Blackthorn

by Terry Tyler

  I can feel tears welling up 'cause I'm so angry, but I don't want to give him the chance to do his spiritual guide bit with me, so I blink them back.

  "I'm so worried for him," I say. "He didn't get ill last winter, but what about this year? Or if the pigs start another illness? If he can't work, they'll get evicted, and Doctor Paul says that if you don't get the right food you're more likely to get poorly and die, 'cause that puts you in the venerable groups―"

  "The vulnerable groups, yes."

  Okay, so I said the fucking word wrong.

  He rubs his Jesus beard and frowns to himself, like he's deep in thought about what to do. Dunno why―it's not hard to work the fuck out, is it? Jay needs more money, or more free food. End of story.

  "Are you going to help, then? You could ask Haystack to give Brook another job, or start an emergency food place, with your donations, so that people what haven't got much don't go hungry."

  He stretches his strong, sexy arms up, and does this big sigh.

  "It's hard, Evie. People can be less likely to help themselves if they know they can rely on handouts, and anyway I can't make those decisions; I don't play a part in the politics of Blackthorn."

  "It's not politics, it's people going hungry! And Jay's tried everything―he can't even get more cleaning work 'cause all the hours have been given to those Central refugees. You could ask the governor, couldn't you? If the Light says we've all got to be nice to each other, the least Wolf North can do is make sure no one starves―and there's always enough for them up the city centre and the East End, isn't there?"

  He nods, and strokes that damn beard again.

  "You're right, of course. The problem with asking for a job for Brook is that I'm not sure he's actually capable of doing one. What with his alcohol problem―and he hasn't accepted the Light; he might find that his life improves, if only he would―"

  "Yeah, well, Jay has, he believes in all that stuff you said, and his life hasn't got any better, has it?"

  "Are you sure? Whatever else is going on in his life, he's always positive and cheerful, isn't he? I believe that in taking care of his father, he's found the fulfilment that comes from being truly selfless."

  I daren't open my mouth in case I start swearing at him.

  He holds out his hands to me. "Jay is living in the Light, Evie. The Light is taking care of him, nourishing his soul. Remember when I went out for those few weeks, back last autumn, to test my faith―"

  "Jay'd be better off out there than he is here! At least he could scavenge, but living in Blackthorn is shit if you can't afford to buy food!"

  He ignores that. He just carries on. "Out there, Evie, the Light took care of me, as he is taking care of Jay―he's provided him with a wonderful friend like you, hasn't he?"

  "Yes, but I can't afford to feed him, and it's his body that needs nourishment, not his soul."

  "They're of equal importance; without a spiritual life we walk a bleak and empty path―"

  I've had enough. "Ryder. Pack this shit in for a minute and talk sense. If he doesn't get enough to eat he'll die, and then he won't be walking any bloody paths. Are you going to help him, or what?"

  His smile drops; he pushes himself away from the table, says, 'Okay,' and walks into his kitchen, shutting the door behind him. Have I made him too cross? As I sit there, my anger fades and I feel guilty for giving him a hard time.

  When he comes back, it's like I'm seeing the real Ryder again. My friend, not Blackthorn's spiritual guide. He hands me a huge bag; I look inside. He's packed up a whole loaf, a bag of scones, a lump of cheese and a pack of bacon (which I don't mind admitting I'm tempted to nick), sausages, pickles, smoked fish, butter, vegetables―it's enough to let Jay and his dad eat well for at least a week.

  I look up at him. "You can spare all this?"

  He shrugs. "I can go to the city centre market and just take what I like."

  "Fuck. Really?"

  "Really."

  "What, you don't have to pay for it?"

  He sits down. "I don't get a wage, Evie. Wolf offered me one, but I didn't think I should be paid for what I do. But I need stuff, the same as everyone else, so this is the deal we struck."

  "But that means you could get more than you need, for Jay―"

  He shakes his head. "If I did, word would get around, and I'd have everyone knocking on my door. Yes, I can take what I want, but Lieutenant Ward has the stall-holders keep a record; if I suddenly start helping myself to vast amounts, he'll want to know why."

