by Louise Welsh
The guitarist looked up; they were young. The hair beneath the hat was long and parted in the centre, the guitarist’s eyes hidden behind the sunglasses. The face might have been sweet, were it not for the wry cast of the rosebud mouth.
‘Aren’t you scared?’ It was a pink voice, small and sugar-coated.
The question threw Magnus. ‘Should I be?’ His answer sounded stiff, more aggressive than he meant.
Stevie crouched beside the child. ‘All the time. Are you?’
The guitarist looked at the fretboard balanced on their knees and drew their fingertips across the strings.
‘I try not to be. It helps to accept that you’re going to die. If you’re not afraid of death, you’re not afraid of anything.’
It was the kind of adolescent philosophising Magnus had grown used to from Shug. He said, ‘Pain can be worse than death. Everyone is afraid of pain.’
The guitarist nodded. ‘Maybe.’
The hat and glasses were like a disguise, the long hair a curtain in the shadows. Magnus realised he did not know whether the small figure was a boy or a girl.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Briar. Sometimes people call me Bri. I don’t mind.’
The name gave no clues to the child’s gender.
‘My name’s Magnus and this is Stevie. We’re looking for some lost kids. We heard your guitar and I recognised the tune, “Wade in the Water”. Why did you play that song?’
Briar ignored Magnus’s question. ‘What do you mean lost?’
Stevie said, ‘They went off with some people – dangerous people. They took a baby with them. Her name is Evie. Her mother wants her back.’
Briar plucked at the strings. The words of the song sounded in Magnus’s head again.
Wade in the water, wade in the water children, wade in the water …
Briar said, ‘I’ve not seen any new kids. Just you.’
Stevie said, ‘But there are others around? Other young people?’
‘Why aren’t you in a work team?’
The carpet of the shop was black and decorated with stars that had once been bright. It was powdered with fine sprinklings of dust. Dust clung to the guitarist’s oversized dark clothes and floppy hat too, making them look as if they’d been there a long time.
Magnus got to his feet. ‘We need to go. They could be anywhere by now.’
Briar raised his/her head to look at him. ‘It’s good that the song called you, but it’s not enough. You don’t look like gangers, but looks aren’t enough either. I need something more.’
Stevie said, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I need something more, before I can trust you.’
On the wall behind Briar’s head a fairy princess lifted the hem of her long white gown. The princess’s butter-yellow hair was wound into a knot. A blue ribbon was pinned around her throat by a diamond clasp. She held a matching bluebird on the finger of one hand. The bird had a coy expression on its face, as if it suspected it would not be long before he and the princess got down to doing the dirty.
Magnus said, ‘If you’re thinking of sending us off on a quest, forget it. I’ve got my hands full in that department.’
Briar’s smile was sudden. Dentistry was a dead art, but it was still a shock to see the jagged teeth behind the sugarplum lips.
Stevie got to her feet. She opened her jacket and pulled the lining out of her pockets.
‘We’re unarmed and we want nothing, except any news you might be able to give us about Willow, Shug and little Evie.’
Briar said, ‘You want more than that. You want weapons. You want to know how things are organised here. You want to stay alive. You want a lot.’
Apart from Shug, a gun was what Magnus wanted most in the world. He shook his head. ‘We didn’t ask for any of that.’
‘But you want it. Or would you prefer to step outside with nothing to protect you from the dogs? The New Corporation are trying to get rid of them, but the packs keep getting bigger.’
The sweet voice was grating on Magnus’s nerves. He took a deep breath. ‘This was a mistake.’
Briar held up her/his left hand. A small cross was tattooed in the centre of the palm.
‘Want to know why I played that song?’
The thought of Shug was like a magnet, pulling Magnus from the store, but the song had been the thing that lured him there. ‘Yes.’
The child got to his/her feet and took off the dark glasses. Briar’s irises were so pale they were almost translucent.
‘It’s about escaping slavery. Slaves told each other to wade in the water, because it would throw the dogs that were hunting them off their scent. But it’s also about the Israelites crossing the River Jordan and escaping their slave masters.’ Briar added, ‘Israel was a country. The Israelites came from there.’
