by Terry Tyler
He carries on in this vein for a while, answering questions from his eager audience, admitting the consequences of his own, all too human failings, and I listen with mild interest.
He's just talking about the guilt he felt when he saw the pain he'd caused another man by bonking his wife, several years before, when movement distracts my eye, and I look up in time to see Indra dashing out of the hall.
Sod it. I'm sure Ryder can manage without me; they're all too wrapped up in thoughts of illicit fumblings to bother about nicking candles.
I find Indra outside, cross-legged on the grass, sobbing.
"You okay?"
Remember, I'm not good at this stuff.
Tears run down her pale little face; I'm reminded of the girl we found collapsed over the rotting bodies of her husband and brother in the ruins of Mulgrave.
"You know, don't you?"
I kneel down next to her. "Know what?"
"What I've been doing―me and Jasper."
"I've heard, yeah."
She sniffs and rubs her eyes. "His wife found out, so he said we had to stop, but then he came back, and―I love him, I thought he was going to leave her, I really did, but I don't think he will now." She bows her head, and begins to cry again. "I know it's wrong, but I can't stop seeing him―twice a week is better than nothing at all, 'cause I was so miserable when he ended it."
Without thinking, I reach over and stroke her head. "You seem pretty miserable now."
"It's 'cause of what Ryder said―I felt like it was aimed at me―"
"Of course it wasn't. You just feel that way because you're so wrapped up in it."
She looks up at me with red, watery eyes. "I accepted the Light, though, and I am trying to be a better person, I know it's bad, but I can't give him up, I love him so much. It was just―hearing what Ryder said, it's like he was telling me. Warning me."
A fresh bout of sobbing commences. I feel sorry for her because, what the hell, as the great Ryder himself said, we're most of us guilty of the odd ill-advised grope, but it's something she's got to work out for herself.
She wipes her eyes and looks up at me, all wide eyed―and what she says next catches me completely off-guard.
"It was because I was so lonely. I thought that―well, you know, when you kept coming to see me, I thought we were going to be together. You and me."
Oh, shit. "Indra―I'm sorry―it's not―look, I'm just not looking to share my life with anyone."
"Well I know that now, don't I? And I know Pansy and Lily don't like me, and I felt so alone, and then I met Jasper, and I can't stand to lose him, I just can't."
I don't know what to say. "I hate seeing you like this, I really do."
She reaches out and grabs my hand. "Then look after me."
"I'm trying, I―"
"No, I mean, proper look after me. Let me move in with you. We could get married, just to make it okay with Haystack, but you don't even have to be a real husband if you don't want, and I'll stop seeing Jasper, I won't get in your way, I'm a good cook, and a great shag."
I stroke the little hand that grips mine. "I'm sorry, Indra, but it's just not what I want. I like living on my own. Listen, there are stacks of single men in Blackthorn who would be made up to have you as their girlfriend―just give it time. Finish this thing with Jasper, make some other friends, and it'll all fall into place. Honestly."
She jerks her hand away from me, and springs up. "You don't know that! I'm all alone, and―and now the Light knows what a bad person I am, I won't get to the Clearing, so I'll never see my brother again!"
You probably won't anyway, because my bet is that it doesn't exist. No. Best not. "You've made a mistake, that's all. You're not a bad person."
She wails, hugging herself. "I am, though. My husband was a right bastard so I cheated on him, just 'cause I was so unhappy―and the Light must know about that, too, mustn't he? I think he's punishing me for it―and I just want to be with my brother but I've messed it all up!"
"Hey―"
I reach out for her again, but she zooms off down the path, and to be honest I haven't got the energy to go after her. She doesn't want me, anyway. She just wants someone. Her brother. This is about her grief, that's all. I can see this, but I don't have the words―or the emotional capacity―to help her.
Damn it, I only wanted to give her a chance. If all this Light rubbish had started before I met her, I wonder if I'd have brought her here at all.
Over the next week or so, I bump into Indra a couple of times and we stop to exchange words, but I can't stand that reproachful look in her eyes, and she makes digs about 'everyone' letting her down, so I get away as quickly as I can without seeming actively rude.
I feel so weighed down by Blackthorn's glorious rebirth. Not everyone is along for the ride, though. Little factions here and there are anti, and vocal about it. One small group of teachers, for instance; a woman called Moonlight, who worked at the starter school, refused to teach the children about the Light, as per Lieutenant Lincoln's instructions. She said she wouldn't teach something faith-based as fact―then the parents were up in arms because they didn't want their children taught by a non-believer.
She's gone, now; I don't know the details. Indra told me she was in class when Moonlight was called away for an interview with Lieutenant Lincoln, and that was the last anyone saw of her.
"I went to Haystack and said I was happy to teach the Light, if they don't want to. He just laughed in my face and said, 'A married man's floozy teaching the kids? That'd be worse than a non-believer!'"
Others keep their thoughts to themselves, like I do.
I see Evie, sometimes, on her way to her shift; we wave, and pass the time of day. We make the odd dig about the devout, and I feel she wants to say more, but I'm a guard; she won't know whose side I'm on.
