Ben lay in a heap at the back of the shed, his breathing fast and pained. The wind blowing about the fields froze the sweat on his body. He didn’t want to look back. He just had to wait. Control his breathing. Slow his heart.
‘Ben,’ Bob called. ‘You’re on your own. Your lightweight friend don’t like heights.’
A laugh rolled from the hole in the ground. It was deep and jovial and untroubled. ‘Get to the back of the slag heap and climb. That’ll bring you to the rear of the orphanage and offer you access without having to deal with the soldiers. We’ll be launching an attack soon, once I’ve heard they’ve shot that damn sniper. When you hear the sound of a gun—’
Three sharp retorts broke the night. Silence ruled, and then a cheer sounded. ‘Go, and good luck.’
‘Don’t let him leave with the jeep,’ Ben called back.
‘No worries. He’s going with the first attack on the soldiers guarding the mines.’
Ben set to the steep slope of the slagheap. The rubble had frozen solid, but pieces broke free as he exerted pressure. Halfway up the mountain he lost grip and slithered to the bottom, knuckles, palms and knees scraped raw. On his third attempt, he slowed his climb, testing each hand and foot hold before lending his weight.
Explosions vibrated through his body and lit up the dull afternoon. When he pulled his head to the top he flopped over the edge and rested on the cold ground to gather his breath. Red lit the black sky. Yellow flashed as grenades and shells exploded on the warring parties. A constant staccato of gunfire sounded and yells cried out as the Burrowers fought for their precious mines.
A long, black building stood before him. Lights flickered in the tall, arched windows. A soldier stood at the front of the building, slouched against the front door, his rifle resting against the building. The rear door stood unmanned, but locked. Ben watched the soldier flick his butt into the night, pick up his weapon and approach the steps leading to the pit below. Two soldiers appeared at the top of the steps and he saluted. They ignored his formality and ran for the building, kicking through the door.
The soldier sighted his rifle on the action below. Burrowers ran from cover firing at soldiers stationed around the pit wheel. More explosions rocked the area, the red glare lit up by flashes of light. Clouds, black and thick rose into the sky and darkened the day. The soldier shot, reloaded and shot again. With each shot Ben edged forward with the gloom acting as a shroud. When the soldier lowered his weapon, Ben ran with his own gun held high and struck as the soldier turned to face him. The two bodies rolled to the ground with the soldier’s helmet and rifle clattering free. Ben struck again with his gun before rolling off the unconscious body.
He strung the soldier’s rifle over his shoulder and removed the gun from his waist holster. He stripped the soldier’s boots and trousers and removed his shirt. With the man’s hands at his back, he tied them with the shirt and trussed his ankles with the trousers.
The front door grated against the dirt floor. Voices sounded deep inside. He checked the magazine in the soldier’s gun before he stepped into the building. A small desk with a flickering lamp occupied the foyer with a staircase to his left. Steps sounded on the floor above and Ben hid behind the door opposite the entrance as the two soldiers descended the stairs.
‘No sign of the child.’ Static crackled. ‘All they got here is skinny, filthy little Slotvaks.’
‘Received.’ The voice sounded loud but distorted. ‘Report back at pub. Approach with caution and radio in when you’re half a klick from the forest at the rear of pub.’
The soldiers exited and Ben ran for the door. He watched their reaction to finding the soldier bound and gagged, but they marched past him without a second glance.
‘So if they wasn’t bothered,’ he muttered. ‘Who are they?’
Ben started to follow the men, but he heard a muffled cry from the back of the building. Another explosion rocked the mining site, a black cloud billowing high. Ben stepped back into the orphanage, moving with caution. He ignored the stairs gently pushing at the only door on the ground floor. A stand of flickering candles guarded a long narrow chapel. Kerosene lamps and old, thick, wax candles lit the walls. Stained glass offered dull religious pictures. Two rows of pews faced an altar, and a rustic cross dominated the back wall. Tapestries hung from the sides and the floor consisted of swept dirt.