Magnus made no reply. He already knew the history of the song.
Stevie said, ‘You stand for freedom. So do we. If Shug and Willow decide they want to stay in Glasgow, we’ll let them, on condition they give us little Evie.’
She made no mention of making them account for the murder of Candice and Bjarne.
Briar shook his/her head. ‘It’s not enough to be for something. To be truly effective, you have to be against things.’
Magnus laughed. ‘What are you against?’
Briar flashed the wide grin, revealing the jagged, bomb-blast teeth. The laconic air was gone.
‘Pretty much everything.’
A howl stretched across the mall followed by a chorus of barks. Briar shoved the guitar onto his/her back and drew an assault rifle from the folds of the dusty, black jacket. Magnus swore and Stevie took a step forward, ready to grab the weapon.
‘Take it easy.’ Briar aimed the gun at them and held up his/her tattooed hand. ‘This isn’t for you.’ The howling sounded again. Fear tugged at the guitarist’s mouth. ‘Swear I can trust you?’
Magnus drew a cross over his heart with his finger. ‘You can trust us.’
Briar looked at Stevie who held up her right hand. ‘I swear.’
The barking was close enough for them to hear the dogs’ individual timbres – high yelps and gruff, snarling growls.
Briar looked in the direction of the noise. ‘I guess I either trust you, or let you become dog food.’
It felt wrong for Stevie and Magnus to shelter behind the small figure, but Briar led the way, out into the main shopping centre, the assault rifle clutched in both hands. They jogged through the hall, raising plumes of dust, the brim of Briar’s black hat bobbing. Magnus felt the dust catch the back of his throat and tried not to cough. It was affecting the guitarist too, he noticed. The child set a brisk pace, but as they crossed the hall, he/she held a hand up to their face and coughed.
He had thought they were heading outside, but Briar led them across the atrium towards a door marked STAFF ONLY. A broken keypad was fixed to the wall by the door, wires lolling from it. Briar gave a quick glance towards the noise of the dogs, then took a key from a bag at his/her waist, unlocked the door and ushered Magnus and Stevie into a small stairwell.
‘This way.’
Briar’s running shoes were dusty black too, silent against the concrete stairs. Magnus felt his chest bunch. The guitarist must have heard his laboured breath because he/she turned to look at him. ‘Not long now.’
They reached a landing and another locked entrance. Briar led them along a white corridor punctuated by doors. This section of the building had clearly been the centre of the mall’s operations. Instructions for employees to BE VIGILANT still hung on the walls. Are they wearing a big coat to hide something? asked a poster, decorated with the image of a swarthy man bundled in an oversized parka: SEE IT, SAY IT, SORT IT!
Magnus heard a movement from a room beyond and felt a sudden panic.
Briar raised a fist and gave a complicated series of knocks. There was the sound of a key turning in the lock and the door opened.
Forty-Four
Magnus
braced himself for a room full of young revolutionaries, but the man on the other side of the door was in his sixties: lean, with a weathered face and grey beard. He ushered Briar into the room with obvious relief.
‘You made it.’ The old man gave the small figure a hug that knocked the wide brimmed hat sideways. He kissed Briar on the forehead, both cheeks and the rosebud mouth, and then shook Magnus and Stevie’s hands. ‘Welcome, I’m Ivan.’
Stevie and Magnus mumbled their names. Ivan clapped them both on their shoulders, as if making sure they were real.
‘We saw you from up here and were worried the dogs might attack you. Briar volunteered to go to your aid.’
Magnus looked at the guitarist. ‘So all that, about not trusting us, was a game?’
Briar shrugged. ‘Not a game. Ivan’s too trustworthy. That’s why I volunteered to go.’
Ivan was dressed in lightweight boots, walking trousers and a heavy shirt, topped by a fleecy gilet. It was an outfit designed for survival.
He shook his head. ‘A slight exaggeration.’
Briar’s eyes met his. ‘You took me into your home before you knew me. I could have slit your throat easy.’