I know Blackthorn is a better place now, but I can't help wishing Ryder Swift had taken his vision anywhere but here.
Summer has arrived, the weather is fine, and scouts sent out as far as Thoresby report that the bandit situation has improved greatly, now that there's work to be had on farms and in coastal villages. Thus, I have persuaded Hemsley to let me patrol alone.
When I visit Boltwick, I am pleased to see that the rebuilding is coming along well. Those who didn't accept the offer of a place in our huts have taken in assorted wanderers ready to hang up their boots, and Central refugees whose own fledgling settlements were overrun by bandits in the winter.
Wandering through their quiet roads, I feel like sanity has returned. Here, there are no smiling Jesus lookalikes with their visions. The people are too busy staying alive.
I spoke too soon.
I take a walk out to Boltwick on this fine first day of June, planning to visit Sam, who kept his small farm defended and lost no family members during the unrest.
I feel the tension ebbing away as I enter the village, Blackthorn receding into the distance. Not for the first time, I consider asking if there is a place for me here; it would be a harder life, but I think I'd be happier. Away from the Norths, away from Indra, away from Ryder Swift. I pass a woman I've never seen before, building a wall at the front of her cottage, and raise my hand to wave.
"You from Blackthorn?" she calls.
I say yes; she drops what she's doing and walks towards me.
Hand to chest.
"Live in the Light," she says, a bright smile on her face as she offers me her palm.
Later, Sam confirms that Ryder was out here only the week before, to spread the good news. He and his family now believe that the Light saved them from the war with Mulgrave, and the bandits who attacked that day on that day we found Indra. Not their bravery, their dogs, their skill with knife and sword and determination not to come a cropper, but Ryder's fairy tale.
I should not be surprised, therefore, when Hemsley approaches me a day later, and tells me that I am one of five chosen to safeguard our spiritual guide on a trip to spread the word to settlements south of Mul
grave, and any random travellers unlucky enough to meet us.
Ah well. Could be worse. I will breathe some non-Blackthorn air, and see some new places.
I'm on Lookout 9 early the next morning, and neither Chase nor I have eaten breakfast, so I volunteer to nip down to the bakery and see what's coming out of the oven.
Chase is happy for me to go; he spent a couple of nights with Fern, the girl from the bakery he said was sweet on him, and unfortunately she has taken this as an avowal of lifelong devotion.
"She said all she wanted was a couple of nights' no-strings fun, too, but every time I go in to get my breakfast she tries to pin me down for our next session."
I see Fern look up in expectation when I open the bakery door; she is unable to hide her disappointment, but offers me her palm, just the same.
"What can I get you?"
I ask for two cheese rolls, two currant buns and four oat biscuits.
"Wow. You must be starving!"
"They're for Astra and me."
"Astra's already been in this morning."
Ah. "Yeah, well, it's hungry work, standing up there all day!"
She doesn't look convinced. "Is Chase not on shift today?"
I hand her my chips. "Not sure."
"Is he avoiding me?"
"I don't know, sorry."
She fixes me with a manic stare and I edge away before she involves me further―and in doing so bump into Evie, coming out of the storeroom with a box of mushrooms.
I like the way her face breaks into a smile as soon as she sees me; I like the way I can feel mine doing the same.
It's as hot in the bakery as it always is; strands of her hair have escaped from their cornrows and are frizzing up, damp, at her temples. She puts down the box and wipes her forehead with her bare arm.
"Whew, you're a jammy bastard being out there on the wall; I'd kill to get away from these bloody ovens. Wish I could be a guard."
I smile back. "I know. I'm lucky. Even luckier, soon."
"How's that, then?" She plunges her hands into the mushrooms and dumps some into a big bowl of water, washing them as she goes. I find myself admiring her long, slim fingers with their oddly elegant oval nails, until she says, "Oi―I said, how's that?" So I tell her about Ryder's mission to spread the word around neighbouring communities.
She grins. "Ah―that might be my fault."
"Yeah? Why?"
"Oh, after the last market I was telling Lieutenant Hemsley about all the poor outliers talking about being attacked and shit. He said it 'gave him food for thought'. I suppose he told Wolfie that Ryder ought to convert 'em all. Stop 'em going around beating each other up and nicking each other's stuff."
We laugh, and I stand for a moment, watching her hands swirling the mushrooms round in the water.
"Well, I suppose I'd better get back, then."
"S'pose you had."
"Chase'll be wanting his breakfast."
"Y'don't mind if I don't do the palm thing, do you? Only my hands are wet."
"'Cause otherwise you would, right?"
Our faces are so close. Her eyes are beautiful.
She takes her hand out of the water, wipes it with a towel, and offers me a fist bump; I accept.
"Fuck the Light," she whispers.
"Fuck the Light," I reply.
This could catch on.
Chapter 16
Lieutenant August Hemsley
I serve two masters now, but each is happy that I serve the other.
Between them, Wolf North and the Light occupy my every waking moment.
Wolf was delighted with my idea to send Ryder out on the road.
"I can see it now―the whole country working together as one, with Blackthorn at the centre of it all."
