by Robin Crumby
She let out a deep sigh and turned to face Briggs, looking him squarely between the eyes.
“If I agree to go along with this, I want your word that you’re not going to do anything to Jack.”
“You have my word,” nodded Briggs with a wry smile, “I won’t do anything to him.”
“Very well, then I’ll be your Trojan horse.”
“Good,” said Victor, exchanging a knowing look with Briggs.
The crescent moon appeared from behind a cloud and she studied it absent-mindedly. She shuddered realising what she would have to do. Victor had convinced her it would all be worth it. Talking about it was one thing, but now it came time to act, she hesitated. Whichever way she turned, there would be consequences. That was for certain.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Jack descended the cold grey steps to the passageways that ran beneath the castle. Outside the makeshift cell where they were holding the prisoner, he found Tommy looking flustered at the sound of unknown footsteps hurrying his way.
“Thank God it’s you,” he said, clutching his chest in relief. “What’s going on up there? I’ve been going half-crazy. First I heard the convoy heading this way and then those explosions shook the whole place.”
“How long have you been down here?”
“Sam was meant to come and take over about an hour ago. I’ll murder him when I find him.”
“It’s not his fault, he’s been helping Riley and the others. Sorry, I think everyone forgot all about you. Listen, go and take a look for yourself. Copper is back with a whole army this time, making all kinds of demands.”
“Bloody hell. What about the prisoner? Don’t you want me to stick around?”
“I’ll be fine, you go right along. I’d like a word with him alone.”
Tommy shrugged his shoulders, impatient to go outside. It was freezing and dark down here, with only a paraffin lamp for company. He handed Jack the set of oversized keys, took one last look around the damp corridor and left, pleased to be rid of the place.
Jack shuffled through the keys till he found the intricately tooled bronze one that he imagined must be as old as the Tudor castle itself. Inserting it into the lock, he took a deep breath and threw open the door.
Inside Damian King was sat cross-legged on the bed with his reading lamp lit. In his left hand, angled to catch the light was a hard-cover biography of Benito Mussolini. He raised a finger to acknowledge Jack’s presence, making him wait until he had finished his page. Picking up his book marker, he thrust it deep into the folds of the book.
“Is it time already?”
“Your friends are outside.”
“Well then, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
He got quickly to his feet and Jack naturally took a step back, maintaining the distance between them. Damian King noticed his caution and laughed.
“Do you really think I’d try anything now?”
“I know what you’re capable of.”
“Clearly, you don’t know me very well then. I think I’ll actually miss our little chats. I consider them a sort of therapy,” he said with a mock flourish.
“I’ll be sure to tell your friends Copper and Briggs how cooperative you’ve been.”
“Be my guest. Don’t flatter yourself Jack. I told you what I wanted you to know. Nothing more, nothing less. They’ll no more believe I helped you, than if you told them I’d found God.”
Jack looked around the cell at all the drawings and hand-written notes stuck to the wall with sticky tape.
“Don’t you want to take any of this stuff with you?”
“It’s all up here Jack,” he said tapping his forehead. “You know what? I think all this thinking time has done me the power of good. I was so angry about the world when I came here, now I feel nothing.”
“I’m glad to hear that some good has come of your stay.”
King stared back, his eyebrow raised quizzically, unsure whether Jack was being serious or not.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” he derided. “You really believe all that psychobabble you told me about mindfulness and neurolinguistic programming. About everyone being born good, nature versus nurture. You think that you can talk anyone round to your way of thinking?”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve counselled someone you know. I’ve met plenty of troubled souls in my time. Oh, but that’s right, I forgot, they broke the mould when they made you.”
“No one made me. I made myself. People like you think that monsters are made and can be unmade. I disagree. People like me choose the path they take and no amount of talking is going to make them change their ways. We don’t want to change. We’ve having too much fun,” he smiled. “Who wants to be like you anyway?”
He shook his head, laughing openly at Jack’s disapproval.
“You know what, Jack? You’re so arrogant you could never understand someone like me. Arrogance is your weakness. That, and not listening. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that God gave you two ears and one mouth so you could use them in proportion? You’re so busy waiting for your chance to speak that you miss the point.”
“Well then, thank goodness I don’t have to listen to any more of your nonsense.” He pushed the door open. “You’re free to leave.”
The prisoner made no attempt to move.
“Oh, but I’m not finished yet. Something’s broken in that thick skull of yours, isn’t it?” he said tapping his forehead again. “I always said to myself, Damian, don’t be so hard on him, he’s probably got salt in his ears from a lifetime alone on that fishing boat of his, all at sea.”
He sniggered to himself, adopting an almost demonic smile.
“Well, there’s a storm coming, Jack, and you’re directly in its path.”
“After all this time, it saddens me that you really have learned nothing. You’re still the sad, bitter person with a chip on his shoulder who arrived here, believing the world was against him.”
“That’s right. You wasted all that time and for what? Nothing.”