The old man stroked the child’s hair. ‘Just as well I’m a good judge of character.’
The room was bigger than the modest door had led Magnus to anticipate, its far side dominated by a large, bow window that looked down onto the central shopping hall. A bank of switches and microphones sat beneath the window. Most of the furniture in the room had been pushed to one side, except for a couch standing in the middle of the room. A figure lay on it, bundled beneath blankets. An old lady sat by their side, her white hair cropped short, like a nun’s. She too was dressed in walking gear. She spoke to Briar without acknowledging Stevie and Magnus.
‘Grace is no better. I think she may be slipping away.’
Briar went to the couch. Stevie and Magnus’s eyes met.
Ivan caught their look. ‘It’s not infectious. Grace has reached the end of her time. I suspect she won’t be sorry to go.’
Stevie went to the window and looked down on the abandoned mall, as if a natural death was nothing to remark upon.
‘The dogs have found their way in.’
Magnus joined her. A dozen or so dogs were lolloping across the concourse, raising clouds of dust. They nosed the ground, keeping close to each other, making their own looping trails through the space. Magnus searched for the pit bull that had been at the head of the pack but could not find it.
‘I think it’s a different lot.’
Ivan joined them at the window. ‘The dogs are one of the city’s biggest problems, but they help un-allied people like us. Bream’s squads are reluctant to patrol, except in numbers and numbers are what he still doesn’t have.’
The old lady tending to dying Grace started to hum a song. Magnus did not recognise the tune, but it made him think of home; the outgoing tide sucking the shale with it; a hiss of waves, a tumble of sand and stones. The pink sky streaked with gold as the sun went down. It would be good music to die to.
Briar had taken off the wide brimmed hat and placed a hand on the dying woman’s forehead. The guitarist’s long hair fell forward as he/she bent over the couch, whispering a prayer. The sound of Grace’s rattling breath reached over the song.
Ivan said, ‘Excuse me.’
He knelt beside the couch and took one of the dying woman’s hands in his. Briar reached for Ivan’s spare hand and the old man joined in the whispered prayer. It was a scene worthy of Rembrandt. The old couple and the dying woman an augur of what was to come; the young guitarist a reminder of what had been.
Down below, the dogs circled the shopping centre concourse, lean and battle-scarred, their ribs visible, bellies concave. They reminded Magnus of photographs that had once illustrated appeals for rescued pets.
Briar had unstrapped the assault rifle as they’d entered the room and set it on a filing cabinet next to the door. Magnus glanced at it. Stevie followed his gaze. She raised her eyebrows. Magnus gave a small shrug. The rattling breaths coming from the couch had grown louder. It would be a simple thing to make for the door, grab the rifle, demand the building’s keys from Briar and be gone.
He whispered, ‘I don’t think I can do it.’
Stevie nodded. ‘Me neither, but these aren’t the people we were hoping to make contact with. There’s no point in staying here.’
For a moment Magnus thought she was going to summon the ruthlessness she had shown baby Mercy at Scrabster, but Stevie crossed to where the trio were holding vigil. She crouched beside the guitarist and whispered something in his/her ear. Briar nodded and spoke softly to Ivan. The old man closed his eyes. He leaned over and placed a kiss on Grace’s forehead, then gripped Briar’s shoulder and used it to help him get to his feet. He touched the dying woman’s cheek and walked slowly to the window where Stevie and Magnus stood. Gravity had won control of his face. The bags beneath his eyes sagged, his mouth drooped.
‘Briar says you’re looking for a kidnapped baby.’
Magnus nodded. ‘Two teenagers and a kidnapped toddler. We know they came to Glasgow, but we don’t know where they are now.’
Ivan spoke gently, like a man used to breaking bad news.
‘The baby will have been given as a reward to a childless couple unable to have children. There are a lot of them since the Sweats, so many I’ve wondered if there’s a link between infertility and immunity.’ He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. ‘You won’t get it back. Are the teenagers male or female?’
Stevie said, ‘We have to get Evie back …’
Ivan put a comforting hand on her arm and repeated his question. ‘Are the teenagers male or female?’
