by Frank Tayell
“He didn’t tell her he had it. Shortly after her son died, they fled from Penrith. In that fight, half the group died. Nilda blames Rob for their deaths. She herself would have died if she wasn’t immune.”
I thought back to our conversation after we’d discovered the body in the university. “We should have organised judges and police,” I said. Like so much, it had been forgotten amidst the mountain of other pressing tasks.
“I’m working on it,” George said, “but that won’t help us now. Personally, I think they’re both telling the truth. I think Rob saw her son die and took the sword for himself. He kept it hidden because he wanted to keep it for himself. Now, perhaps he stood back and let the kid die, but let’s be honest, no amount of forensics will prove it. Whoever else survived Penrith, none of them made it here, so it’s a case of his word against hers. The rule we have is that what happened out in the wasteland isn’t held against you here. I’d like you two to watch him. When Nilda saw Rob, she tried to rip him in two. One of my lads, Chester, pulled her off, and I’ve got him keeping an eye her, but if she slips away, this could all end very badly.”
“I can’t see how it could end well,” Sholto said.
“Maybe so,” George said. “Maybe not. Mary’s got a few ideas, but for now I’d like to make sure we don’t end the day worrying about murder. So watch him. Talk to him. See if he tells you anything that can settle this quickly.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
“The inn,” George said.
“Afternoon, gents,” Markus said. “I just can’t keep you away.”
The pub was less active than on our previous visit. The stalls outside were vacant, though there were a few people loitering near them, presumably in expectation they would reopen. Inside, the two women sat either side of their books, but they weren’t reading. Paul sat at the bar, chewing nervously on a pencil. The bearded man had his eyes on the door, and his hand not far from his belt. There was a younger group, all men in their early twenties, sitting at a table in the other corner, but they weren’t drinking. They were watching.
“Expecting trouble?” I asked.
“Obviously, and it seems to have walked through my door,” Markus said.
“We’d like a word with Rob,” Sholto said. “Where is he?”
“In the back,” Markus said.
Sholto eased onto a stool. “Would you mind getting him?” The words were polite but there was no conciliation in his tone.
“Do you have a warrant?” Paul asked, his tone nothing but scorn.
Markus gritted his teeth. “Of course they don’t have a warrant. There are no warrants any more, because there are no courts to issue them, right? We help one another, and in that way, this little world of ours keeps on working. Rachel! Rob!” He called. There were a few sounds from the back room, and a moment later, Rob came out. Rachel followed. That he was being guarded told me Rob was more of a flight risk than in danger of starting a fight. His sword was missing, but so was his knife. The sheath at his belt flapped emptily against his leg.
“Take a seat, Rob,” I said, pointing at the stool next to my brother. Rob glanced at Markus, then at Rachel, then at the door. His shoulders slumped. He walked around the bar and sat down.
“Did he tell you what happened?” I asked.
“We saw it,” Paul said. “The woman came sprinting down the road and tried to throttle him with her bare hands.”
There was a muted comment from the group of young men, followed by a quartet of sniggers. Rob blushed. Markus slammed his palm down on the bar. The sniggering stopped.
“Did Rob tell you why?” I asked Markus.
“It was a mistake,” Rob said. “An accident.”
“Why was it a mistake? What kind of accident?” Sholto asked.
“Is it important?” Markus asked.
“I’d like to know,” Rachel said. Her expression was tight-lipped, almost angry.
“Then you better start talking,” Markus said with a smile completely absent of good humour.
“There’s not much to say,” Rob said. “We were at this school. It was her idea, Nilda’s. Me and my mates had secured this street. It was a good location. We had everything there, but she couldn’t hold the school without us. She needed us. She needed protection, so we went there to help, but she wasn’t a leader. She just didn’t know how. Didn’t have the knack. The school was overrun, and it was obvious it was going to happen. I went out with her son, and this soldier, Tuck. Except she was deaf. She was useless, but insisted on tagging along. I tried to tell her not to, but she couldn’t hear, could she? It’s her own fault. You want to blame someone, blame Tuck. We were looking for a way out of town. We got surrounded. They died. I managed to escape. That’s all there is to say.”
