Wants of the Silent

by McPartlin, Moira;

  ‘Fair enough.’ Con said.

  ‘Where’s Merj?’ I had to know.

  ‘Gone, a long time ago,’ the man said. ‘He set us up in this deserted Urban and told us to wait, but we got tired of waiting. We’re on our own. Our own bosses, answerable to no one, see!’

  ‘Then why didn’t you come back to us?’ Con asked.

  He man nodded to the woman. ‘Would’ve killed her.’

  Con nodded. ‘She belonged to another man,’ he told me.

  ‘Are there any other operatives in the area?’ I asked.

  ‘No, they all cleared out too – to the north or the east, away from the floods. As far as we’re concerned Vanora deserted us. We tried to find the revolutionaries but the whole thing is one big shambles. We’ll wait for word of The Prince, but if he’s not here by next quarter we head north.’

  ‘Who’s this Prince?’

  ‘No one, a myth,’ Con said too quickly. ‘If you take Sorlie to the tower I’ll guarantee your safe return to the reservation.’

  The man shrugged and pointed to the crate. ‘Why can’t you take him? It isn’t far. We’ve this to take care of.’

  ‘What is it?’ Con knelt down and sniffed. ‘Animal?’

  ‘Give us a hand getting it across and we’ll show you. We’ll feed you before you go on your journey.’ He looked to his brother. ‘Although you don’t deserve it after that assault on me.’

  Con held his hand out for his brother to take, the other man shook it off. ‘Hey, come on, Al, what was I supposed to do?’

  Al bristled. ‘You could have walked up to me and said, “How’s it going, bro?”’ He brushed down his clothes. ‘Look at the state of me.’

  Even though they were of Vanora’s clandestine clan, they were in a better state than the caveman Kenneth had been when I first came across him. Both were clean and Al was shaven with only the finest line of a vanity moustache.

  ‘Get the crate onto the raft, we’ll tow it.’ The crate juddered, causing the occupant to grunt.

  ‘You haven’t kidnapped Vanora, have you?’ Con asked.

  ‘Very funny. Come on, let’s get going.’ Al said. He nodded to Con. ‘It’s fortunate that you turned up – we could do with a hand with the load. You can control the crate on the raft, the boy will fit in with us.’

  The water was murky and the swell rocked the boat. When the rope tightened on the tow we rocked even more fiercely. I clutched the sides as Al struggled with paddles to keep us afloat. When I looked back the raft was pitching madly. Con tried to hold the crate steady while struggling to stay on the raft. When we arrived at the other shore, the woman carefully stepped waist high into the water and guided the boat onto the shore. Al joined Con and they both eased the raft through the shallower water.

  Most of the bank was flat on this shore so we all dragged the raft with the crate until it was safely on land, then secured it to a large rusting metal ring that was riveted to the jutting sea wall.

  ‘OK, we can carry them from here.’ Al prised open the crate. Inside was a brute of an animal suckling four wriggling pink creatures with small bead eyes and snuffling snouts. Con laughed so loudly one of the young jumped in fright. ‘Where did you get them?’

  ‘Noiri,’ Al said.

  ‘What are they?’ I asked.

  ‘Piglets,’ Con said

  ‘And sow,’ Al followed.

  The woman picked up a piglet and snuggled it. It squirmed a bit then settled into her arms. She held it out to me.

  ‘Take it,’ Al said, ‘don’t let it go or we’ll never catch it.’ He pulled a rope from his waist and tied it round the neck of the stinking lump he called a sow.

  Ishbel

  Ishbel knew what the Blue Pearl badge signified but nibbled at that knowledge like a skelf in her thumb. She didn’t want to admit that Dawdle could somehow be mixed up with it, even though she knew Dawdle must have for years had access to Vanora’s group and therefore Vanora’s fanatics. But what did Ishbel have to fear of the knowledge?

  The Blue Pearl adored – no – they venerated Vanora. They had tried for many years to have Vanora come to their secret meetings, preach to her disciples, let their doubters learn from the great leader that they were right to follow her, make her their mortal goddess. But Vanora, unknown to the Blue Pearl, had scorned them. She’d been respectful of their requests in public but privately she called them kooks, ‘up-the-close weirdos’, whatever that meant.

