The Village King (12 page)

T
he SUV
started
its engine.
Stephen heard it trundle over the cattle grid. From his place in front of the
fire, he listened to the engine recede into the distance. Suzanne glanced out
her window as the vehicle climbed the hill and left.

Popping from the wood fire
replaced the car sounds. Suzanne turned back to Stephen. She smiled and poured
him some of her nettle tea. Using a fine tea set with burgundy roses for
pattern, Stephen lifted the small cup and sipped. It was bitter but he smiled
graciously. “Thanks for seeing me, Suzanne.”

“It is nice of you to visit.” She
had lost weight and seemed nervous where once she had been imperious. “But I’m
curious as to why you are here.”

“And I’m curious as to where you
have been.” He looked around at her well kept front room. He sat on a
comfortable sofa, facing her matching chair, on a worn carpet. Once-white cloth
fitted the arm rests. A mechanical clock clicked on the mantelpiece.

“I’ve been keeping out of your way,”
she said, looking him in the eye.

“You are not an obstacle,” he
said, surprised at her response.

She laughed. “Oh, I would have
been.”

He did not know how to respond to
that. He thought of the things he had had to do; Morgan, Rory. She looked at
him, as if by reading his face, she could read his mind.

“You have done what no-one else
could do,” she began. “Or would do. We live in gratitude. And fear.”

“Fear?” He couldn’t believe it.

She ignored his protestation and
continued her point. “And by defeating the enemies of this village, by freeing
us, you have emboldened us.”

Stephen stared into the fire.
Yellow flames danced around the wooden logs. “What’s your point?”

She perched on the end of her
chair. “Relinquish control. Take up the role of policeman. But let the council
do its business. And stop the digging. There’s no-one left to attack us.”

“Oh, yes there is,” said Stephen,
thinking of what Joseph who had told him.
We have other weapons
.

Suzanne clapped her hands
together and rubbed her palms. “I’m sorry you didn’t find Ellen here. She was a
lovely girl.”

Stephen’s eyes felt heavy. Her
words resurrected his guilt at clinging to Alana in the night. He wondered if
Jack would have been as good with a rifle as Gary and if he would even want
that for his own son.

“I’ll think about it,” said
Stephen. “But do something for me.”

“Name it.”

“I remember you as someone
religious. Get the church open on a Sunday. And give these kids some
education.”

She smiled. “If the council is up
for it, I’ll do it.”

“The council need all the ideas
they can get.” He sounded, even to himself, that he was being high-handed, like
he was the only one who knew how to do anything. He finished his bitter tea.

C
ouncil
met For
a noisy
session in the church. No-one objected to Suzanne’s proposal to open a school
three mornings a week and begin church services on a Sunday led by her. The
objections came when Charlie asked for the weapons to be released.

“You just want them for
yourself,” Gareth’s son, Derek, stood up and shouted. Stephen let him get on
with it and never moved. Alana placed a hand on his leg.

“I would like them for the
soldiers,” said Charlie, evenly. “We have been thwarted in collecting wood
again. We need the soldiers to protect our wood gathering otherwise it will be
a cold winter for sure.”

There was some shouting back and
forth. Stephen stood up and the shouting subsided. He spoke loudly. His voice
rang out in the tall stone building as he leaned on the pew in front. “My
recommendation is not to go up there with guns. This Joseph is dangerous. I’ve
seen it in his eyes. Colonel?”

Pullman sat up. She seemed
nervous and glanced at Charlie. “I agree it would be dangerous to go.” Talbot
sat next to her, staring at the floor.

Charlie said, “But we can’t go
until you release the weapons.”

Stephen lifted his hands from the
pew and opened his palms in a shrug. There was more shouting and arguing. He
knew there was a struggle going on for power. Alana had said it was natural for
groups to do this, and that it would pass, but that it would be too dangerous
if guns were around. Stephen had agreed and he had decided to hold onto the
weapons for now. He certainly did not advocate running up the woods and waving
guns about.

Eventually, they left them to it. Gary and Phil were
off, patrolling the perimeter, so Stephen took Alana and Karen for a walk.
Afternoon chill spread over the village. They took a walk up the street.