Ben lifted a lamp from the wall and climbed the stairs by the altar. He exited through the small door behind the organ and entered a long narrow corridor. He held the lamp high, the light exaggerating the utter black facing him. The low ceiling and narrow passage caused him to stoop and bounce drunkenly, with his feet scuffing at bare boards.
The first door opened on a prostrate man, his hands shackled to iron bedposts. Ben grabbed the keys on his bedside table and pulled the gag from the man’s mouth.
‘You got a boy, not Slotvak, native?’ Ben asked.
‘No, sir, there’s no child here that speaks the King’s English.’ Ben turned to investigate further, but the man called out. ‘Please, sir. Could you untie me?’
Ben returned and undid the ropes about the man’s wrists and ankles, and sat back on the wooden chair against the wall. A cross hung above the bed. A small table with an old black book atop made up the furnishings.
‘What is this place?’
‘It’s a home for orphans.’
‘And you work them down in the mines.’
‘That’s part of their education.’
‘How’s that an education. What the hell are they learning at the bottom of a pit?’ The man rubbed at his wrists and shrugged. ‘But they’re not native, you say. I’m looking for one who answers to Lucas.’
‘As I told the soldiers, there is no child answering to Lucas here.’
‘Right. They were looking for a child called Lucas?’ Again he nodded. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. They showed me a photo, and I told them no, but they still searched and locked us up. Who is this child?’
‘He’s just a kid. I’m working for his mother. I don’t know why the soldiers are looking for him. Will you take me through the building? Just to be sure. I’ve met the child. I’ll know if he’s here.’
***
Tommy held the door, waiting for Loubie and Claudia to enter the Hangman’s Noose. As he eased the door shut, he spotted the two soldiers sitting before the fire in the front room. He froze, his hand holding the door handle, unable to motivate action. Claudia’s voice woke him and he hurried into the back room.
The landlord’s greeting lacked warmth and there was no movement to serve. He sat on his stool behind the bar watching Tommy push Loubie through to a seat in the back room. Claudia followed, stopping at the bar. ‘I’ve lost a child,’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose he’s ended up here?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘His mate,’ he said pointing at Tommy. ‘He was in here earlier with a child, but a big black bloke come in with guns and attitude. That’s the last we saw of the tyke. I got the feeling he was family.’
‘Yes, sort of, but he’s dead. We found his car on the road by that gypsy house. It’s been burnt out and dumped. I think I’m going to have to call the police.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be doing that, Miss,’ Joe Shepherd said. He stepped forward into her space. The other drinkers crowded his back. ‘I’m sorry to hear the little fellow is dead, but it’s nothing to do with us here.’
‘No, he isn’t dead. He wasn’t in the car and he wasn’t in the gypsy house.’ She laughed, but her body sagged as she perched on a stool. ‘Just as well, as that’s been burnt out too. We only just got out before it toasted us. So we’re thinking he might’ve walked back here. Maybe got lost on the road. I mean, he might have concussion and be dazed and all. You know what I mean?’
The landlord shook his head. ‘Maybe he be at the camps.’
‘Yeah, maybe, I don’t know. Ben’s gone to the mines looking for him. We’d heard the Gypsies took a truckload of kids to the mines. But why Lu
cas? He’s native and the Gypsies see him as one of theirs. They wouldn’t put him to work in the mines.’ She shrugged again. ‘I don’t know where he is, but I’m going to find him.’
Claudia watched the men waiting for a reaction. Joe stared her down, but the other men resumed drinking and smoking. No one was talking. Claudia sighed, her exasperated exhalation loud in the quiet room. She sat with Tommy and Loubie.
Tommy looked at her as she approached. ‘No drinks?’
‘No, Tommy I don’t want a drink.’
He put his finger to his mouth and pulled her onto the chair beside him. He pointed at the fire.
‘What are you getting all sweaty about?’ Claudia said.
Loubie clutched at Tommy’s arm as he leant across the table and peered at the hot coals. ‘Those two soldiers.’ He pointed through the fire hearth, to the legs and black boots visible in the front room. ‘I know one of them.’