  Ishbel knew she had two choices, confront Dawdle or keep schtum. They were at the base of the tower and he was the only one could take them up. What business was it of hers anyway?

  But wasn’t it a dangerous faction of her mother’s organisation? They were fanatics whose fundamental ideas wiped out all rational thought as to the sanctity of human life. They lived in the dark ages where the value of life was negligible. It wasn’t much different now but it was better. But it was still part of her mother’s organisation so what harm would it do to ask?

  ‘Why do you have a Blue Pearl badge?’ she asked Dawdle’s turned back. It was out before she thought. She watched colour flush his neck. Such a well-groomed neck, trimmed hair, she’d not noticed before. Noiri men were always scruffy, the women no better, no matter what their rank. Their hair in tangles, their clothes, though clean, were scuffed in some sort of uniform of grungy honour. All looked as though they lived and slept in their clothes, curled in a corner of their vans, which she supposed some of them did. Dawdle was scruffy but now she noticed that it was designer scruff. His nails were clean, even though hers were filthy. But it was the nape of his neck, the colour of which was now calming in his silence, which surprised her and betrayed the fact that he took a pride in his appearance. When he still refused to answer she moved to sit beside him.

  ‘It’s just that if you know the Blue Pearl they might know where she is.’ Why was she trying to appease him? She had a right to know. ‘They might be able to help.’

  ‘Ah don’t know any Blue Pearl.’

  A lie. She knew it and he knew she knew.

  ‘Nutters,’ Ishbel said. Was that another flash of pink on that clean shaven neck? His jaw definitely tightened. Good, thought Ishbel, let him be bothered. ‘Vanora finds them hilarious.’ She sneaked a look at Dawdle but his feelings were stowed.

  ‘Aye well, they’re nae concern ae mine. Let’s get crackin.’

  ‘Uh’m hungry,’ Reinya mumbled.

  ‘There’s food in the bag,’ Dawdle gruffed, motioning to the canvas bag stowed under the steps. Ishbel rooted in it.

  ‘Just make sure ye find only food.’

  She had him riled all right. She found some grainer bars and handed them out.

  He led them up the metal rung ladder attached to the tower base. It was late afternoon and the sky was metal grey but a fresh wind blew in from the sea. For once there was no rain but that wouldn’t last. They all breathed audibly in gulps, as if they had been incarcerated for years.

  The tower loomed upwards, disappearing into low cloud.

  ‘It looks stupid, doesn’t it?’ Reinya said. ‘What a waste o’ metal and effort.’

  Dawdle and Ishbel looked at each other. ‘It’s true though,’ Ishbel said.

  This State, so oppressed, so short of resources, filled with follies of rich men who could buy their way through reams of red tape and thumb their nose in the face of poverty. The fact that this belonged to a criminal overlord made it seem even worse, as if he should have known better.

  Rising water encroached the base of the tower and they had to stumble over broken railings and twisted, crumbling concrete to reach the eroded steps to the door.

  There was no guard. The electric door gaped open.

  ‘What the...?’ When Dawdle punched his finger into the lift control, nothing happened. ‘The generator’s out. Ah’ll nip up the stairs and see what’s what. You s
tay here.’

  ‘No, we all go.’

  Dawdle narrowed his eyes but Ishbel was past caring. Her trust had left her with the memory of the bag over her head.

  It took them longer than it should because Reinya was still groggy and dragged her feet.

  ‘Told ye we should’ve ditched her.’

  ‘I’m not leaving her.’ She dug Reinya in the back. ‘And you, Miss, don’t want left, in case a predator’s about.’ That got her moving. But Ishbel wasn’t joking, something in the crawl at her neck told her they weren’t alone.

  ‘Come on, you’ll enjoy the view from the top,’ Ishbel jollied.

  ‘View,’ the girl grumbled.

  They found the main room clear of some of the heavy items but a few scraps of smaller artefacts remained. The Mash was gone.

