perhaps bolder, but he had
not imagined this. Joseph had created a society, Stephen saw, probably through sheer
personality, but it functioned all the same.

Twigs snapped to their left. The
man came back, this time with Talbot by the scruff of his neck. Another man led
Talbot’s horse and carried his rifle. Talbot was thrown to the ground beside
Pullman. She knelt quickly to help him. His hands were tied and blood ran down
his head, having been captured while he tried to wheel around and approach from
the rear; his plan to outflank Joseph’s group.

Stephen kept his attention on
Joseph. He wore that same knowing smile he had the day they first met. Stephen
reached for his Glock, which was under his coat. Joseph reached out a hand to
still him. “This is our forest. You may leave.”

Pullman had freed Talbot and
helped him to his feet. The man with the horse handed the reins to Talbot and
the rifle to Joseph. Stephen backed up, his hand on the pistol grip. Joseph
lifted the weapon in both hands and stretched out his arms, handing it to
Talbot.

“Take it,” said Joseph, as if to
a child. “Take it and go.”

Talbot looked to the side,
anticipating a trick, but seeing none, he took the rifle from Joseph. Pullman
had her hand to a knife and was stepping back. Stephen began to relax. Joseph
used a benevolent smile as he said, “It was a pleasure to see you. Go and be
safe. But never return.”

“I thought you would have kept
the rifle,” said Stephen.

“There is no need,” said Joseph, airily.
Then his eyes narrowed as he said, “We have other weapons.”

Stephen looked around. Blank
faces stared at them. They showed no emotion which made Stephen very nervous in
their stillness. He caught Pullman’s attention and the three of them backed
off. Bodies pressed against them, alarming the horses. They kept going. When
they reached the wooden gate, they hastily mounted their horses. Soot-smeared faces
drifted back amongst the trees.