Jack shook his head. There were so many things he wanted to say, but King was right, it didn’t matter anymore. He deserved to be in a lunatic asylum, perhaps they both did. Men like King were incapable of seeing the world as it really was. He had no respect for the things Jack valued and had worked so hard for. Men like King thought the world owed them something. After today, he was likely never to see him again. He wasn’t worth the effort.
Jack stepped outside waiting for King to follow him. The prisoner took one last look around his cell and blew out the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. In the narrow passageway, the prisoner stretched his legs and rolled his shoulders, flexing muscles he had not used in some time, enjoying the space and freedom after the cramped confines of his cell.
Jack held the revolver in front of him and gestured towards the stairs at the end of the passageway. King looked at the gun and sneered, limping away as the circulation started flooding back to his extremities. He seemed to be growing in mobility and confidence with each step.
They climbed the stone stairwell and paused at the covered entrance to the courtyard. King took a deep breath of sea air. He closed his eyes and let the breath out slowly, his senses alert, listening to the sounds of the crowd outside the castle walls.
“So many have come.”
“They’re not here for you, King. They’re here for a meal. Someone told them we had food.”
It didn’t seem to matter to King. He looked suitably gratified that he would soon be free.
Flynn appeared on the stairs above them and seemed surprised to see King out of his cell. Jack could have sworn there was an exchange of nods between the two men. He had always suspected Flynn of harbouring certain sympathies towards the prisoner, though he never for a moment believed him capable of outright collaboration.
“Jack, there you are,” said the Sergeant, composing himself. “Can I borrow you for a minute? There’s something you need to hear over at the guardhouse. B
allard, can you get someone to watch the prisoner for me?”
Jack followed Flynn and Sam through the Tudor gate towards the front entrance. Ahead of them dozens of men were busy erecting barricades and setting up firing positions behind overturned tables and heavy water barrels. This would be their last line of defence.
Inside the guardhouse, the castle’s former gift shop, one of Flynn’s men was shaking his head in frustration. A pair of headphones sat lop-sidedly on his head as he adjusted the dials on a radio set.
“Still nothing from Armstrong?”
“Just static on military channels.”
“So tell us again what you heard on maritime frequencies.”
“That’s right. Every few minutes, we’ve been getting a woman’s voice on channel sixteen, asking for Jack. She sounds scared. Judging by the signal strength, it must be very close range.”
Jack’s mind was racing. “What did she want?”
“She didn’t say. We thought it might be one of your people who made it across to the island trying to reach you.”
As if on cue, the radio crackled into life and a voice Jack recognised instantly called his name. It had to be Terra. He snatched the microphone from the soldier’s hand.
“Terra, is that you? Where are you?”
“Jack, thank God. I’m right here, just outside the lighthouse. If you go up to the top of the Gun Tower you’ll see me.”
“How did you…I can’t believe it’s really you…”
“Listen, there’s no time Jack. I’ll tell you all about it, but first, please there are a lot of desperate, hungry people out here who need your help.”
“What about Briggs?”
“All he wants is your prisoner, Damian King. He won’t cause you any trouble. Just give him what he wants and he’ll leave, I’m sure of it. Anyway, most of the refugees who came here have gone. They were scared away by the fighting. Please Jack, you need to open the gates. Come see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
He stepped back from the radio, trying to digest what she had told him. Could it be true? He so wanted to believe her. Despite everything he knew about what had gone before, his rational thoughts were being swamped by waves of emotion. His hand was shaking so much, he gripped the back of the chair to steady himself. Jack gathered himself, noticing Flynn staring at him as if he had lost his marbles.
“It’s your call, Jack. Why don’t we do as she suggests and head up to the roof, take a look?”
Jack nodded, suddenly finding it hard to breath. It was as if his heart was beating out of his chest. So many times he had longed for this day, when his Terra would come back to him. After all this time, giving in to his hopes felt like a release.
He took the stone stairs two at a time to the roof of the Gun Tower. What he saw reminded him of a war zone.
Beyond the lighthouse, he could see smoke rising from craters along the beach. The dark shapes of several animal carcasses littered the ground. Looking out over the front entrance, he was relieved to find most of the crowd had gone. Along the shingle spit, heading back towards the safety of Milford village, he could see hundreds of people now scurrying away in terror, empty-handed.
“See over there,” said Flynn peering through binoculars, pointing into the darkness towards the lighthouse. He passed them to Jack who pushed his glasses up onto his forehead, squinting through the eye pieces. He located the white outline of the lighthouse against the dark landscape and there huddled in the doorway was a dark shape.
If it was Terra, then she was barely recognisable, dressed in rags, with a headscarf shrouding her face.
“Are you sure it’s her? This isn’t some kind of trick?”
“It’s got to be her,” said Jack, looking again, daring to believe.
The months of worry he had endured were seemingly at an end. The sense of relief was palpable. Grabbing at the wall, he slumped forwards, his legs shaking so much he could barely stand. Sam was there in an instant, shouldering his weight and patting him on the back. The more Jack looked, the more he convinced himself it had to be her.
“Can we get her into the castle without anyone noticing?”
“I don’t see how. If we let her in, we’ll have to let them all in.”