  ‘They haven’t left in a hurry, took their time tae clear up. Ah wonder where Jacques is?’

  ‘Look for something, anything,’ Ishbel said. ‘If Vanora was held here she’d have left a clue.’ Ishbel also looked for clues of Sorlie. Where was he? She tried her communicator again, maybe he’d be in range now. She’d got a good signal from here last time, she’d risk it. Nothing, only interception of the regular airwaves.

  ‘What the snaf, Ish? They’ll pick that up.’ Dawdle roared. He grabbed Reinya’s arm and propelled her to the door. ‘We need tae go. Now!’

  ‘Calm down. It’s Vanora’s frequency. It’ll take them at least an hour to unscramble it to pin down our coordinates.’

  An abandoned chess set lay out on one of the tables, stour covered the board. Ishbel was tempted to wipe it but her love of chess forbade her to walk past it without making a move at the very least. Something wasn’t right. It was a valuable set and yet it had been left. But that wasn’t it. The white queen and the black king had swapped places; the white king was missing from the board, leaving a dust-free square showing its recent abdication. What did it mean? Was it a signal to her from Vanora? But did Vanora even know she could play chess? Sorlie’s father, Dougie, had taught her to play so she could challenge Sorlie. At first she’d always confused the king and the queen and placed them in the wrong squares. Had Sorlie been here? Ishbel lifted the white queen. It was one of the Lewis Men but like the one that was lost from their set at the Base home years ago. She remembered Sorlie’s father had to find a replacement but it wasn’t quite right, the eye was wrong. This one had a distorted eye. Ishbel’s mouth drained dry, it was the same one. Jacques’ set was similar but this one was out of place, as if it never belonged anywhere.

  She rubbed the face of the queen, asking for a sign, but the distorted eye blanked her so she put it in her pocket. If it was a signal Sorlie would know she’d taken it.

  Reinya stood by the window peering through the widening mist at the ramshackle buildings that had once been an Urban, the broken-down pleasure beach now under water and reinstalled on a pontoon. The tsunami had covered it all and had toppled the tower but the mad, much younger, Monsieur Jacques had rebuilt the promontory before the river systems had failed and the waters rose for good and settled around the base. And now he was old and he too was missing.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Reinya asked.

  ‘We leave, hit higher ground, try tae make contact wi Freedom.’

  ‘‘ow can we get ‘igher than ‘ere?’ Reinya asked.

  Ishbel shrugged. ‘We have to try. Here we’re sitting ducks.’

  Sorlie

  ‘Someone’s following us, aren’t they?’

  Con sighed and put down the spy glass. ‘Yes,’ he said and handed the glass to me.

  A solitary figure walked over the marsh we had crossed just hours before.

  ‘The roads are scattered with solitary displaced people trying to secret a way outside the system,’ Con said as he followed my gaze. But he was lying, there was nothing secret here. This person wore a white hat, they wanted to be seen.

  As we pulled the boat out of the river and looked back across the waterway there they stood, quite blatantly waiting for us to see. A small, lone figure in a white hat, legs slightly apart as if they had trouble keeping balance, hands swinging in a pendulum as if revving up for some mad dash and splash across the strait. There was something familiar in the arm swing.

  ‘It’s…’

  ‘Ignore her.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘She’s been with us since we left the reservation.’

  He looked back across the river and pursed his lips, then turned back to help his brother with the crate.

  The silent woman stood by the shore side and shooed Harkin away with a flapping of her hands.

  ‘You can’t just leave her, she’s too far from home,’ I said.

  ‘She shouldn’t have come then, should she?’

  ‘You knew she was there, why didn’t you turn her away before?’

  ‘She doesn’t normally come so far.’

  ‘You can’t send her back, it’s dangerous. If the Military get her they’ll kill her or worse.’

  Con sighed and look back across the strait.

  ‘You should have sent her back before,’ I said again.

  He whirled on me. ‘Look, I’ve told you she never normally comes this far, see. To the crossroads and then she goes back. We’ve tried to keep her in but she’s a stravaiger, wanders, see. She knows the score, she’s been warned enough times. She’s not such a special that she can’t pass as normal, if they tested her, they’d know. She’d be sent back.

