Blackthorn

by Terry Tyler

  "It all happened pretty quickly, then."

  "Yes, Governor North said that the sooner we paired up, the sooner the Angels of the Light would be born! Anyway, what do you think of my new dress?" She dances around once more; in the bright shaft of sunlight that hits my living room in the afternoon, she seems to be moving in slow motion. "I spent the last of my wages on it―well, I want to make sure Abe prefers me to Mary, 'cause I'm determined to get pregnant before she does!"

  "Doesn't sound very 'sisterly'."

  "Oh, shut up!" She's not offended, though; she's too high on the Light, I guess. As she flops back onto my sofa her skirt rides up; she gives me a sexy, inviting look, and I am reminded of the former residents of the Moor House.

  You clever old bastard, Wolf. Got your buddies their brothel back, after all. Wonder how long it took you to think that one up.

  Chapter 19

  Evie

  Star tells me that Ryder wasn't too chuffed about the House of Angels.

  "He went to see Governor North as soon as they got back, and I saw him storming back through the fields afterwards; everyone was shouting hello to him, but he didn't want to talk to them. Just to me. We have a real bond, you know?"

  As she says 'real bond', she makes her hand into a fist and presses it to her chest. I can't remember what she was like before she went smug. I'm sure I used to like her.

  "What did he say, then? Did he blame you?"

  "Of course not; he understood that I couldn't say no to Governor North! He just said that certain procedures had been put in place in his absence, and he wished he'd been consulted. He said he would have executed it differently, that's all, although it's intrinsically a good idea."

  I don't know what 'intrinsically' means, and I thought 'executed' meant killing people, but I'm not going to ask; I'm not giving her a chance to get superior over me.

  "The ceremony sucked," I say. "The girls had to line up for inspection by the men―it was like when Charlie and Eric line up their pigs for Lieutenant Ward to choose the best ones for slaughter."

  She bungs me a superior look anyway. "It's hardly the same. The wives get a good home and security, not slaughtered. I agree with Ryder; it is, intrinsically, a good idea. He said different criteria should have been applied for the selection of the wives, though, as there have been whispers that one or two of the men might be motivated by sex, rather than the birth of the Angels."

  No, really?

  That's another one I don't know. Criteria. Thing is with these clever words, you can guess, but you look like a total dick if you use them and get them wrong. Guess I should spend more time reading and less time wandering around the woods and larking about with Jay.

  He said his spell in the jail block was great, by the way, 'cause he got fed.

  "Two decent meals a day and no hassle off my dad; bring it on!"

  I hope that doesn't mean he's going to take more risks.

  Chapter 20

  Byron Lewis V

  I see Indra prancing around in her new role as a 'wife' of a lieutenant, smiling like a pampered kitten on a sunny windowsill in Thorn Lodge. Not that often, because the Wives of the Light shop in the East End where they can buy the best food, but now and again her prancing takes her down to the city centre, so she can remind all who see her of her new status.

  I can't blame her, really. I guess if I was her I'd want to say a big 'up yours' to people who told her she wasn't fit to teach their kids.

  Today I'm on night shift on Lookout 12, near South Gate, so in the afternoon I take a trip down to the market to buy food, not least of all to stop myself sidling into the tavern; drinking in the afternoon inevitably means a headache by early evening, which is no fun when you're on watch.

  First stop is fruit and veg, where Pansy and Lily work; I'm half-listening to their gossip while they weigh out my spuds, broccoli and tomatoes, when who should sashay up but the new Mrs Slovis. One of them, at least.

  Indra's skin is tanned to a light golden, and she wears the new dress that she showed me that time before, in my flat. Her hair shines, and she looks healthy and happy.

  "Hey! Wow―Byron!" she says, eyes wide, apparently flabbergasted to find me here; I suspect she saw me walking in, and followed me.

  I smile. "What are you doing, slumming it?"