  I look in the bag again. "Is this supposed to last you, then?"

  He shrugs his shoulders.

  I frown. "So you're going without, for Jay?"

  "I won't starve; prayer group attendees often bring me cakes, more than I can eat; I usually just share them out. And I have to practise what I preach, don't I?"

  I really do feel guilty now. "So, your new job―is it better? Better than when you were a traveller, I mean? When you were free?"

  "Freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be. You get so you want somewhere to call home, after a while; I'd come to that stage, I think." For a minute he looks kind of sad. "But everything comes at a cost."

  "What's the cost of this, then?"

  I sit and wait for him to tell me, but he doesn't. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again.

  "C'mon, what?"

  "Oh, nothing―just lack of personal freedom, I suppose. But that comes with any commitment―"

  I get this feeling he wants to say more. "Owt else?"

  "What?"

  "The cost. You seem like there's something else."

  "Oh, no, nothing else―just that―I dunno, it's more than I imagined―"

  "What do you mean? How?"

  I wait, but that seems to be that, so I busy myself making sure everything in the bag is good and safely packed, and when I look up again he's got his spiritual guide face on again. He opens the door, kisses me on the cheek, then puts his hand to his chest.

  "Live in the Light," he says.

  "I'll try." I grin when I say that, in the way that would have made him grin back, before, but the old Ryder has disappeared back behind his god.

  Jay is embarrassed and ashamed that I went to Ryder for him, but he's so made up when he sees all the food that he reckons he can deal with it. He tells me this with his mouth full of smoked fish, a crust of bread in one hand and lump of cheese in the other. Even Brook eats a decent meal that night; probably the first bit of solid nourishment he's had in days. He's actually sober when I go round there, 'cause they've got no money, and he cuts up the vegetables so Jay can make a good stew, using the bacon. He's being nice, too, asking me about all this Light stuff and what it's all about. For the first time, I can see the person he might be if he wasn't a drunk, and I get what Jay means about still loving him 'cause he's his dad.

  But ten days later it's all gone, and a week after that, I go down with some scraps, only to be told by their neighbour that Brook nicked Jay's money to take to Clem's while he was asleep, and Jay was caught stealing from the chuck-out bin up the market, and is serving a week in the jail block.

  "It was that or a fine. Five crowns, which obviously he ain't got, or a week in a cell," Cal tells me. "Still, at least he'll get fed." He peers at my bag of scones from the bakery. "What y' got there, then?"

  I'd rather give it to him, but he's got his own cleaning job up the market and he lives alone, and Jay would want me to take care of his dad. The door of the tumbledown shack swings open as I knock on it; I find Brook poking at the stove, trying to light some crappy little pieces of wood.

  "Came to give you this," I say, without smiling, and shove the bag at him. "Well, it's for Jay, but he's not here, is he?"

  Brook stands up, sniffs, and wipes a grimy hand across his nose. "I ain't seen him for a couple of days, pet. You don't know where he is, do you?"

  For a moment I think he's actually concerned, but then I see that his hands are shaking. Oh, I get it. He's got no money. I've se
en that before, with drunks.

  "You don't know? He's in jail for a week. For stealing food."

  Get this. He actually bursts out laughing.

  "Ha, I wondered where the little bugger was! Well, good on him. That'll show 'em, right?" Snatching the bag from me, he dives in, grabs a scone and stands there, chomping it and grinning, with crumbs all over his beard.

  I give him the most disgusted look I can, but he just carries on grinning and chomping. Probably nothing out of the ordinary; I'm guessing people look at him like that all the time.

  It's time for May's South Gate market. Now that spring is here, many of the Boltwick people who went a-wandering have returned, but they're all buying stuff like seeds and fertiliser, not fancy fruit tarts. There are travellers, though; it's good to chat to them and find out what's going on in the rest of the world.

  "We're going up Lindisfarne," says one smelly old git who tells me his name is Griff, and offers me a grimy hand to shake. "Used to go down Norfolk to work on them crab boats, but the last couple of years they wouldn't take us. Bunch of snotty cunts they are."

