Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “I know the bible quote…” she nodded slowly, the light of comprehension spreading across her face, “…and I understand, Uncle James. I hadn’t thought of that when you were reading about Eponine’s death – I was only thinking of her sacrifice… her unrequited love… how she has to die for Marius to show her any affection. In spite of what she did wrong as a child, it still doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Brandis gave a rueful smile of agreement. “And that’s part of the great the tragedy of the story as well. Although the names might be invented, Hugo’s writing about real people – or real personalities at least. Realistic characterisations in a world that was very very real to Hugo and millions of others of that era. People are imperfect by their very nature – save for a few exceptions, people are rarely only good or evil – and it is a great writer indeed who sees that for what it is and brings it to life.”

  “He wants us to feel for everyone…” Briony observed thoughtfully. “…To feel a little sympathy for every character.” Briony spoke exceptionally well – well for an educated adult of her era let alone for a fourteen-year-old, half-caste country girl. That the situation was largely as a result of the lessons and readings she received through the church gave Brandis no small sense of worthwhile accomplishment.

  “I wasn’t smiling because I was laughing at you,” he began in a kindly voice, after a long pause. “I was smiling because I’m proud of you – very proud.” He reached out and placed the heavy book on a small side table by his chair, the reading glasses also left beside it. “Your interpretation of the situation between those three characters might’ve been subjective but it was quite sharp all the same. Considering your own background, it’s no surprise you identify with the ‘underdog’ – that you see the injustice in the ‘system’ and rail against it.” He rubbed at his eyes once more. “I’m tired though, and you would be too…” he raised a hand to silence the inevitable protest that was to come. “…Regardless of how ‘fine’ you feel right now, it’s time for bed all the same: it’s what your mother would want.”

  “All right, Uncle James,” she agreed eventually, wanting to argue the point but recognising it would be a futile endeavour. Truth be told, she also had to admit that she did feel tired: sleep seemed like an excellent idea at that point. “Up bright and early for Sunday Mass then?”

  “Of course… of course…” He nodded, giving a thin smile as they both stood in unison. “You go on off to bed now – I’ll come past and check on you later.”

  “Good night, Uncle James,” Briony said softly, leaning up momentarily to land a single, innocent kiss on his cheek before turning away and leaving Brandis alone in the sitting room.

  You’re better at this than we ever were… the words echoed in his mind as he stepped across to the nearby window and drew back the curtain slightly, staring out into the darkened street beyond with an equally-dark expression on his face.

  “I’ve had all your support helping me along over the years,” Brandis replied bitterly, any attempt at humour an obvious sham.

  Have we really been that much help…?

  “Not always,” he admitted reluctantly, “but then again there are times when I’d never have survived without it.”

  You would’ve survived… we always have… There was a pause, during which Brandis could swear he ‘heard’ a silent sigh. Unlike some, however… do you think it will be tonight?

  “Probably,” he answered sadly. “The entries in ‘The Book’ have it sometimes happening on the day before… sometimes a day or two after… but most of the time it’s been tonight.” He shrugged in resignation. “Have to go with the odds, I suppose.”

  Still not too late to intervene… The tone was one of faint optimism balanced against the massive weight of grim reality.

  “That’s been tried before too, and you’re as aware of the disasters that caused down the track as I am.” Brandis shook his head slowly, despair in his voice as tears welled at the corners of his eyes. “When I – we – first agreed to this all those years ago, I never dreamed it would be this difficult... how could I have understood? To know everything that will happen and be powerless to actually do anything about it…” He released a snort of humourless derision. “Winston said something similar to me once… I’ve never forgotten that…”

  Neither have I… the thoughts formed sombre agreement in his mind. I hope it isn’t tonight: for her sake…

  “So do I,” Brandis replied sadly, neither particularly optimistic. “So do I…”

  Closing time couldn’t come soon enough for Eliza as she battled with the busy crowd at the bar. As she’d feared, the clientele that evening comprised mostly American servicemen – airmen and soldiers – with the occasional brave local thrown in for good measure. She’d worked hard that night and no one could’ve argued any different. She’d lost count of how many trays of glasses she’d washed, how many spills she’d cleaned up, or how many new kegs she’d had to rush downstairs to tap.

  By the way the pub had filled up that evening and stayed so for most of the night, it seemed to a heavily-overworked Eliza that the entirety of the US 3rd Bomb Group contingent at the airbase must at some stage presented up to the bar and demanded beers in loud and very American fashion. Every one of them save for one in particular – one she was mightily glad not to have seen that night.

  Maude wasn’t in town so there was no legitimate reason for Eddie to have come calling – if one could call an affair with a local married woman ‘legitimate’ in any real sense of the word – yet Eliza had almost expected him to come anyway. That he was crazy she had no doubt, but she’s also seen that same arrogance and aggressive pride in other men over the years – something that always signalled danger to her – and as much as she wished otherwise, she couldn’t forget the way he’d been staring at her daughter in that moment she’d found them alone in the hotel the day before. That particular American was dangerous all right, and certifiable too in Eliza’s opinion, although she’d probably not have described the man so graciously.