  "Don't be silly!" She touches my shoulder and a waft of floral scent reaches my nostrils. "I like to catch up with Pansy and Lily. Ooh, those tomatoes look lush, aren't they enormous? I'll take twelve―put it on the House of Angels account―and three of those lettuces, two cucumbers and five bunches of spring onions." She turns to me and grins. "Mary and I are on cooking duty for the girls tonight―we do salad, 'cause it’s easiest!"

  Lily starts to pack up her order, and Indra beams at her. "How's your guy―what's his name again? I can never remember!"

  Lily just stares at her. "You've met him a hundred times. Ronnie. He's called Ronnie. But you know that, don't you?"

  Indra puts her hand to her mouth and giggles. "What am I like? Of course, his name's Ronnie! It's weird, though; since I moved out, so many details from before have gone sort of hazy. Like the past is another time and place, you know?"

  "What you doing here, then?" Pansy asks. "Don't the future mothers of Blackthorn's elite get their stuff from the East End shops?"

  "Mm," says Lily, "I'm surprised you could remember your way down here."

  A flick of the hair. "Just because I'm a lieutenant's wife, it doesn't mean I've forgotten my old friends."

  Lily gives me a subtle wink. "So how's life in the House of Angels?"

  "Fabulous! Abe comes to see me almost every day―he's so romantic, and he says he can't wait to be a father."

  Slovis, romantic? I keep my mouth shut.

  Indra leans over and whispers to Pansy and Lily, loud enough for me to hear, "He's definitely all man, you know? So strong." She gives a shiver of delight. "I'm guessing that's why he made lieutenant."

  I'm sure that slightly sneering glance in my direction is just my imagination.

  "How are you coping with sharing him, though?" Pansy asks. "I don't think I could do that."

  "Nor could I," says Lily. "Silver told me he's taken a third wife; that blonde girl who used to work in the library. Tansy, is that right?"

  Of course; the next development. Any girl who catches the eye of a lieutenant or second will be offered a bed in the House of Angels.

  Indra flushes, just slightly. "Tansy's lovely, and―as you know―the Light teaches us that jealousy is a destructive emotion that we must curb, the moment we begin to feel it. If anyone gets a twinge, they can talk it through with Daffodil―she's our house mother. Not that it's a problem for us―Tansy and Mary are my sisters; we're not in competition with each other at all. Being chosen to bring an Angel of the Light into the world is a great honour." She tosses her hair back. "Anyway, I'm Abe's favourite. He asks for me twice as often as he does them."

  "How does it work, then?" asks Pansy. "Does he knock on your bedroom door and decide which one he fancies that night?"

  Lily bursts out laughing. "Yeah, like when it was still called a brothel?"

  Indra's cheeks colour up again. "Don't be ridiculous. No, I might be in the garden, or doing some work in the kitchen, or just hanging out with the girls, and when he visits, he'll ask Daffodil to go find me. Or he'll come and seek me out himself." Her chin juts out, determined. "And if I'm with Mary or Tansy at the time, which I often am, because we get on so well, we hold hands and say, 'go make an angel'." She rolls her eyes, as if impatient with their silly questions. "I can't expect you to understand."

  "So none of you are pregnant yet, then?" asks Lily.

  Pansy says, "Silver told me that Mary's over a week late."

  Indra looks down. "Oh, that's normal for Mary. She says she often is."

  "Not you though?" Pansy says.

  "Give me a chance! It's only been a couple of weeks!"

  "More like five," I say.

  She whi
ps round to look at me, a flash of triumph in her eyes. "Ooh―are you counting?"

  Ouch. Sounds like I am, but I'm not; I just know that we got back from the road on the twenty-ninth of June, and it's now the twenty-fourth of July.

  And I've hardly seen Evie. Hemsley has given me a month of night shifts, with Saturdays off instead of Sunday, so I can't even catch up with her then. I called on her one Sunday afternoon, but she wasn't there.

  Indra makes some comment about having to start dinner, and flits off; I'm guessing the purpose of her visit has been fulfilled.