As his condition progresses he becomes increasingly fatigued, and remains within his safe walls, accepting visits only from Doctor Khalid, Ryder, and the lieutenants who are trusted with knowledge of his situation. Doctor Khalid tells me privately that there should always be someone within calling distance, in case he has a fall or a particularly bad spasm, or in case he has trouble getting to the bathroom; I advise his housekeeper, Peach, of this. The household staff are sworn to secrecy, with the threat of immediate eviction should they breathe a word to anyone. They do not, however, know the severity of the illness, and believe it to be a temporary condition that is being treated.
When a public appearance is essential, he uses make-up acquired for him by Violet to assume a façade of health. He attends only the early morning church gathering on a Sunday, when there are fewer people around, to lessen the likelihood of his failing heath being spotted; he arrives before others, sits between Lincoln and Parks, and does not leave until the church is empty.
However, he has good days and bad days; on the good ones he is his normal self. Most importantly, he says he is happy. Blackthorn is finally at peace. There have been no protest marches, no strikes, since the Light entered our lives. Even the decision to allot some of the shackers' duties to destitute, hungry outliers was received with only minor grumbles; had Wolf made a decision like this a year ago, we'd have had a war on our hands.
As for the workers themselves, the problem of drunkenness is under control except in Stinky Bottom, but those poor souls tend to be a law unto themselves, and Wolf agreed with Lieutenant Foster, who oversees water and sanitation, that they are best left to cope with their lives in any way they see fit. Meanwhile, many of those still struggling have gone to Ryder for help, but more than this, I believe it is the changing culture of the city that has ended the problem; it is no longer seen as acceptable, so anyone who wants to indulge in excess does so in private. Or, indeed, in the Phoenix Tavern but, like those in Stinky Bottom, the lieutenants and seconds are granted certain leeway.
Saturday night remains the most lively time of the week; fights still break out in the darker pockets of Shackers' End and, alas, those who feel hard done by will always thieve, but the jail block is much quieter these days.
Our main challenge is that not everyone has accepted the Light, and some are actively against it. We didn't expect Stinky Bottom to come quietly, but I know that a couple of guards under my jurisdiction have failed to come on board; Byron Lewis is one, though he does not advertise his feelings. I suggested to Wolf that we simply respect the decision of those such as him.
"For now," Wolf said, "though Blackthorn, as a city, has made a commitment to the Light; the privilege of living here is not one to be taken for granted."
More worrisome is those of influence who doubt Ryder's words, like the teacher who opted to leave the city rather than 'brainwash small children with fairy stories'. I escorted her to South Gate; as I bade her farewell, she asked if she would still be allowed to communicate with her sister via the messengers.
"You can," I said, but reminded her that all communication with the world outside Blackthorn goes through Haystack, to guard against the spread of information detrimental to the security of our city.
"Forget it, then," she said. "I'm not having my letters read by that oaf. One day everyone will realise what a load of bullshit this is, and I hope that when they do, you'll remember this day."
I kept my face impassive, and wished her well as I closed the gate on her for the last time.
When challenged, her sister chose to accept the Light rather than leave.
I have mentioned that others of my station have failed to modify certain aspects of lifestyle, despite having voiced their acceptance in church. I have further worries about Slovis and Ogg, in particular, who are still treating those beneath them with a disrespect that I consider unacceptable. They were amongst those who voiced their disapproval of Wolf's decision to close Moor House, and continue to pay for sex, albeit more furtively. Now, they sneak shacker women into the visitors' apartments at the back of the blocks.
I suspect that Fisher and his men remain less than humane in their treatment of the inmates at the jail block when I am not around, too.
As I have control over the administration of the jail block, I mentioned my worries to Wolf, but he brushed them away.
"It's a work in progress, Hemsley, a work in progress," was all he said; he didn't even ask me to investigate further.
I admit to feeling frustrated by this. I cannot help but feel that the 'leeway' is over-extended towards the chosen few. I can't oversee the jail block effectively if my concerns are not addressed.
On a happier note, I have had the honour of escorting Ryder around the jail block cells. He enters the cell of each misguided soul and spends time encouraging them to spend their life in the Light, once they are free. Seeing their faces brighten as he talks to them, their hands joining his as they vow to change their ways, is truly heart-warming.
I'm in Wolf's reception room, telling him that Ryder and his guards have departed for their tour of the countryside safely and in good spirits, when Violet enters, bringing with her details of this month's births.
Today, she reports five shacker babies, four of whom have had the misfortune to enter the world in Stinky Bottom. A girl has been born in the blocks (the mother a teacher, the father a diarist―a writer employed to record the history of the town as it happens), but she was premature and is not expected to live. None have been born to the few families who reside in the East End for some time.
"Not good," Wolf says. He flicks at the paper. "So, basically, the unwashed masses are reproducing but you lot aren't. What have we got, just four married lieutenants?
"Parks, Ward, Chen and Gregory sir, yes," says Violet. "And Lloyd is homosexual, of course."
"Yes, yes, I know." He juts out his lower lip, and nods. "What about the seconds?"
