Wanted (Flick Carter Book 1) (19 page)

‘He’s only jealous,’ said another voice, coming through the door.
 

‘Dixon saved his life, first day on the job, and he’s been dewy-eyed ever since,’ added a third voice.

 
‘Course she’s really old, and a pr…’ Whatever the fourth person was going to say was drowned out in a round of coughing, and he faltered. ‘You’ll find out,’ was all he said, eventually.

The newcomers crowded round and introduced themselves: Cadets Gibson, Moore, McDonald and Bailey. Adam shook hands all round and beamed. They seemed like a friendly bunch; it really did look like he’d landed on his feet.

‘Who’s for a bite to eat?’ Gibson called out. ‘Anyone know a good place?’

Adam had finished making his bed and putting his kit away, and now realised that he was ravenously hungry. He grinned. ‘I could eat a horse,’ he said.

‘I think we could arrange that…’ Moore said, winking at the others.

 
‘I know somewhere,’ Socko said.
 

‘This is not some sort of… test, is it?’ Adam asked suspiciously. ‘Only I know they pull pranks on you, first day in the Watch…’

‘Yeah, well this ain’t the Watch, is it, Socko?’ Moore said.
 

Socko opened one eye and regarded them. He shook his head. ‘This ain’t the Watch.’

‘And anyway, you ain’t technically joined till you sign the papers at oh six hundred tomorrow. It’s like a cooling off period.’

Adam let out a sigh; maybe tomorrow he’d be set some stupid task, but tonight he was still technically a civilian, and safe.

‘Ginger Lil’s,’ Socko said, raising himself up onto his elbows. ‘It’s in the back streets and it’s got a rather unusual atmosphere, and you can only get in if you know the right people, but it’s okay.’

‘And I suppose you know the right people?’ Moore asked suspiciously.

Socko’s mouth cracked into a wide grin. ‘How did you guess?’

The recruits looked at each other for a moment before chorusing, ‘Ginger Lil’s!’

Socko led them through the back streets of Oxford, to a small alley. Set in one wall was an unassuming black painted door with a small painted sign beside it, bearing the words ‘Ginger Lily’s Dungeon. Abandon hope all…’ Whatever else the sign was supposed to say no one was ever sure, because the rest of it was missing, broken off.

‘This is it,’ he said, knocking on the door. ‘Home away from home!’

A small panel slid away, and light briefly shone through a grille in the door, to be replaced by a pair of eyes looking at them suspiciously. The eyes appeared to be satisfied and the panel slid shut.

The door opened and the six lads descended a narrow staircase to the room below. This turned out to be a large vaulted cellar. It was dimly lit by burning torches fixed onto black iron sconces set into the walls. There were stone flags on the floor, and braziers in the middle of the room provided heat and more light. Vents in the roof took away the smoke from the flames. Around the room were tables of different sizes, some with chairs, others with benches. Fixed to the walls and in some cases the floor were implements of torture from throughout the ages, some going back to medieval times, others more recent. Adam recognised some of them; the iron maiden, the rack, the Judas chair, branding irons in neat racks by the side of the braziers, but there were many other items he didn’t recognise.

‘Evening gents, what’ll it be?’

Adam had been so engrossed in looking around the room that he hadn’t noticed the small red-haired woman appear out of the shadows. She was wearing a uniform, but it spoke more of
blacksmith
than
waitress
.

‘Evening Lily,’ said Moore. ‘Six specials please, and the big table.’

‘Right you are, gents,’ she said, winking at Adam.

‘Oh, Lily, this is Adam. He’s new. Just arrived today.’

‘Showing him the ropes are we?’ said Lily. ‘Well, we’ve got plenty of ropes down here, and chains too!’ She cackled. ‘Come on, this way, gents.’

Adam noticed her slip something into the top of her uniform as she led them to a large table at the back of the room. Several Kingsmen were already seated at the benches that ran along each side.

Adam shuffled onto the bench, and once more looked around him, taking in the sights.

‘How are you settling in?’

Adam jumped. He looked at the person who spoke, and realised he recognised her; it was Corporal Chant. She had a bowl of what looked like soup in front of her.

‘We was just settling him in, corp,’ said McDonald, ‘first night and all…’

‘Yes, well make sure he reports for duty first thing tomorrow, intact and with no bits missing.’ She winked. ‘McDonald, I hold you personally responsible.’