“What about the sword?” Sholto asked.
“What? Oh… oh, yeah. Well, I went back, didn’t I? I mean, I… I wanted to check they were dead. I mean, you know, check whether they were still alive. I thought they might be immune, you see? And they weren’t. They were both zombies. But the sword was there. I picked it up and fought my way out.”
“Why didn’t you give Nilda the sword?” I asked.
“I… uh… I thought it might upset her. I mean, she was a wreck when I told her that her son was dead. She wasn’t going to be any use in a fight. I figured I’d give it to her when things were… quieter.”
“And then?” I asked.
“Well, we got separated when we fled the town. I told them we needed to stick together, but they wouldn’t listen. They didn’t go fast enough. It’s their own fault. I thought she died.”
There were holes in his story, obvious gaps that would be easy to pick apart. Paul was almost twitching, though I couldn’t tell why. Markus looked thoughtful, but I was more interested in Rachel. Her expression was completely blank.
“What do you think?” I asked her.
“There can be only one punishment for murder,” Rachel said.
“But is this murder?” Markus asked. “It’s an unfortunate series of accidents, compounded by the fact that this woman, Nilda, clearly doesn’t like Rob. I can’t imagine why.”
Rob glared at Markus and began to stand up. Sholto put a heavy hand on his shoulder and forced him back down onto his stool.
“It’s an odd place, this,” he said, speaking to Markus. “It reminds me of somewhere, but I’m finding it hard to place.”
“You were in politics, weren’t you?” Markus asked.
“You read his journal?” Sholto asked.
“I glanced at it,” he said. “Personally, I prefer a good thriller. You didn’t serve, though?”
“You did?” I asked.
“I was a civilian contractor,” Markus said. “Drove a truck. I got the idea for this place from Baghdad.”
“Ah,” Sholto said. “That’s it.”
“You were there?” I asked, surprised.
“In Iraq? Sure,” my brother said. “Before the war, or between the wars to be more precise. There was a place there that did the best coffee I’ve ever drunk.”
“We can’t match it,” Markus said. “But we can offer something black, hot, and full of caffeine.”
“I’d be obliged,” Sholto said.
“I’ll get it,” Rob said, trying to stand up again, and again Sholto pushed him back onto his stool.
“You’ll sit there and wait,” he said.
“For what?” Rob asked.
“For a decision to be made,” Markus said. “And that decision isn’t going to be made in this room, right?” He was looking at me.
“I guess not,” I said.
They’d probably heard some of Rob’s story before. They would have got more out of him after Nilda’s assault earlier that morning. As such, they were a couple of hours ahead of me. It was Rachel’s comment about punishment that clicked a few other pieces into place. When I’d talked with George and Mary about the body we’d found in Bangor, we’d discussed evidence and policing, judges and juries. We had talked
about crime, but not about punishment.
“It’s an odd thing we’re creating here,” I said. “It could be a mirror of all that went before, or a continuation of it, or it could be something better. Something new. What we do now isn’t as important as how we do it. Success is synonymous with life, and if we fail, there will be no future generations to look back on our history with scorn.”
“Responsibility hangs heavy on the head that melts down the crown,” Markus said. He reached under the counter and brought out a tall bottle containing a clear liquid. He poured a measure into a small glass. “You want some? It’s our own concoction.”
“You have a still?” I asked.
“We have a still that hasn’t blown up this week,” he said.
I saw there was no point wasting rhetoric on him. He didn’t want to talk. He was waiting for a decision on Rob’s fate. The question then, the only one that mattered, was what was he going to do if he didn’t like whatever it was. The answer came an hour later when George came in.
“Afternoon, lads, ladies. Rob, I’d like a word. Outside, I think.”
