Blackthorn

by Terry Tyler

  "Exactly." Hemsley looks up at the ceiling. "It almost doesn't matter if it's true or not. The Light has saved Blackthorn."

  We lapse into silence as we take in this sobering thought.

  Evie flops back in her seat, arms folded. "I see what you mean, but when I think about Ryder, sitting there in that mansion after Wolf North is dead, thinking how clever he is―that on its own makes me want to burn the fucking place down, with him in it."

  "You're thinking of it from an emotional point of view," says Hemsley. "You have to think of those you care about―and those less intelligent, less brave than you. Ryder has improved their lives." He pauses. "He's a sociopath and a narcissist, I agree, but I don't believe him to be pure evil, like Wolf. He's not a killer."

  Evie fiddles with her hair, unravelling the long braid; I find myself wondering what she looks like with her hair loose. "I get what you mean. I suppose." She sighs, loudly. "I do. I just don't like it."

  "You never know," I say. "He might get his comeuppance one day."

  "Indeed he might," says Hemsley. "Karma works in mysterious ways. Look at it like this. If we rid the world of Wolf North, we do it for them. If we tell them the truth, it would be for us, for our own desire for justice."

  Evie reaches over and gives him a big hug, which appears to please, if slightly embarrass him. "That's it. You really are a clever bastard, aren't you?" All three of us laugh at that. "But how will you do it?"

  "I'm not sure yet. Whatever we decide, I will have to leave as soon as the deed is done, and run for my life. I might not even make it out of his house, but I'm willing to risk that―if only I'd come to this conclusion a day earlier I might have saved Jay―"

  Which is when inspiration hits me, like a bolt of light from Ryder Swift's Clearing. "You don't have to risk your life. I know how we're going to do it. Not only will you make it out, but we'll have at least six hours to get away before we're discovered." I look at Evie. "And we will have to leave. All three of us. Because my idea needs all of us to make it work."

  She stares at me; slowly, she nods. "Okay. I'm good with that."

  "Are you sure? If you're not, you need to say so, now, and I'll think of something else."

  Evie takes my hand and runs her thumb across my fingers. "Jay's gone; he was my best friend. I'll miss Mum and Dad. Gale and Laurel." Those beautiful dark eyes meet mine. "But I'll see them again somehow, 'cause anything can happen in the future, can't it? And I can't live here any more. Not now we know all this shit." She takes a deep breath. "Yeah. I can do it."

  Hemsley says, "So what's your idea?"

  I have Indra to thank; I like the thought that she will play a part in the plan.

  Indra, this is your revenge, too.

  After we've discussed the finer details, Hemsley says, "Byron, when it's time for us to leave, your job is to ensure that the guards on North Gate let us out without question."

  "North? We'll be better off heading towards the settlements in the Lincolnshire Wold, then going south―"

  "Exactly. And we will, eventually. But when they discover we've gone, the guards on all three gates will be questioned. Although they will take your money to afford us a quiet exit, they will cave later, when threatened with torture. So we must appear to be heading north; it will be assumed that we're going to Lindisfarne."

  "Ah. Good thinking."

  He smiles. "As a boy, I read many novels of espionage."

  "And we're doing this tomorrow?" Evie asks.

  "I think it's best," says Hemsley. "Why?"

  "Oh―you know, one more day to see Mum and Dad―"

  "Forgive me, but I'm actually a little worried for myself, if that doesn't sound too selfish. Jet Lewis and Parks know that I'm aware of what happened to Jay. Lewis is a ruthless killing machine that operates on Wolf North's instructions, as I now know. Or maybe I always knew, I just didn't want to face up to it―" He stops, and draws in his breath. "They may consider that poor old Hemsley, who usually buttons his lip and does as he's told, needs to be permanently silenced, just in case―"

  He puts his hand to his forehead for a moment. Poor old Hemsley, indeed.

  I say, "You're staying at my place tonight. If anyone asks, we're playing cards."

  "I don't play cards."

  "Chess, then. Evie, go and see your mum and dad now. Spend the rest of the evening with them. What time do you finish work tomorrow?"