Magnus said, ‘One of each. They’re both around fifteen years old.’
Ivan slipped his glasses back onto his nose. ‘The boy will probably be in one of the recycling factories. The girl … if she’s lucky, she’ll be there too.’
Stevie rubbed her face. ‘And if she’s unlucky?’
Ivan looked to where Briar was crouched over the dying woman.
‘Girls are especially vulnerable. There are comfort stations on Glasgow Green. The sex workers are meant to be volunteers but …’
Stevie said, ‘I’ll shoot anyone who touches Willow.’
Magnus squeezed her arm. ‘We’ll find her.’
The old man took off his spectacles again and rubbed the bridge of his nose before replacing them.
‘The baby will be well looked after. I advise you to let it go. Your chances of getting the other children back are slim. Life has become labour intensive since the Sweats. There’s a lot to do and not enough people to do it. Some newcomers are …’ Ivan hesitated, searching for the right word. ‘… disadvantaged. There are rewards for people who can supply the city with workers.’
Magnus remembered the salvage workers he had seen loading a cart; their weary trudge and slumped shoulders. ‘By workers, you mean slaves.’
The old lady had resumed her song. Ivan looked towards where she and Briar were hunched over the dying woman.
‘Provost Bream is an exceptional man, charismatic, single-minded. He’s determined to get things up and running again and he won’t allow a little squeamishness to get in the way. We might not agree with his methods, but we have to accept that he has a point. The world was always unfair. Since the Sweats, divisions have simply become a little starker.’
Magnus took in the dreary office, the dying woman shuddering her last breaths on the couch.
‘You talk like you know Bream personally.’
Ivan looked towards the window, down into the shopping centre where the dogs had settled in the dust, small groups curling against each other for warmth and comfort.
‘I do … did. We were amongst the first to return to the city. I thought we were going to build a place worth living in. Instead …’ His words tailed away.
Magnus recalled his own poor judgement. He had welcomed Bell
e and her companions to the islands. Now Adil was dead, Sky risking her life on the journey back to the Orkneys, Shug and Willow enslaved and little Evie lost, perhaps for ever. He rubbed a hand across his face.
Stevie said, ‘We were told there was an opposition. We came here looking for them.’
Ivan frowned. ‘Here, specifically?’
‘We were told the opposition was located in this district.’
‘Then I fear we’re in trouble. We need to move as soon as …’ Ivan glanced at the couch where the old lady lay and his meaning was clear. He turned to Stevie and Magnus again. ‘During the Sweats some people claimed to have seen Jesus walking down streets where the dead were piled high. In times of trouble, rumours and superstition abound. There are pockets of opposition. I’ve seen signs. Anti-Bream graffiti on walls, valuable salvage scattered across roads. But most people are relieved to have a strong man at the helm. They see a group of kids being brought into the city and believe we’re saving them from starvation.’ Ivan raised a hand to his mouth and coughed. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and spat into it. ‘Odds are, your kids have been processed and put to work by now. I’d check the main recycling plant. It’s down by the river in the old Fish Market. Bream has an idea that cold helps preserve salvage, but it’s hard on the recruits. They sleep where they work.’
Magnus shook his head. ‘Shug and Willow have been brought up with freedom. They’re rebellious, mouthy – they won’t knuckle under and accept orders.’
Ivan made a face. ‘You’d be surprised.’
The old woman’s singing had been wavering on softly in the background. Now it faltered. Briar called Ivan’s name. The old man muttered an apology and hurried to the couch.
Magnus felt the uselessness of it all. He sunk to his haunches.
Stevie crouched beside him. ‘We’ll find them.’
Magnus shook his head. ‘I keep seeing Adil swinging from that rope. Christ, we don’t even have a gun between us.’
The sound of gentle sobbing reached across the room. Magnus stood up and wiped his face with his sleeve. The rattling breaths had ended. The body lay flat on the couch, a sheet smoothed over its features. Briar was crying. Ivan put an arm around the small figure and said, ‘Would that we could all have such a peaceful death.’