Iqbal’s shop was open and even
doing business. Years before, he had hidden a range of alcohol and tobacco and
now felt safe enough to stock his shelves in return for different items. He waved
to them from behind his counter as they walked past and they happily waved back,
except Karen who continued her solitary appraisal of the world. Stephen had
given Iqbal some items they couldn’t use like Morgan’s boots which were too big
for any of them. It felt normal to see a shop open, like it had been yesterday
it closed.

After checking the police cell
containing the weapons was secure, they came back and crossed over to the burnt-out
hall. The soldiers had cleaned it out and made a temporary roof to stable the
horses.

They walked inside. It had been
organised into stalls for each horse. Sabre was next to Alana’s horse, Terror,
and Karen’s horse which she had renamed Cloud. The soldiers had done well with
the building. It was warm and dry. Cloud stuck her head out and Karen petted
his nose and fed the horse an apple.

Private Mills was at the far end,
filling a metal bucket with water from a tap set in the wall. The tap was
small, so he laid the bucket down and wiped his hands on his shoulders. He came
up to them, “Cloud’s been missing you.”

Karen smiled but she kept her
attention on the horse. Mills said, “Everything’s all ship-shape in here, Miss
Karen.” He saluted, indulging her role as head of the stables. He grinned and
went back to the bucket. The tap coughed but continued to fill the bucket.

From outside, they could hear a
roar like a big wave. Stephen rushed outside followed by the girls. The roar
continued, loud in the otherwise quiet air. Running over the road to the
wash-houses, they rushed up to the wall and looked out to sea, but there was
nothing.

“There!” Alana was pointing to
the north. Trees rustled and fell over in a wave towards the shore. “It’s the
Margaretvale River.”

At the shoreline where the
overflow from the dam met the sea, water started to foam. The river had
suddenly increased in volume and it was emptying into the sea. Stephen turned
back and went into Gary’s old billet. Debris, left over from when they had
lived there, was scattered on the floor.

He ran to the sink and twisted
the tap. It spluttered some water out but it didn’t run. “Dammit.” He went back
outside. Alana and Karen were looking at the river swelling. A few trees were
being swept out and into the current.

Mills came up to them, carrying
his metal bucket. “It’s half empty. The tap stopped running.”

“What’s happened?” It was Karen.
Alana gaped at her for speaking out loud.

Stephen barely noticed she had
spoken. He said, “We have other weapons.”

I
t could
only
have been
Joseph’s people, thought Stephen. On inspection, the dam’s overflow had been
opened. Large wheels sat up high on the turf-covered stone wall to control the
flow. These wheels had been turned, the dam emptied, and the overflow had been
closed again.

No-one in the village understood
the water system. They just took it for granted. Now, as the Margaretvale River
filled the dam again, they would just have to wait for the pressure to build
again. That’s if, as Charlie had realised, there’s not too much air blocking
the system. Added to that was the lack of rain which meant it could be some
time before running water was restored.

Stephen had been forced to open
the police cell and arm two soldiers to keep watch at the dam. Pullman
organised them in shifts to stand guard so the forest folk didn’t do it again.
She had reported to the Council when it was done.

Stephen went out on patrol with Phil. It was already
dark when they left the manse, passed the hall, now already being referred to
as The Stables, and up the high street. Phil held his rifle across his front,
while Stephen took only his Glock. The barber’s and Iqbal’s shop were dark and
quiet. As was the agreed routine, they checked the doors were secure.

Crossing the road, they passed
the old Excise House and Suzanne’s place, both with fires on in their front
rooms which glowed through their curtains. Phil led them round the village
houses. All was quiet with the pleasant smell of wood smoke in the air. They
spoke little, enjoying the night air, and not wishing to disturb anyone.

At Rory’s old place, Sergeant
Talbot was emptying some waste onto his compost heap. He waved and smiled at
them. Inside, Colonel Pullman drew the curtains, without seeing them. Satisfied
all was fine, they turned back. The Police Station was undisturbed and the
remaining ordnance was still secure in the cell.

“What a night that was,” Stephen
said to Phil, thinking of when he and Gary had been locked up, and Phil had
come to their rescue.