‘Yes, Corp.’

Adam swallowed.

Just then, Lily arrived with three large jugs of beer and six pots. She set them down on the table. ‘Who’s having pie?’

The screeching in Adam’s ear wouldn’t go away. It did nasty things to the inside of his skull, combining with the jackhammer behind his eyes in a symphony of unpleasantness. The world rocked nauseatingly and he clung to the edge of the bed in a desperate attempt to hang on to the world and whatever he’d last eaten. The screeching continued and he grabbed at his pillow in an attempt to stuff it over his head. But as he moved, tiny sparks erupted behind his eyeballs, turning into great explosions of fire as the pillow flew out of his hand.

‘Mmmmf,’ he managed to say.

The shrieking started to take form. It had a ring of familiarity, like something… vocal. Like… shouting. Someone was shouting at him… Shit! He was late. He was always late, but this was something important. He threw the covers back and jumped out of bed, causing the room to spin violently and his legs to collapse under him. Adam’s head hit the floor moments after the contents of his stomach.

There was silence. Adam blew bubbles in a puddle of vomit as the world gradually stopped spinning and resolved itself into something black.

Actually, two somethings black. Boots. With legs in.

Adam felt himself being picked up by the arms and hauled upright. ‘What time is… Aargh!’ He yelped in shock as cold water cascaded over him, then blinked until the pink blur that was in front of him became a face. ‘Mornin’ Corp,’ he said.

‘Carter, you’re not drunk are you?’ Chant asked, quietly.

Adam took a moment to compose himself. He could still taste the sick at the back of his throat. ‘No, Corp,’ he said eventually.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Make sure this… mess is cleaned up before inspection, or there really will be trouble. This one’s for free.’ The corporal left the room.

‘What did she mean by that?’ Adam asked. ‘And how come you lot aren’t hung over?’

‘Ah well, there’s the thing,’ confessed Bailey, ‘you see,
we
weren’t drinking. Only you were.’

‘But I saw you,’ Adam said. ‘You matched me, drink for drink.’

‘Yes, but our drinks weren’t alcoholic,’ said Socko. ‘After the first one, all our drinks came from a different jug.’

‘And the corp?’

‘Was in on it too. She plied you with more drink than the rest of us!’

Adam groaned. ‘I suppose we’d better get this mess cleared up. At least coming from an Inn, I’ve seen my fair share of morning afters…’

Shortly before six, Adam reported for duty. The clerk took down his details and had him sign his name. Then,

‘Hold out your finger.’

He did, and the clerk stabbed it with a tiny knife, drawing a tiny bead of blood.

‘Ow! Was that necessary?’

‘Blood sample. Just stick your finger on this card.’

He did, and she dismissed him, ‘Turn right down the corridor, second door on the left. Next.’

There were several other cadets waiting when Adam reached the room, and within a few minutes, Gibson, Moore, Bailey and McDonald had joined him.

‘Well, this doesn’t seem so bad,’ thought Adam. Then he met Sergeant Wailing.

At first, Sergeant Wailing was just a voice in the doorway.

‘All right you ‘orrible shower, think you want to be Kingsmen, well you ain’t fit to shine my shoes! STAND TO ATTENTION! Move to it! What are you hanging about waiting for? Christmas? Never in my life have I seen such a horrible bunch of pansies! You should be ashamed of yourselves! Your poor dear mothers should be ashamed of you! Is that alcohol I can smell on your breath? Went out for a last night on the town did we? A little hung over are we? Drop to the floor and give me ten! What are you waiting for? Permission? Give me twenty! One ! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! Eleven! Twelve! Thirteen! Fourteen! Fifteen! Sixteen! Seventeen! Eighteen! Nineteen! Twenty! What are you doing still on the floor? Sleeping? Stand to attention! On the double! Move it! Move It!’
 

FLICK LAY ON her back with her eyes closed. Everything was quiet, peaceful. She was warm and comfortable. But something nagged at the back of her mind, something terrifying. Then it slipped away and she went back to sleep.

Flick opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. It had an orangey yellow colour, and glowed. Glowed like… something. There was something she had to do; it was important, urgent… what was it? Her hands had bandages on, and she hurt all over.

Why?

What had happened?