  She was glad there’d been no need for any confrontation that night as she closed the doors on the last group of happily-drunk Yanks and locked it behind them. Turning back toward the mess that was left behind, she surveyed the panorama of stinking ashtrays, discarded rubbish and unfinished schooner glasses and released a long, slow sigh of pragmatic resignation.

  In hindsight, it seemed it might’ve been okay for Briony to stay and help out that night but she was nevertheless glad she hadn’t taken the chance. It left her with a lot of work still to do before she finished up, but she didn’t mind in the end. Hard work never killed anyone, as the saying went, and in her youth she’d in any case experienced far more difficult or arduous situations than a hotel that needed cleaning up.

  “First things first though,” she muttered to herself as she wandered over to the bar and took up the long-handled broom that lay propped against it. “Better turn off the kegs for the night and clean up downstairs before I forget or there’ll be hell to pay come mornin’…” Softly whistling the Glenn Miller hit Chattanooga Choo Choo – some of the Americans had been singing along to it on the radio earlier – she headed down into the basement to begin the arduous task of cleaning up for the night.

  With a gloved fist tightly grasping a blackjack he’d stolen from one of his bunkmates, Eddie hit her from behind the moment she reached the bottom of the stairs. She fell forward, instantly stunned by the blow, and was unable to release much more than a short, gurgling cry of pain as she sprawled onto the basement’s hard concrete floor and he moved out of the shadows to stand above her.

  “Nobody makes a fool outta me, honey… nobody…” Eddie snarled softly, his eyes bright with excitement as he pocketed the blackjack and clasped both hands together in anticipation, cracking his knuckles beneath the leather gloves.

  Lashing out with one booted foot, he shoved it into her side and rolled her forcefully over onto her back, eliciting another muffle
d cry of agony as Eliza struggled to regain full consciousness. The impact of her fall had left her with a split lip and bloody nose to match the bruised and bleeding wound in the back of her head and she was having difficulty focussing or indeed even opening her eyes properly.

  “All I wanted was to be friends,” he continued, the malevolence in his voice quite clear as he circled around her, on edge and moving from side to side on the balls of his feet. “Just wanted to be friends,” he repeated, “but you just had to spoil everything!”

  “No… wait… I don’t… please…” Eliza muttered slowly, still partially dazed as her vision finally began to return. “Nothing… just… singing…”

  “Oh, you’ll sing all right,” he growled, not really caring that her words were disjointed and mostly incoherent as he bared his teeth in a positively evil grin. “You’ll sing for Buddy and me for sure. Ivy ‘sung’ for me down in Melbourne… so did Pauline and good old Gladys... and after I’m done with you, it’ll be the kid’s turn to sing, too!”

  Mention of her daughter finally snapped Eliza’s mind back to full consciousness, and as she fought through the waves of pain and nausea that coursed through her body she struggled to lift herself up onto her elbows and glared defiantly back at him.

  “You stay away from her, you bloody pig!” She hissed with venom, droplets of crimson spraying faintly from her bloody nose and shattered lip as it curled into a scornful sneer. “You lay a hand on her and I’ll bloody kill ya!”

  “‘Lay a hand on her’?” Eddie shot back, lust flaring in his eyes. “I’m gonna lay more than by damn hands on her!” She tried to rise to her feet then, intent on lunging at him with all her strength, but he punched her hard in the face before she was more than halfway up, forcing her back onto the floor once more as she again struggled to maintain consciousness.

  “We’re gonna have us a fine old time, little Briony and I…” he continued, enjoying the moment “…but it’s your voice I’m after right now!”

  He threw himself on her then, smashing her flat against the concrete and pinning her down as she wailed for help. Using one gloved hand to stifle her cries, the other reached down grasped at her dress, pulling it up toward her waist. Eliza’s eyes flared in terrible understanding then as she realised what he was going to do and her muffled screams became louder and more desperate as her wide, terrified eyes and shaking head pleaded with him to stop.

  He raped her there on that hard, concrete floor, grunting wildly as he forced his way inside her. With his own, solid weight pinning her to the ground, he ignored her fists battering weakly at his head and shoulders and slid his gloved fingers around Eliza’s throat, squeezing tightly as he continued his assault on her battered body. With lungs suddenly deprived of air, her screams quickly faded away into little more than a faint, almost soundless wheeze as he continued to tighten his grasp, her eyes bulging as the colour began to drain from her face.

  “Sing for me, baby… sing for Buddy…!” He crowed, hoarse with his own depraved excitement as he continued to rape her, savouring every second as the vertebrae in her neck began to crack faintly and he watched the life fade from her eyes.

  A moment later and he was all over. He’d spent himself in a terrible, shuddering climax as Eliza’s body lay lifeless beneath him. Suddenly feeling very vulnerable and self-conscious, as if waking from a vague nightmare, Eddie Leonski scrambled to his feet and pulled up his pants, continuing to fuss over his uniform until it had been returned to something approximating proper military dress. He stared down at the body for a few more moments then before looking up once more and casting a careful eye about the poorly-lit basement.

