by Terry Tyler
"Five out of the twenty-five are married or in committed relationships, four of them women, just three with children," says Violet. "Leaves you with five single women and fifteen single men, at least eight of whom are, er, confirmed bachelors."
A nice way of putting it. She means the likes of Fisher and his crew.
"The shackers die off, but they spring up again, breeding like rabbits." He flicks at the paper again. "Four more in Stinky Bottom. All expected to live?"
"Yes, sir. All surprisingly healthy."
"Not good at all. Last thing we want is more half-wit non-believers growing up on the other side of the fields. Can't we evict them, and recruit some outliers to do their jobs?"
I admit to being shocked. "They play their part in the maintenance of the city, sir, if you don't mind me saying. They've earned their place here."
"Hmm." Wolf stretches, and tries to push himself up, one hand on the arm of his chair; I lurch forward to help him, but he waves me away with irritation.
"Fuck this bastard leg," he growls. "Violet, get my stick. I'm fed up with sitting down all the fucking time."
"Can I do anything?" I ask. "If there's something that might make movement easier―"
"Yeah, go see Doctor K and get some more of that poppy shit." He glares at me. "What you waiting for?"
I don't give his dissatisfaction about the births much thought; Wolf's opinions are expressed freely but often forgotten as soon as something of greater importance is brought to his notice. To my surprise, though, this matter is far from dismissed; two days later, at his behest, Violet summons all fifteen lieutenants to the meeting room.
When she knocks on my door, I find that petty irritation tapping at my brain once more. I try to curb it, because life in the Light means ridding oneself of such small-mindedness, but I am irked that she has been given this task; she was told about his illness before I was, too. I was a lieutenant for four years while she spent her days supervising the farmers as a second lieutenant, but now I cannot help but wonder if she is being allowed to oust me from my unofficial place as Wolf's secondary confidante, after Parks.
I was the last to be summoned because I was out, as my busy schedule means I often am; thus, I am the last to arrive, which also makes me feel uncomfortable. Am I being subtly moved down the ranks?
Parks and Slovis stand behind Wolf, at either side, as if on guard.
This is clearly an occasion of some importance. A table is laid with refreshments: legs of chicken, fluffy bread rolls, luscious red tomatoes, savoury pastries, and cold potatoes in mint. I am hungry and long to dive in, not least of all into the jugs of iced elderflower cordial; the day is hot and airless, and I feel dusty after my lengthy inspection of the south wall this morning.
Wolf is in a good mood. "Eat," he says, gesturing to the table. "Get yourselves a plate and make yourselves comfortable; we have much to discuss. Don't look like that, Hemsley―it's all good!" He glances back at Parks and then at Slovis, giving each a conspiratorial smile, as if they have been given prior knowledge of the subject to be discussed.
As I look at them, I experience a moment of déjà vu, except that I see the scene through another's eyes.
I am the traveller who was interviewed to fight Dead Boy, thirteen years ago; I see a guard called August Hemsley standing behind Falcon, with a smug expression on his face that mirrors those worn by Parks and Slovis, now.
I erase the scene from my mind.
Wolf smiles. "You'll be pleased to hear that I've solved the problem of the disproportionate shacker births. But first, let's eat."
Parks and Slovis take the empty chairs to his left and we enjoy our lunch, passing cordial and condiments around; it really is a splendid spread. Angelo has clearly been working hard all morning.
My stomach full, I look up to see that Wolf is watching us; finally, he claps his hands to gain our attention.
"Right, to work. First, here's the good news, and I hasten to add that it will be followed by even better news." He pauses, and smiles. "Moor House is to reopen."
He sits back, his face a picture of amusement as he observes our bewildered expressions, not least of all mine. "Put that face away, Hemsley―it's to have a new purpose. Renovations are commencing as we speak."
I put down my glass. "A new purpose?"