  "Four."

  "When you get home, pack a bag, how I instructed, and don't forget the vinegar. We'll come to get you at around five."

  "But Laurel―I can't remember what shift she's on―if she's there, she'll want to know where I'm going."

  I feel brave. "Then I'd better pick you up for a nice romantic walk in the woods, hadn't I?"

  She grins. "Laurel will go for that. She's daft about all that shit."

  I'm overcome by the desire to take her in my arms, despite all that has happened and is about to happen, or maybe because of it, I don't know. It's not just her huge brown eyes, or the way her baggy old jumper gives just a hint, when she moves, of what lies underneath. That was what made me look at her first, but it's more than that now. I love that she's brave―I think she really would go and kill North, if Hemsley hadn't insisted. I love that she's wise enough to listen to Hemsley, who understands human nature so well (who knew, eh?); I love that although she's suffering, she hasn't dissolved. Her pain has made her angry.

  Not like poor Indra.

  If Indra had been like Evie, maybe I'd have wanted her. Not that she ever wanted me, not really. She just needed someone to look after her.

  I mustn't feel guilty about her. It's not my fault.

  So why does it still feel as though it is?

  Early next morning I greet my guard colleagues on South Gate, telling them that I'm going out on patrol. Once out of their sight, I run as fast as I can to a wooded area past Boltwick.

  I was there only yesterday, with the wife of my farmer friend, Sam. I was helping her collect blackberries and mushrooms, when I spotted a large clump of death caps; I remembered the picture in Indra's book, Nature's Pantry.

  "Glad to see you know the difference," Sam's wife said. "A few of them in your soup, and it's all over. Easily done, if you're not used to feeding yourself in the wild. I saw it happen, couple of years back. Two fellas, guards who'd escaped the battles down in Central. Nasty business."

  Next, I visit the market, for I have items to buy.

  Hemsley is still at my flat when I return. Together, we peer into the bags.

  He takes the bag of mushrooms, looks up at me and nods. "Don't forget to wash your hands, will you?"

  My part is done.

  Chapter 35

  Evie

  This is the worst day of my life. My best friend has been murdered, and now I have to leave everyone I love.

  I know Hemsley and Byron are right, though, 'cause once Wolf is dead, they're going to come after me and Hemsley, and they'll find out who picked the mushrooms, too, so we'll all be for the chop.

  Once I'd listened to the basic plan, I asked Byron for a pencil and paper. He gave me a weird look, but didn't say owt.

  I left them talking, sat at his little table, and wrote a letter.

  Dear Mum Dad Gale Laurel

  I'm sorry to leave without saying but I don't believe in the Light so I can't be here no more. I'm going with Byron Lewis the guard who is a good man. I promise I'll get word to you about where I am. Please don't worry about me cos I’m good at looking after myself and so is Byron. We’ve been seeing each other in secret for 2 weeks and are in love. I’m sorry I never told you but I thought you’d mind about me being with a guard and try to stop me going. We’re heading for the south west. Cornwall where it’s warm. One day I will come and visit you again. I'm very sorry not to say goodbye but I thought it was easier like this and please know that I love you all very very much and will think about you all the time.

  Love Evie.

  I went to fold it up and slip it
in my pocket, but Hemsley said he had to read it first, to make sure we keep our stories straight.

  "It's good," he said, handing it back to me. "Keeps you two in the clear―and should stop your family from being interrogated, too."

  I hadn't thought of that.

  It's only later, when I'm walking back to Mum's house, that I realise what he meant by keeping us in the clear. It means he's willing to take the blame. Isn't that awesome? He's much too decent to be a lieutenant.

  I wake up, sick in my guts 'cause I'm going to kill a man today.

  Except Wolf North ain't a man, he's a fucking demon.

  Got to keep remembering that.

  Before I left last night, Hemsley reminded me that if Wolf is gone and Ryder rules Blackthorn, no one will suffer again like Jay did. Ryder may be a scheming, lying arsehole, but he's not a sadist like Wolf.

  Hemsley said he's an opportunist (not heard that word before but it's obvious what it means) who's probably found that he's in way over his head.