‘Right. I know a couple of soldiers myself.’
‘Would you expect to meet with them in a country pub in the Lowlands?’
‘Well no, I guess not. They’re barracked in Ostere, well, just outside, so no, I guess not.’
‘Would you expect a soldier you’d killed to be drinking in a country pub in the Lowlands?’
Tommy thrust his finger and nodded toward the fire. Claudia didn’t get why his eyes had turned manic.
‘You about to fit or what?’
Tommy spoke in an intense whisper. ‘That soldier in the front room is Peg Leg and he’s not a soldier. He’s a mercenary for hire. His surname is Cooper and he comes from a right rogue family, you know.’ Tommy nodded and raised his eyebrows to give emphasis to his words. ‘On Christmas Eve last year, me and Ben were in a house in Lower Ostere visiting an old girlfriend of his.’
Tommy opened a fresh cheroot. He bit the end off and spat, before placing it in the side of his mouth. ‘This old girlfriend of Ben’s pulled a gun on him because he’d taken something from her and she wanted it back. Right? And I was well pissed and had only just found out me brother was dead. Do you know what I mean, I was there when he clocked off.
‘That was bad, you know. These Black Hat types shoved him on old Blacky’s furnace and cooked him.’
Claudia screwed her face in distaste. Loubie remained attached to his shoulder, a light mewing noise sounding from somewhere deep in her psyche.
Trev the Landlord stood with his boys, the hooker pipe clouding the room with the sweet scent of vanilla. Their talk was low and came to Tommy and Claudia’s ears as a nonsensical rumble.
‘But it was all because of this bag. Ben’s old girlfriend wanted it. Ben’s best mate was killed because of it and that soldier in there was working with Linda, Ben’s old girlfriend, to get the bag.’
‘That’s some bag?’
‘Yeah, and I never got to see what was in it. It stunk and it weighed a ton, you know. I heard it was full of body parts. All cut up and that’s why it stunk, but that don’t make sense. Anyway, that bloke in there comes back with the bag, but there’s this almighty shoot-out with Black Hats and I’ve got this gun looking for the bastards who killed my brother and I shot him. Twice and more. The man was dead. Serious.’
‘Well you must’ve missed.’
‘Claudia, he’d fallen and he pointed a gun at me as I shot at him. I can’t have missed. He should be dead.’
Claudia reached across the table and placed her hand on his arm. She was aware the men at the bar had stopped talking. And no sounds came from the front room. ‘Calm down and keep your voice down, okay.’
‘What’s he doing here? He’s scary big time. And he doesn’t do anything for anybody unless there’s money involved.’
A chair scraped against the floor in the front room. Tommy bent low to watch through the hearth into the front room. ‘He’s going,’ he said.
‘Well that’s good, I guess.’
‘Follow him. His mate hasn’t gone anywhere. Serious, follow him. I can’t because he knows me and if he sees me he’ll shoot me.’
Claudia patted his arm and ambled to the bar. She stopped, waiting for the door to close before turning to Tommy and giving the thumbs up.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Burrowers Attack Soldiers
The monk unlocked the doors to each of the dorms. He stood back with the keys attached to the rope strung around his middle. Ben wound the lamps wick to bright and shoved the flame in the children’s dirty faces. They all wore grubby rags and resided in damp dark rooms, four to a bunk, with buckets overflowing with waste. The final room revealed two more monks bound and gagged, kneeling and pleading for mercy.
‘This God’s work, is it?’ Ben said. ‘You’re an arse. But you haven’t got my boy.’
‘What made you think we would?’
‘You’ve got every other stray lamb imprisoned here. Why aren’t they working?’
‘It’s not their shift. They take the second shift.’
‘There’s more of the fuckers. So you got over a hundred children sleeping in this shit hole.’
The monk pulled back from Ben’s words. ‘It’s not so bad here. They’re fed and watered and have a roof over their head. They get spiritual healing, which is more than they’ve ever had.’