"Be patient, and all will be revealed." He pushes his plate away. "I've decided it's high time our fine lieutenants and seconds began contributing to the gene pool of Blackthorn, before the population becomes dominated by those of limited intelligence and low breeding, if indeed it's not already. Everyone, stop stuffing your faces for a sec, and listen."
We stop eating.
"You want us to have children?" asks Sarah Thomas. She looks horrified.
"No, Sarah, not you. Your work as a lieutenant is far too valuable; I don't want you tied up with nappies and feeding routines." He grins round at us all, and laughs. "It's the guys I'm after. Your superior seed, at least!"
We glance at each other, mystified; it is clear that Wolf is enjoying this.
"Violet is drawing up a list of suitable young women from our community of skilled workers currently residing in the blocks. These hand-picked individuals will be given the opportunity to reside in the new and improved Moor House, where they will bear the offspring of our lieutenants and seconds. Beauty will be matched with strength, skill and intelligence to produce children who will, in time, become the new elite of Blackthorn. The Children of the Light. The mothers will be known as the Wives of the Light, because they will be married not only to their husbands but to the Light himself, symbolically; we do this for the Light, in his honour, with every child blessed in his name while still in the womb." He pauses. "Each husband will be granted several wives; the quicker we correct the birth imbalance, the better."
Sarah Thomas frowns. "Er―sorry, sir―you said several wives?"
"Yes indeed, Sarah. Polygamy was the norm in some of the old religions; in Mormon communities, for instance, which were actually some of the most harmonious. The wives will live in Moor House as sisters, and bring up their children together." He pauses. "These 'sister wives' will be supportive to each other, working together for one purpose: the care of the Children of the Light."
He sits back, pleased with himself, and at this moment he does not look ill at all.
"Angels," I say, almost without realising I have opened my mouth.
"You what, Hemsley?"
"Angels. We could call them the Angels of the Light."
For a moment the room is silent, but then he gives me a slow hand clap. "Hemsley, my man―didn't my old pa always say you were wasted as a guard? Perfect!" His face breaks into a huge smile. "Yes―and Moor House will henceforth be known as the House of Angels." This time he claps himself. "How do you like that? More to the point, it will have the added benefit of removing any memory of its previous incarnation."
Bemused as I am by the whole idea, I admit to feeling proud; it is not often that I make such a significant contribution to one of Wolf's projects.
"Sir," says Sarah Thomas, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to cast doubts, but―well, these wives―will they get a choice? I mean―you know, most women expect an exclusive relationship, in which they live with the father of their children―"
"Come and sit here," Wolf says, gesturing to Parks to give up his seat for Sarah. "No woman will be forced into anything she doesn't want to do. We live in the Light; we treat each other with respect, don't we? But I believe those chosen will feel nothing but honour; a shop worker or nurse living in one of the more cramped abodes in the blocks will leap at the chance of living in a beautiful old house, being given a position of respect, her children fathered by a man of status. Most importantly, though, this will be their gift to our city, and absolute proof of their devotion to the Light."
"That's right," says Violet. "If I was in their shoes I would jump at the chance―like Governor North says, it's an honour."
"There you go!" Wolf looks highly pleas
ed with himself, and takes a large bite of pie. I watch the creamy mushroom sauce ooze onto his plate; for some reason the sight makes me feel nauseous.
"So the wives will be revered," says Sarah. "I like that. It's time motherhood was given recognition as being the most important job on the planet."
"Sure is," says Wolf, wiping the crumbs from his mouth. "And once pregnancy is confirmed they will be attended regularly by Dr Khalid and his staff. Best of all, their children will be fathered by the cream of Blackthorn men; it's what is generally known as a win-win!"
I'm trying to process this idea; I'm alarmed by the doubts that creep into my mind. I think of brutes like Slovis and Ogg, Fisher and Munroe; these are not the cream of Blackthorn men. Physically strong and self-assured, maybe―
"What happens when the children are born?" Sarah asks. "Will the fathers play a part in their upbringing?"
Wolf beams at her in a reassuring fashion. "Of course. They will visit them regularly."