Phil stood in the former
reception area. Paul’s blood had discoloured the floor. “My Dad told me stories
about jailbreaks in the old movies. I just did the same thing.”

“Your Dad?”

Phil had said very little about
how he had been brought up. He looked at the blood on the floor, as if remembering
something else. “We lived in Norham. When Berwick got it...” He trailed off,
tightened his lips together, and breathed in through his nose. He blinked at
Stephen. “Ready?”

Stephen wanted to say something,
but couldn’t find the words. He shut the hatch to the cell and walked after
Phil as the younger man stepped out onto the street. After locking the blue
door, they headed down the lane and trotted down the steps.

Cows shuffled shapes in the dark
as they arrived down at the distillery. The tall building narrowed their view
of the cloudy sky. All the doors were secure. Phil held his rifle close as
Stephen rattled at the doors. “It’s a good routine you’ve put in,” said Phil.
“Out there, everything’s unlocked. Here, security tells us we’re safe.”

“That’s the idea.” Stephen leaned
on the massive gate which led into the plant. He found himself speaking
quietly, despite there being no-one around to disturb. “And it’s more than
that. We need order. Without it, there’s no rules, and bad things happen.”

They stepped out to the gap
between the buildings. It was completely dark and despite being adjusted to the
darkness, they were moving by memory. Phil stopped. “Why did you do it?”

Stephen stopped and turned his
back to the sea. Gentle waves brushed through pebbles. “Survival, I think. And
then got caught up in it. This was a beautiful place, once.”

“Not this, not here,” said Phil.
“I mean me. Why didn’t you kill me that night?” His rifle clicked as he
shuffled on his feet.

“I’m glad I didn’t,” said
Stephen.

“Me too.” Phil swung his rifle
behind him and he embraced Stephen. “You saved my soul.”

Overcome, Stephen put his arms
round Phil and patted him on the back. Pebbles trickled down the slope of the
shore. Water made the sound of a low hollow gulp from the direction of the
pier. His blood froze, and Stephen pushed Phil away, grabbed him by the
shoulder, and they took cover at the corner of the warehouse.

Whispering in the air, a clunk of
wood on stone, and something small clattered on the ground. Phil flashed his
rifle torched for an instant at the thing that landed and grabbed it. An arrow,
Stephen realised. More whispering as more arrows flew past them, their aim
emboldened by the flash of light. Phil ducked behind Stephen, keeping back from
the corner.

“We have to go,” Stephen hissed.
He knew they were under attack, but not from where. He had readied a shot in
the Glock. “Back to the stairs.”

It was silent again. Stephen
puffed a few breaths then ran across the open space, firing into the air. Phil
raced after him, firing a few bursts of covering fire into the darkness.
Stephen hoped Pullman heard that. They made it to the cover of the distillery.

More arrows slithered through the
air. Shadowy figures were gathering at the corner they had just left.
Sprinting, they ignored the locked doors. Stephen barged Phil into the side of
the wall as arrows clattered off the stone. Phil let out a yell and Stephen
felt him drop back. He grabbed at Phil. Phil was bent over, grabbing something
at his leg. Stephen felt for it, coming away with blood in his hand and knowing
there was an arrow in Phil’s leg.

“We have to go,” he growled as
loud as he dared, sensing shadows all around him. He put himself under Phil’s
arm and dragged the boy. Somehow, Phil kept his pain in as they moved.

At the end of the distillery, they
wheeled round and made it to the stairs. Running footsteps behind them. Arrows
thumped into the grass next to them with deadly force. Phil took a sharp intake
of breath and went rigid in Stephen’s arms.

Stephen laid him down and took
the rifle off him. He fired a burst into the darkness, illuminating large
figures with short cross-bows in their hands.
We have other weapons
,
Stephen thought. Another burst. One of the figures fell. Shouts above Stephen
on the stairs. Bursts of fire. Swinging flashlights.

Stephen looked to Phil. He lay
there, glassy eyed, an arrow in his throat. Stephen yelled out and fired into
the figures again. He was yelling when he felt hands on his collar pulling him
back up the stairs. He fired again, the magazine empty, his finger clicking the
trigger.