She looked around. She was in a bed in the middle of a large room, with big windows. There were curtains on the windows but they were not drawn. There was a dresser in the corner and a fireplace, although there was no fire in the grate. The door was closed. She shut her eyes again.

It was dark, but not pitch black. Moonlight came in through the window, casting shadows here and there. A movement caught Flick’s eye; there was someone there in the room with her.
 

‘Who’s there?’ she said, her voice not much more than a whisper.

‘It’s me, Joe,’ the voice said. He was close, right beside her bed. She felt his hand on hers and she winced.

‘Sorry,’ he said, removing his hand. ‘You’ve been hurt. Mum’s been tending you, and I’ve been looking in; well, when she doesn’t kick me out, anyway.’

‘Joe? Where am I?’ whispered Flick. She looked around, but there was nothing about the room that she recognised in the darkness. She tried to sit up, but a wave of pain and nausea threatened to overwhelm her and she sank back.

‘It’s okay, you’re safe,’ Joe said, ‘You’re at the house. Mum’s been looking after you.’

She stared blankly into the dark. Remembered there had been a fire. She’d tried to save someone. ‘Rosie? Dad?’

‘I’m sorry…’

The blood drained from her, and her hands grew cold, clammy. That wasn’t possible; it couldn’t be.
But it was
. She screamed. ‘NO!’

Joe tried to comfort her, but she pushed him off. Tears streamed down her face as she wailed, ‘I couldn’t save her! I tried! I couldn’t save her!’

Then she looked straight at Joe, her tear-stained face full of hate.

‘Your dad, he did it,’ she screamed, ‘he killed them! I hate you! Get out! I hate you! I hate you!’

Joe looked shocked. ‘I know my dad rubs people up the wrong way,’ he started, ‘but…’

‘It was him! I hate you,’ she sobbed and pummelled at him with her fists. Even through the bandages, that hurt, and she burst into tears.

The door opened. It was Joe’s mum, Mary. ‘Come on, out! Leave her be,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Joe again, and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

The next time Flick woke up, it was daylight. She was alone and the window was open a crack, letting in a little fresh air. There were fresh bandages on her hands, and flowers in a vase on the dresser. From the bed she had a view through the window over the gardens and the rolling countryside. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t; all she could feel was empty.

The door opened and Joe’s mum came in, carrying a bowl of soup on a tray. ‘Oh good, you’re awake,’ she said, smiling, ‘I’ve brought you some soup.’

Flick pushed herself upright in the bed. She was stiff and sore, but she managed a brief smile. Mary put the tray down on the bed and sat in the chair next to it. ‘How are you feeling?’

 
‘Sore.’ Flick felt like she should be angry, but the soup smelled really good, and she realised just how hungry she was. She tried to pick up the spoon, but she couldn’t grip it through the bandages.

‘Let me,’ Mary said, taking the spoon and dipping it into the soup. ‘You know, I used to do this for Joe when he was little. Now open…’
 

When the bowl was empty, Flick pulled nervously at her bandages. ‘Tell me what happened, I want to know,’ she said.

‘They found you, Joe and some of the boys from the Watch, lying in the courtyard, all singed and burnt. At first they thought you were dead, but then they found you were still breathing and brought you here.’

‘Did they find…?’

‘No, I’m sorry honey, they just found you. There was no one else.’

So Rosie really was gone. And Dad too. Flick sank back in the bed, and now tears did come.

Mary carefully held her bandaged hand. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said.

After a while, Flick managed to stifle her sobs. ‘Joe found me?’

‘Yes, in the courtyard at the back. Half the town was there trying to put the fire out, not that it did much good. George has got a warrant out for the man they say started it–O’Connell, I think. He says they’ll catch him soon. But we can talk about that later. Right now you should rest.’

Mary took the tray away, and Flick lay back in the bed.

They haven’t caught him
.

At least that was something. But with everyone she loved dead, it was hard to be happy about anything. If she’d never met Shea, none of this would have happened. In the end, everything was his fault.

Flick lay in bed looking at the view through the window, thinking about how she came to be there. The mayor had started the fire–or at least his thugs had–she was convinced of it, even though she hadn’t seen them; it was just too big a coincidence. First the threat, then the fire. So why was she here? Why did he not just leave her to die in the fire? Surely that had been his intention. But Joe had found her, so maybe Joe wasn’t in on it, or perhaps some kindness in the bottom of his heart had won through.