  "At Lindisfarne they give you all sorts. For nowt," says his woman friend. She peers across my display. "Y' got any going cheap?"

  I'm ready to knock her back if she tries to touch anything; bad enough that her dirty sleeve keeps hovering over a huge beef and potato that I made. It's got a pastry cow on the lid; took me ages.

  I get rid of them by giving them a sad, flat little plum tart (made by Thora), for only two chips.

  I meet some nice people, too. A small group down from Scotland, heading to Cornwall; they've worked for Blackthorn currency at a farm in Northumberland, and buy loads, including the cow pie. One thing I love about the market is how you meet people from all over; during my break I listen to them sharing their news and views.

  'Stay well clear of Central; that Welsh mob are running out of workers. They're out on the prowl at night, forcing people to go with them. You gotta make sure you're in a group of at least three before you bed down, if you're within fifty miles of that place.'

  'The bandit situation's calming down with this good weather, but I still wouldn't want to be living in one of those small settlements.'

  'What this country needs is someone in charge of the whole show, and proper law enforcement. Seems like human decency's all gone to pot.'

  'Yeah, and like everyone's only out for what they can get, and they don't care how they get it.'

  When I'm packing up I'm surprised by a visit from Lieutenant Hemsley, who says he saw me chatting to the travellers, and asks if I got a chance to spread the word of the Light. I stop myself saying 'fuck that', and answer that no, I'm sorry, I didn't. He says, "Never mind," then asks me what I 'divined from their conversations'.

  "You mean what did they say?"

  He gives me one of his weird tight nods, and I go ahead and tell him.

  He's not too bad for a Lieutenant, actually. Not like Parks, Ogg and Slovis, who are right arseholes. Ogg and Slovis are the bullies who kept the protest marches in order. Nowt they like more than giving a shacker a good kicking; bet they're well pissed off now that we're all behaving ourselves. Hemsley's the one we see the most, though, 'cause he's in charge of our bit of the south wall. He's a funny bugger, but at least he doesn't throw his weight around.

  "Thank you, Evie," he says, when I've told him everything the travellers said. I like that he knows my name. He's got his hands behind his back, and he keeps nodding, with this 'hmm' look on his face. "This has certainly given me food for thought. I appreciate your input very much."

  "Y' welcome!" I smile brightly. "Can I take one of them big pies home, then?"

  His mouth shifts around a bit; I think he's trying to smile, but he looks more like he's scared he might have to make a run for the shitter.

  He says, "Of course. You've certainly earned it."

  I've got nothing to lose. "Can I have two? One for my mum?"

  He opens his funny little piggy eyes wide, as wide as they will go, and says, "Go on then. But don't push it."

  He watches me as I take two chicken and mushrooms, but as soon as his back's turned I slip in two cheese and potato pasties; Jay's coming out the day after tomorrow.

  When you're a shacker, if you don't 'push it', you get nowt.

  Hemsley is just standing there, doing nothing, then after a minute or so he turns back to me, and suddenly I understand. He turned his back so I could take more without him seeing.

  "Are you about done here now, then?" he asks.

  "Yeah. My dad and his mate are coming to take the stall down."

  "Well, thank you for all your hard work."

  I grin. "It's a pleasure!"

  "We're all working together for one aim." He puts his hand to his chest, and holds up his palm, for me to touch. Bloody hell, I've never been offered a chest-palm from a lieutenant before. I don't know why, but I get this devil in me. Even though I've decided I like him.

  "I ain't a believer, Mr Hemsley. So I don't do that―that thing."

  His little eyes open wide again. "I'm surprised. And disappointed. A bright, hard-working young lady like you would find her life so enriched by accepting the Light."

  I give him my biggest smile. "Aye, maybe! But I do alright without it, thanks all the same."

  He nods, like he's considering that, and walks off. He didn't even try to persuade me. Well, he's got my vote, if they ever do have elections round these parts.

  And he called me a 'young lady'. No one's ever called me that before.