“But most of the others who came here seem to have legged it. There are only a few stragglers left.”
“They’re waiting for the handouts they were promised.”
As if on cue, Sister Theodora’s voice echoed around the castle over the megaphone.
“There has been enough bloodshed here for one night. I appeal to all of you, on both sides, to lay down your arms and call a truce so that these poor people can be given food and water. There are many amongst them, young and elderly, who won’t last the night. They’ll freeze to death without your help. Do you really want that on your conscience? I beg you, please, open your gates and let them in. I give you my word that they will not bite the hand that feeds them.”
Jack closed his eyes. It had come to this. Was he really prepared to put his own interests above those of others? His altruism towards the refugees was one thing, but wasn’t he forgetting Zed and Riley’s warnings about Briggs and Copper?
He wanted so badly to see Terra again. Every fibre of his being was crying out for their reunion. He shook his head and determined that, for once in his life, he would dismiss logic and reason. Briggs would need to be an idiot to try anything with all these soldiers around.
“Listen Flynn. Sooner or later we’re going to have to come to some kind of agreement. We can’t risk a prolonged siege. Now that most of the civilians are away, I don’t think it makes sense waiting any longer. I suggest we give Briggs what he came here for. If we hand over the prisoner, he might just leave. The Sister’s right, those people need our help. We can’t just sit here and watch them die on our doorstep.”
“You’ve changed your tune haven’t you?” puzzled Flynn. “Very well. That settles it,” said Flynn, his mind made up. He turned to address Ballard. “Get everyone you can spare to the front gate. Now that the refugee numbers are a bit more manageable, let’s get ready to receive groups of thirty at a time, women and children only. I just hope you’re right about this Jack.”
Looking out across the black waters of the Solent, Jack could see lights in the distance over at Cliff End Battery and Fort Albert. The majority of his team had been safely evacuated. He imagined the rest of his group drinking tea and laughing in relief, looking back at the castle with mixed emotions. Perhaps they were looking back at him this very moment.
“I just hope I’m right too,” he whispered with a grimace.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Terra was waiting next to the lighthouse as Victor had instructed. The filthy coat and scarf she had been handed stank of sweat and piss. She held her breath to avoid inhaling the stench.
Being so close to the lighthouse again where they had shared so many memories was proving uncomfortable. Remembering her time with Jack felt like opening a long-forgotten photo album. Moments frozen in time that she could picture if she tried. Revisiting their happier memories was indulgent, she knew that. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell, to linger. She had moved on. The whole episode was history. He had been a stepping stone in her life, no more, no less.
She almost laughed remembering their first time together; his awkwardness and apologies. The loose leathery skin around his neck, weathered from a lifetime at sea. How repulsed she had been, almost disgusted with herself.
Between the lighthouse and the front gate, the crowd had thinned. In the distance, she could see the taillights of several of the vehicles bumping away along the shingle roadway. The refugees who had stayed were huddled expectantly out of sight near the drawbridge.
From inside the castle she could just make out a commotion, as voices and footsteps echoed from the covered entrance. It suggested the soldiers were preparing to open the drawbridge. She tried to imagine what would be waiting for them on the other side.
If Vict
or was right, they would be poorly prepared. By the time they realised their mistake, it would be too late. Disguised amongst the helpless refugees were Briggs’ men, heavily armed and spoiling for a fight.
Victor led her over to join those nearest the gate. He pressed up against her back, urging her forward, sensing her reluctance. His head was covered by a dark blue hoodie to hide his features. There was a tartan blanket thrown around his shoulders, masking the outline of a rifle he carried slung over his shoulder.
“Once we get inside, all you need to do is point Jack out to us and we’ll do the rest. Agreed?”
“You promised me you won’t hurt him.”
He slapped her hard across the face. “Don’t get sentimental on me Terra. You know what has to be done.”
She nodded in reluctant agreement, tears streaming down her face as she winced against the stinging pain. She hated being used like this, but an inner voice reminded her that it was no worse than she deserved. The two of them merged with the waiting crowd, shrinking lower so as to blend in with those around them.
Beyond the gate, they could hear scuffed footsteps again and the grinding of metal on metal as the defenders wrestled with the lever to release the chains that would lower the draw bridge over the small ditch that ran around the castle walls.
Victor cautioned those around him to stand back to avoid being crushed. Terra looked around her, aware of others pressing forward with a darker purpose. Amongst the shivering shapes of mothers and children, hugging each other in expectation, she noticed Briggs grinning back at her. His men were dressed as refugees, with thick winter coats and hats grabbed from members of the crowd.
Inch by inch, the gap above the drawbridge widened as they saw light coming from inside. They stepped back further, making room. People behind jostled against each other, eager to be first inside. The leading edge of the drawbridge passed their eye-line. Inside Terra could see the two men operating the mechanism with three others anxiously pointing weapons towards the sea of faces now staring at them, waiting for the divide to be bridged. The drawbridge clanged down into place sending a cloud of dust dancing at their feet as they surged forwards.
