They show him a thousand images, moments of kindness and destruction, of death and renewal. He see wars, murders, birth and love.
A man stands before a huge crowd and preaches hate, inciting them to war, costing the lives of millions. A young man gives his life to save a girl who has stepped in front of a cart, she will grow up to be a doctor who will save many lives. He sees death in the name of religion, in the name of kings, for the ownership of a black sludge that is sucked from the ground. A man walks on the moon (“No, Really?” He asks the spirits). Another man plants a bomb that kills children in the name of his god.
A thousand moments of human achievement and a thousand more of utter travesty. People laid lower than they could ever have imagined only to raise themselves up, and those who achieve their life’s ambition caring little for the people they have trampled into the dirt on their way to greatness.
He does not pretend to know what he is seeing, but understands that they all amount to the same thing, the possibilities of mankind.
These thoughts overwhelm the boy, they threaten to destroy his mind, yet they fill him with hope. He understands that he is such a small part of the whole, but that he is everything. That he is infinitely small in the face of the universe, yet he is the universe.
The spirits rejoice at his understanding. So young, so open to ideas. He is theirs, they are his, it is the way of the world as they have shown it to him.
He feels himself lifted once more, the spirits have something more to show him. They carry him home, not to the village but to the plantation where he grew up, to the place his father died. He is to bear witness, to see what happens, and after everything they have shown him and everything he now understands, what he see tears his soul in two.
It takes a moment to understand what he is looking at, but soon it all becomes clear. Men are digging. The hole is wide and not very deep, around the edges there are huge mounds of earth. The boy looks closer at the men as they work, and sees that some of them are crying.
Chapter Twenty Nine
“Sir Thomas, If I may have a moment of your time?” Captain Robert Hopkins, of The East India Company asked, approaching the estate owner and standing to attention. He was aware that Sir Thomas Richmond was not a military man, but he also knew that he had paid handsomely for his men’s time and was willing to stretch the formalities in order to keep him happy.
“Yes, Captain? What can I do for you?” Sir Thomas asked, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his substantial waistcoat. He followed the question with a smile, a singularly disturbing expression that had cowed weaker men than Captain Hopkins.
“Over here, might be prudent,” he said, pointing to a table a few dozen yards away. As he turned back to Sir Thomas he cocked an eye in the direction of the slaves who were working at the two men’s feet. Sir Thomas followed the captain’s gaze and nodded his understanding.
The hole in the ground had been growing steadily for most of the day. One hundred and twenty male slaves worked with long-handled shovels and pickaxes in shifts of an hour at a time. It wasn’t that Sir Thomas was worried about the workers suffering in the heat, it was simply that the work would proceed quicker if the men were kept fresh. It was only in the last hour that all of the slaves had been in the pit at the same time in an attempt to get the job finished, and to make what would come afterward easier.
As they walked away, Sir Thomas turned to James Whitchurch, his overseer. The man was standing and watching the dig with a look of fascination and a little concern on his face. He had always been a little to lenient for Sir Thomas’s liking, but the man was a master at organisation and so, despite what he might think of today’s proceedings, he would be offered a job when Sir Thomas returned to England.
“Have a few fires lit, Whitchurch,” he shouted across the large hole, “we can’t have these men working in the dark.” He looked down at one of the slaves who was arming sweat from his forehead and gave the man a benevolent smile.
“Yes, sir,” Whitchurch said, turning to four of the estate men and starting to issue instructions.
Sir Thomas reached the table, where Captain Hopkins was standing and waiting. There was still plenty of the day’s heat in the air and he motioned to a chair, while seating himself in another. The captain nodded and sat down, leaning an elbow on the table. Sir Thomas signalled to one of the waiting maids to pour them both a glass of lemon water from a jug that sat on the table covered with a cloth.
“What can I do for you, captain?” Sir Thomas asked.
“Sir Thomas, I feel I must bring up the matter of time. It is beginning to get late and, as crude as it may be, I must point out that you have only paid for my men’s service for the remaindered of the day. Considering what you have brought us here to do, I would probably recommend that we proceed first thing in the morning.” As he spoke, Captain Hopkins at least had the good grace to look abashed by his words.
Sir Thomas took his time before answering. Had it been any of his men who had presumed to speak to him of money, he would certainly have had the man’s back striped. This was a man of the East India however, and Sir Thomas was fully aware that he would need his help and good grace if he were to proceed as planned.
“There are still a few hours in the day captain,” Sir Thomas pointed out, gesturing to the sky that was now black save for a purple bruise on the horizon. “What would be your thoughts to stopping the digging and proceeding with the rest of the plan now?”
A sickened look came over the captain’s face, it angered Sir Thomas to see such weakness in an officer. He waited a moment, allowing the man to compose himself.
“Sir Thomas, I have to ask, are you sure about this?” Hopkins asked.
Sir Thomas turned, looking at the maid who was still standing within earshot, ready to serve more drinks. He considered sending her away before dismissing the idea.
“I will not be told what to do with my property by Alexander Walker, Robert Jenkinson and his so called government, or Queen bloody Victoria come to that. These slaves are my property and by law, by law mark me, I can do with them whatever I please. If I want to line them up on the floor and piss on them I will do so, Captain Hopkins.”