“Why? What are you going to do with him?” Paul asked. Markus frowned, and I guessed he’d planned to ask the same question, but more diplomatically.
“That’s none of your business,” George said. His voice hardened. “And you really, really don’t want to make it yours.” There was steel in his tone. Not a threat, but a promise. Unfortunately, right then, Sholto and I were the hard edge giving weight to the words.
With deliberate care, Markus refilled his glass, downed it, and slammed the glass on the bar. Everyone had been watching him, except for Paul who still had his eyes on George and his hand on his belt. He jumped.
“You heard the man,” Markus said to Rob. “Go on.”
Rob looked around the room. His eyes stayed longest on Paul, but there was no support for him there. The young man eased himself off his stool and slouched to the door.
“Thanks for the coffee,” Sholto said, standing up. It was his turn to look around the room. “Yeah, we could make something new, but isn’t it the case that whenever we try, what we create always looks a lot like something very old?”
I followed him outside.
Rob was sitting at one of the picnic tables. George was standing over him, listening to the young man talk. We kept our distance.
“You really went to Baghdad?” I asked.
“Sure,” Sholto said. “Once. I wanted to see the world. The Taj Mahal, the pyramids, you know, all the ancient sites. I drew up a bucket list and put Babylon at the top. I got food poisoning on my first day in Iraq and spent my entire time in the hotel.”
“You didn’t go to a coffee house?”
“I barely made it out of the bathroom,” he said.
“So Markus was lying about being in Baghdad?”
“Possibly,” Sholto said. “It does confirm he’s not who he appears to be, and certainly not who he’d like us to think he is. We already knew that, but we’re left with the puzzle of who he actually is. Aside from that he’s dangerous, I couldn’t even begin to guess.”
“I don’t like mysteries,” I said. “Not anymore. So you went to Egypt?”
“No. After Iraq, I scrapped those plans. I went to Las Vegas instead. Got food poisoning there, too.”
Rob stood, glanced at us, back at George, then at the road leading from the pub. With a clear air of reluctance, he went back inside. George pushed himself to his feet.
“Come on, lads.” When we were fifty yards down the road, he spoke again. “What do you think?”
“Do you mean did he kill Nilda’s son? I don’t know,” I said. “He doesn’t seem like a murderer.”
“They often don’t,” Sholto said. “What about you, George? What do you think?”
“I know I don’t like the man,” he said, “but there’s no proof.”
“So what are you going to do?” I asked.
“For now, nothing,” George said. “I’m putting off having to make a decision. Nilda’s going back to the mainland. Chester’s going with her. She wants to go to Cumbria, to bury her son. She won’t find him, but it’s important she tries. Chester’s going to Hull, and she’ll be good company for him on the journey.”
“Hull?” Sholto asked. “Why?”
“Those wind turbines you mentioned,” George said. “Svalbard wants an electricity supply in exchange for the oil. We’re going to propose a wind turbine. The thing about their seed vault is that it doesn’t require a constant electrical supply so wind power is ideal. Don’t ask me how we’d get the turbines up there. Mary has an idea of using the helicopters, but personally, I’m hoping that it’ll be enough for those people in Svalbard to know we’re trying.”
“Hull’s intact then?” I asked.
“According to the satellites images, the turbine factory looks okay,” George said. “And I gave Chester one of the sat-phones so he can he stay in touch. The boat they’re taking to Cumbria’s going to head straight back to Svalbard. We’ve filled it with a few chickens, some other supplies, and another sat-phone. We’ll be able to conduct negotiations a little more easily and maybe get the fuel situation resolved this side of Judgement Day.”
“And Rob?” I asked. “You can defer the decision, but what about when Nilda returns, what then?”
“By then, we’ll have found some judges to make the decision for us,” he said. “I’ve begun interviewing the lawyers, or those who claim to have a law degree. Right now, it’s a case of working out who is the least worst candidate, but it’s a start.”
“And if you don’t finish before Nilda gets back from Hull?” Sholto asked. “Is there a backup plan?”