  So, Slovis is 'all man'. I've heard about his 'manliness'. Like the time, a couple of years back, when he and Ogg raped an outlier girl so brutally that she almost died. Details were delivered by the third wheel―a second called Frost―who didn't take part and was appalled by what he saw, but was made to watch under threat of a severe kicking, which I believe he got once the pair discovered the news was out. Of course, gossip like that spread around the city like a dysentery outbreak.

  "Last time we saw her," Lily is saying, "she was boasting about landing herself a lieutenant, 'cause if she still lived in the blocks, she would've had to settle for 'some schmucky guard'. She should be so lucky, right?"

  I laugh, remembering when, not so long ago, Indra begged to move in with me. Not that I'm about to mention it; the two of them have more than enough tittle-tattle to be going on with.

  "She can keep her House of Angels," says Pansy. "If it means having a kid by Lieutenant Slovis, I'd rather go live in Stinky Bottom."

  Chapter 21

  Lieutenant August Hemsley

  I am worried for Wolf; I am sure his health has deteriorated since the blessing of the marriages.

  He appears constantly tired, the pain and spasms in his legs occur more frequently, and I notice, too, his increasing difficulty in co-ordinating his thoughts. Only the other day I was showing him the plans for the extension to the spirit field on a map of the north and east reaches of the city, but he couldn't picture where the land was in relation to his house and the rest of Blackthorn. He became frustrated and angry, insisted that the map was badly drawn, and pushed everything off the table onto the floor.

  I could see the fear in his eyes; he is terrified of losing his sharp mind that is, on a good day, far superior to any other.

  Once dismissed, I sought out his chef and housekeeper, Angelo and Peach, and told them to be especially mindful of Governor North's needs during this period of change within the city, which, though positive, may also cause stress. Both are fine, dutiful members of staff, who care as much for Wolf's well-being as I do.

  On a more positive note, he is delighted with the House of Angels project; his own tribute, he says, to our beloved Light.

  "Makes me proud, Hemsley. Just think―in ten years’ time there will be thirty, forty, fifty or more little Angels running around, swelling Blackthorn's population with children of quality and faith."

  Ryder held the marriage blessing ceremony shortly after his return; it was attended only by those of guard status and above, and the families of the wives. My heart was filled with joy by the sight of Ryder, back in the fold; Blackthorn is a less sunny place when he is not here.

  I will admit that I harboured a few doubts when Wolf first presented his idea, but Ryder's obvious delight as he blessed each husband, and then the wives, dispelled each one.

  He stood before us, arms outstretched, and said, "The children of these unions will be our angels here on earth, blessed with the Light even before birth. In the future, many will be leaders in this great city, and I hope that, from now on, all Blackthorn's children will be brought to me by their parents to be accepted into the Light's loving arms. This is the dawn of a new age; I thank the Light for leading me here, and I thank our gracious governor, Wolf North, for the foresight which has enabled us all to experience this miraculous enlightenment."

  The next day, a woman from Midshacks gave birth prematurely, to a sickly infant not expected to live. I went with Ryder to take mother and baby to the church, where he baptised the child with drops of water from the Chalice, and asked the Light to accept him into this world.

  Just two minutes later, the poor little boy passed from this world into the Clearing.

  The mother fell to her knees, and Ryder touched her head, assuring her that her son was now safe in the arms of the Light, and that she would join him when her own time came.

  As a lieutenant I have seen much in my life; I was chosen for this honourable station, not least because of my stoic nature, but as I watched that bereaved mother hugging Ryder, weeping with gratitude, I could not prevent a tear falling from my eye.

  I have rarely felt so moved, but later, shame engulfed me―because I knew those tears were partly for myself.

  That poor woman from Midshacks has a husband, and other children. She is heartbroken, but loved. She is not lonely. Not like me.

  I wonder if I will ever have someone to love me unconditionally, as my mother did. I fear, though, that I am a singularly unappealing person. I have acquaintances and colleagues, but no true friends. I inspire respect, but not warmth. No one ever seeks out my company, simply for enjoyment. No woman has ever looked at me with a flirtatious eye.

  I would love a family. I would love a son, for the Light. I could choose a wife in the House of Angels, but that isn't what I want. Is it egotistical to want a woman to choose me? I suspect it is. I must pray for help in conquering such vanity.