  It wasn’t long before his eyes fell upon exactly the inspiration he was seeking. Although an electric light bulb burned in the ceiling above, power supplies weren’t always what they might be, and to that end a kerosene lantern and a box of matches stood on a small table positioned against the far wall, placed there for use in emergencies. Eddie moved quickly across to it now, checking that the lantern was filled – which it was – before taking one of the matches and carefully bringing it to life.

  Returning the lantern to the table, he then proceeded to take Eliza’s body by the ankles and drag it back toward the table also, finally leaving it by a stack of full kegs in the corner. They were the last of many along that far wall, with several large crates of whisky and a variety of other spirits stacked beside them in the corner. With a single, powerful grunt of exertion, he toppled the highest keg from the top of the stack and brought it crashing down onto Eliza’s body. His aim was perfect, the heavy steel barrel crushing her skull with a sickening thud and leaving little likelihood than anyone might pick out the marks of strangulation he’d left around her throat.

  Taking up the lantern once more, he crossed the room and mounted the stairs, pausing just long enough at the top to swing his arm and toss it back toward the body and the fallen keg. It shattered instantly on impact, burning kerosene spraying across the floor and up onto the wooden crates of spirits. Fire began to spread quickly across the heavy boxes and Eddie didn’t intend to hang around to find out what was likely to occur once it burned through to the whisky inside… he already had a fair idea what would happen next and he wanted to be far away when it did. Without another thought he disappeared up the stairs and unlocked the side door leading out onto Bridge Street before stepping quietly out into the night.

  Shielding his eyes against the glare of headlights approaching from the opposite direction, Eddie walked briskly east along Tuppal Road, heading back toward base. His heart leapt into his mouth moments later, feelings of exhilaration and satisfaction draining from him as the approaching car drew to within 50 metres of him and suddenly pulled into the kerb. True fear flickered in his mind for just a second as the lights dimmed and he for the first time realised that he was staring right at the blue Singer Junior 8 sedan owned by Bruce and Maude Morris.

  Maude had already climbed from the driver’s seat, almost running around onto the footpath, but Eddie was already prepared with a suitable excuse, the animal cunning of a true predator always ready to come to his aid in time of need.

  “Maudie, baby…” he exclaimed, hoping the nearest street lighting was dim enough to cover his dishevelled appearance. “I knocked on yer door but you weren’t there! I missed ya, baby!” As he’d suspected, that opening line produced exactly the effect he was looking for as Maude Morris literally fell into his arms there on the street.

  “Oh, Eddie, love… it’s been terrible…! That bloody bitch of a sister-in-law slapped me… slapped me, Eddie, bold as ya please! Gettin’ all airs and graces and actin’ like she was bloody white or somethin’…” A hint of fear spread across her own face in that moment as she remembered Eliza’s threat. “She didn’t see ya, did she, love…? Ya didn’t wake her up…?”

  “Nahh, baby,” Eddie replied with a reassuring grin, giving her a squeeze at the same time. “There was nobody home, and the bar was locked up too so I figured ya both musta been out somewhere…”

  He was waiting for it now… waiting for the inevitable… and knew full well that his own credibility and survival would hinge on the events of the next few moments and hours.

  “Well, that’s funny…” Maude remarked with a frown, looking over Eddie’s shoulder for the first time and squinting back down the street at the hotel in the darkness. “If Lizzie weren’t at home, she shoulda still been cleanin’ up the pub at least…”

  Eddie turned too, knowing it was crucial he make the first call on what they were about to see. As they both stared back toward the pub, it was quickly apparent that a flickering glow of orange was visible through the ground floor windows. Eddie already knew what it was however, enabling him to make the call.

  “Holy shit, Maudie… is that a fire in there? Can ya see it? Can ya see the flames?”

  There was silence for a moment as the realisation sunk in, horror spreading across Maude Morris’ face.

  “Oh, my good Gawd,
Eddie… it is! It is a bloody fire!”

  “Fire…! Fire…!” Eddie started screaming immediately at the top of his lungs, running up to the front of the nearest house and banging loudly on the door. “Fire at the hotel… call the fire brigade…! Fire…! Fire…!

  It was at that moment that several cartons of mixed spirits decided to all go up at once, producing enough of a fireball to blow out the front windows facing on to Tuppal Street and send flames cascading out and upward over the balcony toward the second floor. Even as Maude screamed and collapsed onto the kerb against the side of her car, Eddie was already running back the way he’d come, rolling his sleeves as he made a great show of preparing to do what he could.

  Other males began to emerge from their own homes with buckets in hand, mostly teens and older men not fit for military service, and they became a growing crowd of willing helpers that surged toward the burning pub. Tocumwal was as tight-knit a community as that of any small town and every able-bodied man and woman would respond to an emergency or threat to the best of their abilities. All that anyone would remember about Eddie Leonski from that night was that he was right up there, shoulder to shoulder with the rest, as they fought to control the flames.

  Already, the clamour of the local fire service trucks would be heard in the distance.

  8. Here There Be Tygers