“Not exactly,” George said, “But I’ve got another delaying tactic. We’ll ship Rob to Svalbard. Out of sight might be far enough out of mind that Nilda will forget about him. And that will give us time to work out quite what we’re going to do next. Time? Maybe it’s just my age, but there never seems to be as much of it as there used to be.”
“I never knew an egg could provide so much entertainment,” Kim said.
We were sitting in the garden of our house. The sun had dipped behind the spreading chestnut, casting a welcome shadow on the infant-trampled lawn. Sholto and Annette were by the barbecue, now a safe distance from the trees, but perilously close to the rickety fence delineating the garden from the neighbouring fields. Their attention was on the metal plate placed on the barbecue, and on which they were frying eggs. Those had been a gift from Mary O’Leary when Annette had explained our predicament of a lack of grillable food.
Kim stood, walked over to Daisy, and picked her up. Unlike before, she was no longer reluctant to be carried by Kim.
“Didn’t you notice?” Kim asked.
“What?”
“Daisy doesn’t like the fire,” Kim said. “It must be because of how we escaped that tunnel.”
“Should I tell them to put the barbecue out?”
Kim gave that a moment’s thought. “No. It’s not something she’ll be able to avoid.” She gave a sigh. “It’s a strange life we’ve found for ourselves. A strange place. It doesn’t feel real, yet it seems more real than anything I’ve ever known. What do you make of this business with Nilda?”
“I think that there’s more to it than Rob told us, but I don’t think he’s a murderer. Not that I’m any judge, and not that we can judge people for what they did out in the wasteland to survive. I think it more likely that they were in a situation where he saved himself but not Nilda’s son. Perhaps he even sacrificed Nilda’s son to save himself. I don’t know. I can come up with plausible theories, but that’s not what you’re meant to do, is it?”
“That’s the real question,” she said. “How do we decide? How do we judge? That’s what Mary’s puzzling over. Creating a judiciary.”
“I didn’t tell you about the body we found,” I said, and told her about the corpse in the university.
“I don’t know, Bill,” she said. “
It’s hard to remember what I imagined safety was going to be when we were out in the wasteland, but the reality is a lot harder than I’d ever dreamed. It’s like the period of grace is over, and the real work now begins. I don’t know where we should start, or what we’re going to do, but if it doesn’t get done, life will keep getting worse. It’s such a depressing realisation,” she added, “because it really means that the best we can hope for is that things stay the same.”
“That’s what Mary was getting at,” I said. “And George, too. I didn’t quite grasp it at the time. It’s why they’ve got me planning the election. It’s why there’s going to be an election. I mean, it would be far easier simply not bothering, and honestly, I don’t think anyone would object.”
“You’ve found your niche, then, and one not too dissimilar to before. That’s good.” She smiled, and in it I saw an echo of the torment that had led her to join the expedition north.
Fried eggs, charred fish, burnt rolls. It was a feast, and the company made it the best meal I’d ever tasted. Daisy wasn’t convinced by the toasted bread, but had been mollified with a jar of raspberry compote Mrs Dupont had given us a few days before.
Annette emptied half a jar of ketchup onto a fish fillet sandwich, took a bite and shook her head. “I miss burgers. I know we can’t have them again, but we could have ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” Kim asked.
“Sure,” Annette said. “Sholto was explaining it.”
“I was explaining why we couldn’t have it,” he said.
“No, you’re thinking about it wrong,” Annette said. “You said we need sugar, cream, and ice, right? Well, sugar’s something you grow, right? But for cream, and for burgers, you need cows.”
“True,” I said. “But there’s only four on the island. Fortunately one of them’s a bull, but it’s going to be years before we can spare any meat or milk.”
“Yeah, but we have the satellites now, don’t we?” she said. “So we could use that to find more cows.”
“I… I suppose,” I said. “Though I think we should use it to find survivors first.”
“I thought that’s what the radio was for,” Annette said.