  If the Light ever granted me the miracle of a son, I would call him Micah, in honour of a young man I once wronged so despicably.

  Micah was the true name of the one they called Dead Boy.

  I think about him often. He pops into my head at odd moments; each time, I am filled with such painful remorse.

  I was different back then, thirteen years ago. Eager to be accepted, aware that I hailed from the poorest part of the blocks, ready to do whatever was necessary in order to advance my status. Eager to make happen all that my mother had wanted for me.

  On the day that changed both my life and Micah's, I'd joined in a drinking session with colleagues from the ten-man body that made up Falcon North's personal guard.

  I and four others were off duty, and they invited me to visit the Market Tavern with them; I accepted, even though I didn't relish the effects of drinking to excess.

  I had already imbibed more than was good for me when I was summoned to accompany Falcon while he interviewed a traveller to fight in The Eight.

  We were told that his selected opponent had offended the young Wolf in a manner so grave that he deserved to lose his life in Blackthorn's infamous arena.

  Awash with alcohol, I pushed any doubts from my mind, and told myself that my only duty was to the Norths.

  I was eager to win the approval of Falcon, most of all.

  My governor did not want to speak the name of the condemned young man, perhaps to de-humanise him in his own mind.

  Instead, he asked us to suggest a nickname.

  As I have said, I was known for my aptitude with words, even then. I possess few traits that inspire admiration in others, but I was proud of this gift.

  I see them now; those same few minutes play over and over in my head.

  I stand by Falcon in that small room. Though inebriated, I detect the traveller's extreme discomfort; he must kill, or forfeit his own freedom and safety. I do not even care that this is wrong; all that matters is that my governor thinks well of me.

  Falcon grins at me and says, 'This lad―what shall we call him?'

  Young and impulsive as I am, I'm scarcely aware of the words as I blurt them out: 'How about Dead Boy?'

  A coldness envelops my body. It is a warm day, but I shiver. My words have sealed this boy's fate; he will not escape. But oh, how they laugh. Falcon loves my suggestion, one of my guard buddies claps me on the back, and I blush with pride.

  'Dead Boy' he was, for the last two days of his life.

  I was required to attend the fig
ht where he met his death. The reluctant traveller disappointed the crowd's blood lust by causing the boy as little pain as possible; afterwards, he was escorted through the city gates and warned never to return.

  Later, sober, I made it my business to find out his victim's real name.

  Micah.

  From a lookout post, I watched his friends sob as he was placed in his grave outside the north wall; I did not approach to whisper my useless words of remorse until they had left. I dared not even plant a tree for him; his friends had been allowed to bury him rather than have Jet Lewis take him away, but were warned that the grave should remain unmarked.

  I still visit it. Some years ago, I planted that tree―an apple, as he was a shacker―and I made a small plaque bearing only his name. Micah. The tree now bears fruit.

  My guilt changed me. I named him; I threw the dice. I played a willing part in the whole affair, for my own advancement.

  I don't know if the Light will forgive me, when I pass from this world. Micah's death is on Wolf's shoulders, too, but he has atoned for his actions by putting an end to the violence of The Eight, by banning the production of the evil, addictive Joy, and accepting the Light on behalf of the city; Ryder has assured him of his place in the Clearing. But I have no grand gesture to make. I can only try to make up for those terrible words I uttered by serving Wolf, Blackthorn and the Light in the best way I can, every day, for the rest of my life.

  Chapter 22

  Evie

  This summer is just the best; it's warm and sunny nearly all the time. Shame I have to be in the bakery for seven hours a day, 'cause there's masses of fruit waiting to be made into pies and tarts.

  I want to go outside the walls and walk somewhere quiet and peaceful. Or by the sea. Anywhere where there isn't someone holding out their sweaty palm for me to touch, every time I turn a corner. Laurel, Mum and Gale are obsessed; it's the Light this, the Light that, every minute of the damn day. Dad doesn't go on about it, but I think that's only 'cause he knows I don't like it.