As he spoke his anger rose and he finished by throwing the glass of half-finished drink at the maid. She flinched from him, and it took all of his willpower not to get up from his seat and beat her to death with his cane.
Captain Hopkins sat passively in his chair, one ankle resting on the opposite knee. He didn’t even turn as the glass flew from the plantation owner’s hand.
“You understand that each of these slaves is worth a bounty from the government, Sir Thomas?” He asked.
“Money! That’s all it ever comes down to, isn’t it? They compel me to close my plantation down by forcing through their ludicrous laws. What of principles, captain? What of my basic right to own, use and sell these savages as I see fit? They give these animals rights, tell me they’re to be freed. They tell me that if I want to employ them, I can pay them a wage. Then they tell me to make up for it all, they will pay me for each man I free. Well I tell you now, Captain. I simply will not be told what I can do with my property. I would rather burn this place to the ground than kowtow to those bleeding hearts in London.”
“Very well, Sir Thomas. You are right, of course. I would just ask you to consider what it is you are about to ask my men to do...” his voice faded away as Sir Thomas stood up from his seat. His face had turned almost white with rage, his fattened cheeks showed flushes of red. He stormed down toward the hole, speaking as he went.
“You don’t think, I’m prepared to do the job myself? How dare you come on to my land and question me. I will do as I wish! I am a member of the British aristocracy, and I demand the respect I deserve.”
He reached the edge of the hole and stood looking down in impotent rage. Captain Hopkins followed in his wake, a prudent distance behind. Sir Thomas clenched and unclenched his fists a number of times and then looked at his hands, s
eemingly unable to understand why they were empty.
He turned to the nearest soldier, the man was standing to attention and trying his hardest not to look at the knight of the realm who was having hysterics just to his left. As Sir Thomas reached in to take the man’s musket there was a moment of indecision when he tried to decide if he should allow his weapon to fall into the hands of a civilian, even one as powerful as Sir Thomas. In the end he seemed to understand that he was powerless to stop the man, and just allowed himself to be disarmed.
Sir Thomas did not even check to see if the weapon was primed and loaded. He simply pulled back the lock, pointed it into the crowd of men in the hole and fired.
As scared as they were at being surrounded by armed soldiers, the men in the hole were still digging when the first of them fell. The nearest of them were sprayed with droplets of blood, they turned to see the injured man fall to his knees and then backward so that the lower half of his legs were trapped beneath him.
Pandemonium broke out, some men rushed to the aid of their fallen friend, unaware even now that their master stood above them with a smoking musket and a snarl on his lips. Others, who had been quicker on the uptake, ran to the far side of the hole and began trying to escape.
Sir Thomas looked at the soldiers who stared down into the pit. Most wore a look of shocked horror despite the fact that they had arrived this morning knowing exactly what they had been hired to do. More than a few wore savage smiles that matched his own feelings.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Kill them!” Sir Thomas roared at them, his considerable bulk seeming to grow with his anger.
Some of the men hesitated, seemingly unable to comprehend what they were being asked to do. Sir Thomas wondered if they had been brought to his estate without being given an idea of what their job was to be. More than enough of them began firing into the crowd of men who were clamouring over each other in a bid for freedom.
Bodies began to drop to the floor of the pit, blood pouring from open wounds. At first it made the men try harder to climb out of the pit. Then they seemed to realise that they were making the job easier for the men who shot at them. They began to spread out, trying different parts of the shear walls.
One man reached the lip of the hole and was half way out before one of the soldiers stepped in and used his bayonet to stab at him. The unfortunate man fell back with blood gushing from a savage gash in the side of his throat.
Around the edge of the pit more hands began to appear, and soon Sir Thomas began to understand that he had overestimated how easily the soldiers could kill the slaves. Some missed, others were too slow at reloading their muskets, and for a moment it looked like the slaves might be able to get a foothold on the open ground.
He looked about and saw that at least a quarter of the twenty armed men were not firing their weapons, instead they stared at the dying slaves with pity on their faces. One of the men even looked like he was crying, for the love of God! As if he were witnessing something more than the death of a few slaves.
Sir Thomas marched over to the crying man, still holding the musket in his hands. He raised the stock to eye level and slammed it into the back of the soldiers head. The uniformed man dropped forward on to his knees and then on to all fours. Blood already running down the collar of his shirt, he grunted once then his arms buckled and he fell on to his face.
“Any man who is not firing at these animals in the next five seconds will be executed for dereliction of duty by sunrise tomorrow,” Sir Thomas shouted in a voice that carried over the sound of musket fire. He fixed Captain Hopkins with a look, daring him not to repeat the order.
Hopkins stood under the withering stare for as long as he could, then echoed Sir Thomas’s words. Finally, all of the men of the East India began to shoot.
It felt like the killing had been going on for hours, but must have been more like seconds. A fact that was confirmed when, only now, the two maids who had been serving drinks began to scream. Sir Thomas turned in the direction of the table, and saw the two young girls with wide eyes and their hands held to their mouths.