  "Though that doesn't make him a psychopath, like Wolf," he says. "Looking back, I imagine his real motivation for helping the shackers in the first place was the need for adoration. Very few people are truly altruistic."

  Not too sure about altruistic, but never mind.

  There's one thing that does bother me a bit, though: if there really is a heaven, like in the old religion, I might be punished for helping a murder.

  Oh well. Bit of luck, I won't have to worry about that for fifty years or so.

  It's a big day for old buck-toothed Dawn―Lieutenant Hemsley has turned up at the bakery with a request that I should bake a pie 'specially for Wolf North, because Hemsley tried one of my creations and was triple awesome gobsmacked by how fab it was.

  "Yes, Evie certainly does have an enviably light touch," says Dawn, dead flustered because there's a lieutenant in the room. Stupid bint, they're only blokes. "But are you sure Governor North's chef won't be offended?"

  "Oh no," says Hemsley, and I can see he's stumped for a moment; he thinks on his feet. "Angelo encourages young talent."

  I have to bite my lip so's not to laugh; Hemsley told us that Angelo is a brilliant chef but a lazy sod who starts drinking wine at exactly three o'clock every afternoon. On bad days, the cleaner has to wake him up when it's time to start dinner. He'll be well pleased to have someone make it for him.

  "You can see I run a very tight ship here," says Dawn. "No one slacks in my kitchen; we all work hard for the good of Blackthorn, in the name of the Light."

  And then of course they all have to stop for a moment to praise Ryder's pretend god.

  I make a big fuss about being flattered, and old Hemsley, he even remembers to chest-palm when he gives me the bag with all the ingredients. Respect! I'm in such a state that I'd forgotten all about it.

  Dad's watching me, a proud smile on his face. I feel like shit.

  "You make sure that's a beaut!" Dawn hollers at me, the minute Hemsley's gone. "If Governor North is pleased, I might get a pay rise!"

  My head feels so messed up, like a load of mad words might fall out of my mouth. My hands shake as I grease the dish and roll out the pie bottom. Dad puts his floury hand on my sleeve and tells me not to get stressed out, 'cause he knows I make the best pies in Blackthorn.

  Which makes me feel even worse.

  Thora's gone all tight-lipped, 'cause she rates herself as a shit-hot pastry maker, too. She's fucking welcome to make this one.

  I put the bottom in the oven to part-cook, get all the stuff out for the filling, and panic. What if someone nicks one of the mushrooms, and dies? What if I put a raw one in my mouth without thinking, like I sometimes do? Byron says they give you agonising gut rot and the serious pukes and shits, then your kidneys and liver fail and you die. It takes a minimum of six hours to start, so Wolf will probably get ill in the early hours of the morning, or next day.

  "This is good," Hemsley said, when he heard this. "The more hours we have before his death is discovered, the better."

  I cut the ham into little cubes, and mix them up with cream, seasoning and herbs. I fry slivers of the white chicken breast meat with onions and garlic, and then Dawn comes along with a bottle of white wine, all proud like. We're not allowed to help ourselves to alcohol for cooking, in case we start swigging it. I've never felt more like doing just that.

  Dad takes the pie bottom out to cool.

  The rest of the filling is ready; now for the deadly ingredient.

  I take out the mushrooms to prepare and boil for two minutes, and even as I put them on the chopping board, I'm sick with nerves. What if Jonny the washing up boy doesn't clean the board properly?

  Byron has mixed the death caps with normal mushrooms, in case the flavour is different; it's not something anyone's lived to record.

  I start slicing.

  A few of them gather round when I open the oven; my pie is perfect, with its golden brown, glazed lid, the pastry light and flaky, pretty leaves around the hole in the middle.

  "You take it out," I say to Dawn, and force a smile.

  Make sure you don't drop it, 'cause me and that nice lieutenant, we need it to murder the governor.

  It's half-past two. I'm just scraping my hands and all my utensils sparkling clean, when Hemsley comes back.

  He remembers to chest-palm with Dawn, too. He's a fucking pro, he really is.