I say, "So there will be no family unit?"
He fixes me with a steely gaze. "The children will be brought up in the warmth of the Light, by loving mothers, in a safe, nurturing environment. What better start for any child?"
Abe Slovis laughs. "Family units ain't all that, anyway. My dad used to beat the crap out of me."
Wolf nods, satisfied. "Weren't you brought up solely by your mother, Hemsley? Now look at you―a boy from the lower blocks, who made lieutenant!"
I take his point. Something else is bothering me, though. "Will all single men of our status be obliged to participate in this scheme?" I speak carefully; I do not want to appear lax in my dedication to our faith, but I still harbour dreams of one day meeting a woman who might feel warmth and maybe even love towards me. A normal marriage; a family of my own.
I admit that I visited Moor House a couple of times in my guard days, because I wanted to fit in with my colleagues, but the experience left me cold.
Wolf winks at me. "Don't you worry yourself about that, Hemsley. If you don't want to dip your wick for the Light, no one's going to make you!"
Parks, Ogg and Slovis laugh; I feel my cheeks grow hot.
"Just one thing," says David Lloyd, somewhat hesitantly; as a homosexual, he will not, I assume, be expected to take part. "Should we not wait for Ryder to come back, and run it past him? Seeing as it's through him that the Light communicates, I mean―without him, how can we know this is what the Light will want?"
I notice a slight narrowing of Wolf's eyes; David has made a grave error.
"Who is the governor of this city, David?"
"You, sir―"
"Which family founded Blackthorn, and has dedicated their lives to its people for the past ninety years?"
"The Norths, sir―"
Wolf stands up, without hesitation or falter. "Who guided the population to accept Ryder Swift's Light? Who has taken extensive personal instruction from Ryder on how the Light wants us to conduct our lives? Who invited Star, Ryder's stand-in while he is away, to give her approval of this scheme before introducing it to all of you? Who is in fucking charge here?"
His face is without expression, his eyes as black as a cloudy night.
David Lloyd is shaking; I can smell the fear oozing out of his skin. "I'm sorry, sir, I didn't realise, it was just a thought―"
Wolf doesn't move a muscle. "Get out."
We watch in silence as David Lloyd hurries to the door. Poor chap, he can't turn the handle; it must be slippery in his sweaty hand. The twenty seconds it takes for him to leave the room and shut the door behind him feels more like several minutes.
Once he is gone, Wolf sits down. He shuts his eyes for a second, then continues, as if that unfortunate exchange never took place.
"I have planned a ceremony to be held in the old Eight arena, in which each man will choose his initial 'wives', though others may join the House of Angels as more suitable candidates are found."
"Nice one," says Ogg, smacking his lips.
Abe Slovis raises his glass. "Let's hear it for the Wives of the Light!"
"The Wives of the Light!"
"The Wives of the Light!"
"The Wives of the Light!"
Slovis slurps his wine. "I best go shine my boots and book my seat at the barber's; can't wait to see that queue of dollies lined up for my approval. I wonder who're going to be the lucky ladies, eh?"
Chapter 17
Evie
A second lieutenant called Mugler calls a meeting in the Beer Hut to tell us about the governor's new project; she has Star at her side, 'cause Star already knows about it.
Basically, Moor House is getting tarted up, and selected girls will be given the chance to live there and get sprogged up by lieutenants. All in the name of the Light. Of course, most people are saying how wonderful it is ('beautiful', even), but there are a fair few, like me, who can see what's really going on.
Vic shouts out, "So the governor's reopening the brothel, 'cept now the girls do it for no pay, is that right? Or am I missing something?"
Mugler and Star go all pursed-lipped, and they start coming out with crap about the babies being a show of our commitment to the Light, and the Wives of the Light nurturing the future of Blackthorn.
Not sure what Ryder's going to think. Why didn't Wolfie wait till he came back? My guess is it's 'cause he thought he might say no. Star was asked up to the governor's house to be told about it, 'cause Ryder's left her in charge of the prayer meetings while he's away.