“Whitchurch,” he shouted across the pit to the overseer. The man dragged his eyes away from the horror in the pit and gazed blankly at his employer. “Fetch those two over here,” he said, pointing to the maids.
Whitchurch stood unmoving, as if he did not understand what was being asked of him. Then, as if in a dream her turned toward the two girls. “You, you and you three,” Sir Thomas said, pointing to five more of the estate men. Go to the house and fetch any house servants you can find. Do not miss any, mind you, I know how many there are.”
In truth he had little idea, he left such matters to Whitchurch, and Mrs. Sullivan the housekeeper. These men would not know that, and would not dare to disobey him. As they ran toward the house Sir Thomas was finally satisfied that, at least some of the men in his employ could follow simple orders.
The killing went on long into the hours of darkness. The air filled with the smell of blood, gunpowder and faeces. By the time they had finished, the hole was filled with over one hundred and fifty bodies. The fire light turned the blood black, and the slave’s dark skin gold. Lamp oil was poured on to the pile of the dead, and by midnight the sky was lit for miles by burning bodies.
Above it all, the boy stared down in horror. The spirits had flayed his heart open with all they had revealed to him, had left him defenceless against the atrocity. His soul screamed with the loss, the utter waste of it all. The years, the generations, the eternities that had been destroyed by the act of a few selfish men. Men so evil and ignorant that they would rather destroy a thing than set it free.
The spirits drank in his hatred, fed off it, manipulated it. This was a child with more raw power than they had ever found before. If hatred was what was required to make him theirs, then so be it.
He screamed, the pain of such knowledge, and so much loss was just too much to bear. They held him, caressed him, whispered to him, putting thoughts of revenge into his head. All the while he felt their reassurance that he was right, he was the only one who understood the magnitude of what had happened, that only he could put right what had been done.
They promised him, that they would give him all they had. They would shower him with every gift they could, if only he would devote himself to them. That through him, he could avenge what had been brought down on his people.
He opened himself to them, welcomed their words, yearned for them to fulfil their promises. The boy, the child, laid bare by all he had seen. He made oaths, accepted promises, swore he would do all in his power to find justice.
In his darkest heart, he knew that justice would never be enough. The world was a beautiful place with a dark shadow that loomed above it. Justice would not remove that shadow, only vengeance, only death could remove the darkness that blotted out the light.
Chapter Thirty
Liverpool 1856
The world before them became solid once more.
“What happened?” Tanner asked, looking into the fire where the story he had been witnessing had suddenly been cut short. He looked first to Davidson, the man’s expression was a mask of anger and victory. Then he looked to Templeton who had a wry smile on his face and was nodding to himself.
Around them Davidson’s men still looked down at them from the upper level of the chamber.
“He’s dead isn’t he?” Templeton asked.
The question was directed at Davidson, the ex-slave looked up as if he had only just realised he was not alone. A bitter grin that was almost snarl crossed his own lips, showing his teeth. He did not answer.
“Who’s dead?” Tanner asked – for the moment he still felt caught up in the story he had just seen. The death of the slaves, the spirits and the things they had shown the boy who had become the man in front of him. Finally, when his mind had taken the time to catch up he understood they were speaking of Sir Thomas Richmond.
“He’s dead,” Davidson finally confirmed, his voice thi
ck with emotion.
“One of your abominations, I assume,” Templeton said with a look of disgust on his face.
“So quick to judge?” Davidson asked, he turned himself so that he was looking over the fire toward Templeton. “I know what you do, Templeton. Did you think I was ignorant of you and your employers?”
For once Tanner saw a little doubt cross his partners face. He watched the two men facing each other across the fire, both of them powerful and a mystery.
“What I do does not kill innocent people,” Templeton returned. “Each of those animals you create is a person, as well as a monster. You destroy lives for your personal gain. How many have died? How many more?”
“So you do what you’re told to by men like Thomas Richmond? You think that makes you better than me?” Davidson said. He never got his answer, instead there was a shout, a volley of whistles and the chamber was suddenly full of uniformed officers.
Tanner turned around to look at his companions, wondering how they had found them. It was probably this action that saved his life when the world exploded. The fire in the centre of the chamber erupted upward and outward, filling the space with heat, sound, and light. Men were thrown from their feet, and Tanner was sent tumbling against the wall, landing heavily. He was only spared the further pain of his head hitting concrete by his outstretched arms.
The world was a dizzying whirl of colour and high pitched whining. Tanners left elbow was a roaring, sickening pain and his arm felt limp and numb. He tried to look about him but after the flash of the fire the darkness was all consuming.
He felt a hand reach out to him, lifting him and helping his to his feet. Templeton leaned him against the wall of the chamber and took hold of the lapels of his overcoat.
“Are you okay, Tanner?” he asked from a thousand miles away.
“I will be, what happened?” Around them men were getting to their feet. Some had fallen from the upper level, Tanner saw men scream, nursing obviously broken arms and legs, while those that were nearer the fire were less lucky. Men in uniform tried to help their companions, but in the aftermath of the explosion and the darkness it was hard to tell who was who.
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