Ben shook his head. ‘Good story, monk man.’ Ben stepped out of the room and headed for the stairs. He stopped with his hand on the rail. ‘Someone’s got the little fucker. We thought the Gypsies might’ve been hiding him up here.’
‘The Smiths only deal with foreign children. They know taking natives can only give them grief. Parents look for natives. And they prefer to deal with lost souls from Old London Town. These children are worn out and we offer them a chance to reinvigorate their souls.’
‘You’ve got them working twelve hour shifts in the mines. It’s commonly known as slave labor. And this is man’s work and no place for children. When do they get this soul rejuvenating shit?’
‘We do six hours of prayer daily.’
‘Jesus, this has got to be hell, you arses. That’s eighteen hours, leaving six hours for sleeping, that’s if you’re not feeding them. Do they get fed?’
‘They get fed at the mines.’
‘Get the children out of here. Fuck it I’ll get the children out of here.’
Ben shooed and hollered, pointing his gun at their backs. Once he had the building emptied he set about smashing the lamps through the church and reception. The fire fed on the dry flimsy pews, the tapestries igniting and flying off the walls. Within minutes the orphanage erupted and the monks trailed in his wake pleading and praying he stop his madness.
‘I’m out of here,’ he said. ‘Now do the right thing by these children. Buy them some toys and let them play, eh?’
Ben ran from the building, a trail of bodies following. He hesitated at the bottom of the steps, unsure of his bearings. The fighting had stopped. The pithead wheel stood motionless. He crossed the fields without a shot being fired. The children kept close and the monks dawdled in his wake.
‘Is Bob about?’ He stood outside the office. The children milled in the background, shivering in the cold.
The Burrower led Ben across the fields and into another tunnel that opened out into a bar carved from rock. The room was full of drunken Burrowers celebrating a victory against Chelsea Mining Corp. Ben guided the children into the room, instructing them to sit at a long table. Bob grabbed Ben and tried lifting him off the ground. As Ben stood a good two feet taller than the man, he gave up and settled for a hug.
‘They’ve retreated. The Projects come through. I’ve sent pigeons back to Jackie reporting our victory and promising our loyalty.’
‘Good, them pigeons, eh? Where’s my hero driver?’
‘Over with your jeep. I’ve got a man watching him. He’s no soldier. Don’t ever offer him a gun. He dropped the first weapon and nearly took the ear off my second-in-command.’
A beer appeared and Ben drunk it with a glee. A burrower had taken to the bar, a ukulel
e in hand and singing a war tune. Ben didn’t know the song, but it had a stomping beat the Burrowers could bang heads to.
‘I see you like to blow stuff up,’ Bob said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The orphanage is on fire. Good thing, but I hope no children got hurt.’
Ben pointed at the table against the back wall. ‘They’re all yours. There’s a gang of monks outside, not wanting to enter a bar. I figured you didn’t want them working the mines, eh?’
Ben shook and embraced Bob. ‘I’ve got to go, eh?’
‘Tell Jackie thank you. We can’t ever hope to repay him.’
Ben found Abe in the driver’s seat with the engine running. He needed no prompting to speed the exit up. Ben held his phone out the window waiting for a signal. Once he had bars, he punched in Jackie’s pager number. Troops returning from mines. Watch your arse. Street Boy. He pressed send and sat back, his eyes closed as Abe hit the country lane.
‘Job done,’ Ben said. ‘I’ve saved your arse, Jackie John. Now we just got to find a child. Get the mother back home, and receive the reward. Easy.’
***
‘Just checking in, Boss.’ Ben clung to the dashboard, Wynona’s phone in hand.
‘I’m not your boss,’ Wynona said.
‘You sure? You give out the work and bark the orders. Sounds like boss-type attitude to me.’
‘I’m keeping you alive. Sounds like concerned friend to me.’
‘I can keep myself alive, thanks. Been doing it a while.’
‘Have you got the girl?’
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