She won't tell us what the house is like inside; she says that if Governor North wanted his home thrown open to the public, he would invite us all in.
"He wanted me to give the project the okay, on Ryder's behalf," she said, so smug I expected to see it oozing out of her mouth. Don't know what 'smug' would look like. Probably all sickly yellow and gooey.
Dunno why he bothered. I mean, it's not like she's going to say, actually, Wolfie, your idea sucks, and if you want to reopen the brothel why don't you just say so?
A lot of people aren't keen on her running the prayer meetings either, but Ryder said she had a 'profound empathy' for the 'ethos of the Light' (which has made her even more smug), and he's instructed her in how to provide 'spiritual sustenance' for the people.
He doesn't half talk some bollocks these days.
When Mugler and Star tell us about these 'Wives of the Light', some of the girls get all excited because they're hoping to be picked, but Mugler says that, in 'all except the most exceptional circumstances' the young women will be selected from the blocks.
I'm betting that 'exceptional circumstances' means 'if she's really pretty and has massive hooters'.
Silly Thora, in particular, gets right stroppy. "How come we don't get the chance to have a baby for the Light? We're back to discrimination against shackers again, that's what it is!"
Some of them mumble in agreement, and Thora gets confident; she forces herself to the front, and says, "Come on, girls! We're every bit as strong and healthy as that lot over there, aren't we? We make the best mothers, 'cause we have to fight to bring up our kids right―and if you don't think I would make a great wife, just take a look at these!"
She grins round the whole room, and you won't believe what she does next.
Up there, in front of everyone, she lifts up her top. Like, underwear and all.
"These two not good enough? Shouldn't they earn me a chance to be a Wife of the Light?"
The older folk and kids look embarrassed, but the younger ones just laugh; one or two guys whistle, as she displays herself to the right, and then to the left, making sure everyone gets an eyeful.
Vic's pissing himself. "Maybe it's 'cause you're the sort of slag who thinks it's okay to get her baps out in public!" He nudges Darius. "Mind you, I don't mind doing a quick quality test, if you're offering!"
Darius says, "Put 'em away, love, we've all seen them too many times before."
Mugler looks furious, and tells Thora to please cover herself up. Star j
ust stares at the ceiling, like she's pretending it isn't happening.
Once Thora has her shirt back in place, Mugler says, "If any girl here believes she has the qualities necessary for selection as a Wife of the Light, you should put your name forward to Star, and I assure you that your case will be given fair consideration."
Laurel complains about it all the way home. I say it's a lucky escape, unless she wants to be poked by some rut monster on a regular basis and spend the rest of her life bringing up his whiny kids, but she's disappointed.
"Why? Why would you want to marry some guy who won't even be a proper husband, and share him with a load of other women?"
Big sigh. "But it's the honour of having a baby for the Light―" I open our front door and she looks around our little shack. "Moor House has got a proper toilets, too. And taps."
I get that; we'd all love a tap. I dig her in the ribs. "Think about it. What if you got picked by Slovis or Ogg―or Foster?"
She giggles. "You're right―ew!"
Never mind the Light; if I were a new-born baby and I'd just popped out to find that my dad was a grisly old walrus like Lieutenant Foster, I'd ask if I could go and live in Despair just to get away from him.
We're forced to give up our Sunday morning to go to the Wives of the Light ceremony over at the old arena that used to be The Eight. Bloody cheek. What do we care?
It's a hot day, and it feels even hotter with hundreds of people crowded into that space; there used to be a shade over the seats, but no one maintained it once the arena was shut down, so now it's more hole than roof. All the stands are dirty, faded and broken down, and those who can't find a seat have to stand.
Mum gets us up dead early so we can get seats right down near the front, which puts me in more of a bad mood. We have to sit there, baking hot and squashed in, for an hour before it starts, and no one's brought enough water with them.
When it finally gets going it's no less boring, but at least the fact that it's started means it'll be over soon.