  ‘Back where?’

  ‘Her ancestors’ homeland. The Desert States. She’s special but also ethno-tainted. None of her colour shows much – it’s been diluted.’

  The word ‘diluted’ sent a shiver down me as I remembered Scud and how he suffered during the prisoner experiments. The patched skin of the other prisoners as we sprung them from the prison. The reversal process Kenneth worked on in Freedom to return the prisoners to pure native. But the ethno gene was different. The State didn’t bother with DNA manipulation; they tested and if there was a hint of ethno, back they went, back to their ancestors’ homelands, whether a war zone, a desert zone or underwater. Neither Purists nor Land Reclaimists cared about the outcome as long as Esperaneo was kept pure and the sparse resources went to the deserving few. Harkin’s dilution was a natural one occurring through years of mixed breeding. She was a mongrel like me.

  ‘She’s not moving,’ I said.

  Con sighed again then pushed the boat back into the water. ‘I’ll get her just now. She can come back with me when we’re rested and fed.’

  I didn’t realise I was smiling until it was wiped from my face the moment Con reached the other side and whacked a slap across Harkin’s face so hard she fell to the bank. She held a hand up to her face but he grabbed it away, hauled her to her feet and shoved her into the boat as if she were a piece of recyk.

  As he rowed back, Harkin sat with her head down, her hand cradling her face.

  She didn’t look at me as I helped land the boat. The woman waded into the water and put her arm around the girl. Con said something to her but the silent woman spat in his face.

  ‘Why’d you slap her?’ I spat too.

  ‘She’s to learn she can’t go traipsing round the countryside. Could put all the specials at risk.’

  I grabbed Con’s arm. ‘You had no right to strike her.’

  ‘Give it a rest, Mr Privileged. I should have throttled her.’ He brushed my fist off his arm.

  ‘She’s not your property.’

  ‘She’s as good as.’ As he squared to me his anger flared, but I’d felled bigger than him in wrestling bouts so stood my ground. He dropped his gaze first.

  As Con passed her she stuck her tongue out at him. It was so sudden in this violent scene that I sputtered a laugh. Harkin’s features didn’t budge but I’m sure a smile touched her chocolate eyes. Con
turned and stared us both down.

  The woman gestured to Al to take care of the boat and led Harkin away. Two days on the road and she was as scruffy as a fox, her hair in tangles, her face and bare feet clarty. She looked as though she’d enjoyed a dinner of mud.

  As they left, I noticed Con’s gaze follow Harkin, his expression soft.

  ‘You care,’ I said.

  ‘She was dumped at the gate as a week-old baby.’ His voice was hoarse with memory. ‘She didn’t even look special, but we suspected one of her parents was Privileged, the other an ethno mongrel.

  ‘She’d have been tested before chipping. She lived in my sister’s home because they had no offspring. We all loved her the minute she came through the gate. I was the one who spotted her differences. She never spoke for the first six years of her life.’

  Just then a light burst around us. The whole sky lit up with tracker flares.

  ‘Come on, let’s get under cover before the trackers come over,’ Al said, as he ushered us through a stone archway.

  They lived in the castle. It was ancient, medieval even, and looked as though it was the only structure not affected by the wave that hit the area thirty years before. All the other houses in the Urban were derelict, broken-down and stripped like midden shacks.

  ‘Almost everything ripped off when the wave hit. What wasn’t destroyed in the wave was reclaimed later and taken to the recyk for barter.’

  Con noticed me looking. ‘They say some people tried to return and rebuild the bones of their homes but the Noiri were in before them and anything left was picked clean and resold, refabricated or recyked. They stayed in tents on the fringes, they stayed in the castle but the sanitary conditions were appalling, cholera broke out, there was no medical care and no medicine so those who didn’t die cleared out to the High Lands. And now they’re scared to return because of the rising water levels.’

  The castle was solid rock and where tapestries had once hung there was hand paint daubed on the stone in the same way Kenneth had decorated his cave.