  "How are you travelling?" she asks. "Should I pack it up in a box for safety?"

  "Yes, please," Hemsley says. "I thought I'd enjoy the walk back; it's such a pleasant afternoon."

  He thanks me, giving me a bit of a snotty look like he would if this was real; he even gives me a couple of chips as a tip.

  "Wow, thanks!" I say, like I'm totally made up.

  I see a stray mushroom slice on the floor. For one insane moment, I'm tempted to eat it, just to see if it works.

  Hemsley is heading straight to Byron's after delivering the pie, and then they'll come down to fetch me.

  It's four o'clock and I'm finished for the day, but Laurel, over the other side of the room making cheese pasties, is on till six.

  I'll be gone before she gets home.

  I won't see her again.

  I go over; she offers me the box of grated cheese.

  "Oy!" shouts Dawn. "Keep your grubby mitts out the stock!"

  I'm much too churned up to eat, anyway. I give Dawn the finger, the old baggage.

  "You watch it, missy―just 'cause you've cooked for the governor, you needn't get above yourself!"

  I just laugh, and turn to Laurel. "I won't be there when you get back."

  Or ever again. No more Dawn.

  "Yeah? Why not?"

  "I'm going over the woods with Byron."

  "Really?" Her eyes go all wide. "Way to go, babe! He's lush. How d'you manage that?"

  "Guess he thinks I'm lush, 'n' all! Don't tell no one, specially not Thora, 'cause I don't want to jinx it." I force a grin. "I've been out with him a couple of times already."

  She frowns. "Why didn't you tell me? I always tell you everything!"

  "Oh, you know―I really like him, and I didn't want to say owt in case he wasn't serious. But he is."

  "Is that where you were yesterday, when I got home?"

  I shut my eyes for a moment. Yesterday. Yesterday I found out that Jay was dead. That'll all come out when I've gone; he'll just be another one who's 'escaped'. Brook knows, but no one takes any notice of owt he says, anyway.

  "Evie? Yesterday?"

  I give my head a little shake. "Yeah! It was brilliant!"

  "Musta been―you was miles away just then!" She gives me a nudge. "Is he good, then?"

  I feel myself go pink, because even with all this going on I can't say I haven't thought about it. "We ain't done it yet. He says he wants to wait, so it means more."

  "Wow! Wow! He really does like you!"

  "He does, yeah."

  "Are you in love?"

  I'm about to say 'I dunno' when I reme
mber my letter. "I guess."

  "Is he?"

  "Reckon so!" I give her a big hug. She's my friend. I don't want to leave her. "I'm glad you're my mate."

  She hugs me back. "Hark at you, you big soft sod! You really must be in love!"

  I wipe my eyes. "Summat like that."

  She gives me a little shove. "Well, you go enjoy, and this time I want to hear all about it, okay?"

  When I get to the door I look back at them all. Laurel, Dad, Thora and all the rest of them, bustling about doing their jobs―it's like a picture, framed by the doorway. I stand and watch for a moment, and then Laurel sees me looking; she grins, and does the rude signal we make when a hot guy goes past.

  We used to make it about Ryder.

  She doesn't know we'll probably never do it again.

  I tuck the letter behind the jam pot and the bread bin, where I know Laurel will see it, then sit on a stool. This shack ain't much, but it's my home. I won't sleep in that little bed again, or moan at Laurel that we'll be late for work if she doesn't get up.

  I think of Mum and Dad, but I have to blot them out of my mind for now, 'cause it's too sad; same as Jay. I've got to remember just one thing: what Hemsley said. We're doing this for them, not for us. He's right, I know he is.

  Thing is, I thought doing the right thing was supposed to make you feel good.

  I hear a knock on the door, pick up my bag, and swing it over my shoulder.

  This is it, then.

  And this is it for Wolf North, too.

  Fuck yeah.

  Chapter 36

  Lieutenant August Hemsley

  I could have taken a wagon, but I wanted to walk.

  I had time.

  From the bakery, I made my way around the outskirts of Logside, such dwellings as I have only entered a handful of times in my entire life, and then only the larger log cabins.