  Chapter 15

  Byron Lewis V

  I have a new duty; as well as the lookout and patrolling, I must take a couple of shifts a week guarding Ryder Swift's church.

  It's open all the time so the people of Blackthorn can commune with the Light whenever they feel the need, but there's a coal store for the heaters and plenty of other stuff worth thieving, so it needs a constant guard, in case any of our fine population abandon Ryder's teachings for as long as it takes to nick the odd candle.

  Today, Sunday, I'm on guard during the week's main gathering. Even the standing room at the back is jam-packed; everyone wants to hear Ryder's words.

  Once the meeting begins, I wander up to my place at the side of the stage, to listen and observe.

  At each gathering, Ryder addresses a different aspect of our new 'life in the Light'.

  This morning's discussion is, he tells us, about temptation of a sexual nature.

  Not much of that happening right now as Moor House, the brothel, was closed down in December, the girls given shared shacks and jobs on food production. I've heard that its regular patrons were none too happy about this, but Ryder decreed that the practice was demeaning to the women, and did not fit in with this new-found respect we're all supposed to suddenly have for each other.

  Today, I see a few shifty expressions as Ryder begins his speech.

  "Everyone, even the happiest of married people, can fall prey to temptation once in a while," he says, in a matey sort of way, as if to convey that he too is no stranger to the occasional illicit bonk.

  A hum of agreement rumbles around the room, and I detect relief on some faces; the great Ryder is human, too.

  "You know how it happens―times are hard and maybe you're having more rows than usual, because that's just how it goes in long-term relationships. And then up pops your partner's friend―you know, that cute one you've always got along with." He smiles. "It's the easiest thing in the world to develop an attraction―to maybe take things a bit too far, even."

  Whispers and amused giggles. I notice a few people look at their partners in an accusatory fashion, too.

  "What I want to talk to you about today is that third person. Has anyone here today ever been in that situation?" He looks around the room. "Hands up, if you like! Come on, no pressure―and no judgement, either."

  A few hands creep upwards; folk are turning to each other, smiling hesitantly. One or two are egging each other on to put u
p their hands.

  Ryder smiles round, sharing the odd joke with some of those who've put their hands up, fielding a few quips.

  Then, in an instant, his smile fades. "Do you regret it? Did you understand the damage a so-called innocent flirtation can cause?"

  Silence.

  The hands edge back down.

  And that's when I notice her. Indra. Sitting down to my right, at the far end of a group consisting of her flatmates, Pansy and Lily, and Lily's boyfriend; she is almost hidden from my view by a pillar.

  I haven't seen her for some weeks. I've stopped visiting her; she's never in, and I got fed up with hearing Lily and Pansy ranting about her.

  "Oh, she's shagging that Jasper again. Any woman who'd do that to another woman―well, they go right down in my estimation."

  "She's making a right fool out of herself, and it's not like he's ever going to leave his wife for her; he's got kids."

  "His wife knows; poor Ruby's in a right state!"

  Now, Indra's face is white. Her head drops forward, a curtain of silky hair covering her face.

  "It's the easiest thing in the world to let it happen," Ryder is saying, hands on the lectern that was made with love by a Light-devout carpenter. "Because it's so thrilling, isn't it? The shared secret, something to put a spring in your step, brighten your days―and you kid yourself that it's just a bit of fun, that no one will get hurt, that you're being careful and nobody will find out." Pause. "I've been there. I have; I'm no saint. But I wish I hadn't, because it always―always―ends in tears, for all concerned."

  He goes to sit on the edge of the stage, one leg bent up while he leans his elbow on it, dead casual. The matey approach.

  "If you've been there, too, you know that the pain caused by these secret affairs lasts longer than any thrill. The Light teaches us to care about the feelings of others as much as we do about our own―so if your new admirer has a partner waiting for them at home, I'm asking you to think of that person before you dive in. Lust is incredibly powerful, I know, and new love one of the most wonderful emotions we can experience, but we need to save it for one we can love without guilt. Accepting the Light isn't just about wanting to go to the Clearing when you die. If you say you accept, you are making a pledge to live in the Light. To think about the decisions you make, and how they affect others."