The driver strolled towards the chapel, offering a lazy scrutiny of the street as he went. He knocked and waited with his hands in his pockets. It was all very casual. Far too casual. Ryan felt certain this man was not who he posed to be. But if not a worker, then who was he? As he thought it, his fingers curled around a half-brick that was lying on the ground at his knees.
The chapel door opened a few inches and he thought he saw Brynne’s face appear. There was a brief conversation and then the door swung inwards and both figures moved out of sight. Warily, Ryan surfaced from his hiding place and crossed the street. He knew that Brynne had fixed metal plates against the grimy arched windows, so it was pointless trying to peer through the glass. The only way to see what was happening in that Chapel was through the front door. Ryan wasn’t expected until much later though and Brynne had made it very clear how he hated unscheduled visits.
In an instant Ryan’s fear turned to excitement. If Brynne had allowed this man inside, then it meant he was another member of their group. A second spark for the fire. That would explain the car and the clothes and why they’d seemed so out of place. The driver was no more a factory worker than Ryan was. He moved towards the door, knowing that Brynne would forgive his early return if he showed the broken battery pack. Once inside though, there would be no reason not to introduce him to the other operative.
Quietly Ryan inched open the Chapel door and stepped inside. A moment later he felt the press of cold metal at the base of his skull. His breath caught fast and instinctively he raised both hands away from his body. The gun nudged him further inside where Brynne waited, a grave expression on his face. The seconds dragged on until the old man gave a quick shake of his head. The gun was lowered and when Ryan slowly turned he saw the driver placing it back into a shoulder strap beneath his jacket.
“What are you doing here?” Brynne’s voice held no emotion.
“I had to come back. The camera…” The old man hissed a warning and Ryan stopped.
“I take it he’s one of yours then?” That was the driver. Brynne said nothing, but the look that passed between them did not suggest friendship.
“You need to leave,” Brynne said. Ryan turned to the driver, but it took a few second to realise that the words were meant for him. They bit colder than the gun metal had just moments before.
In the silence that followed, there was the faintest burst of radio chatter and the driver’s face blanched. Ryan tracked to the sound and saw a small black circle, no bigger than a pea, fixed inside the driver’s ear. It was a covert earpiece and in that instant Ryan saw him for what he was. A gunnerman agent.
He looked at Brynne and slowly raised one hand to his own ear. Those sharp blue eyes were as inscrutable as ever though and Ryan had no way of knowing if he had understood the meaning. Left with no other option, he emerged from the chapel to find the sun hanging low in the sky and long shadows stretching across the street.
Chapter 30
“Silence.”
A familiar voice bellowed from the back of the classroom signalling the entrance of their Truths and Histories teacher. Mr Matthews eyeballed each row of students in turn to ensure their full attention. John’s stomach churned as the gaze momentarily fell upon him, but Mr Matthews seemed content to dump all forty of their writing books on his desk.
“Calloway. Distribute.” While John quietly handed the books out, Mr Matthews attacked the board with his usual ferocity. He spoke the words he was writing in a slow and deliberate voice. “What…factors,” he said, “enabled…Premier Talis…to defeat…the King?”
He paced the gap between his desk and the classroom like a gunnerman, gently tossing a piece of chalk up and down. “Well?” he said. “How did the Premier come to power?”
Jenny Sears tentatively raised her hand. “Because the king was bad?” she said.
Mr Matthews sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb, momentarily displacing his glasses. “Yes,” he said. “We know the King was bad and we know Premier Talis is good. But I’m looking for something a little more incisive.” Everyone was too scared to speak but their silence only made him more impatient. “Why would people think the King was bad? What was he doing?”
“He killed people,” someone said behind John.
“Good,” Mr Matthews said. He turns to the board and wrote Executions. “What else?”
“Torture,” someone else shouted out.
“Yes, that’s right.” Up it went in big chalk letters. “What about the economy? Did people have jobs?” A few of them shook their heads which was enough for him to write Unemployment on the board. After several minutes of wringing these ideas from the class, there were a dozen more words that described the bad things that happened before Premier Talis came to power. John wrote them in his exercise book while Mr Matthews continued speaking.
“Of course, we all know that the Premier succeeded because it had been pre-determined by God.” Mr Matthews said this often, but as usual, John sensed little conviction in the words. “However, as historians, as Truth seekers, you can see that it was all of these,” he waved one hand in front of the blackboard, “that made the people of the City States desperate for a change in government? Premier Talis arrived and they - we - welcomed him with open arms.”
He picked out a couple of words from the list and calls them out. “Unemployment,” he said. “Since the Premier came to power, everyone who is able to work has been given a job. Law and Order. There are patrol cars and checkpoints on every street corner. It is the Premier’s ability to keep the people safe that makes him such a popular leader.”
“What about torture?” John said suddenly.
Mr Matthews’ gaze caught him like a lighthouse beam. “What’s that Calloway?”
His mouth went dry and he sank closer to his desk. He had been thinking about his dad in The Cathedral, but now desperately wished he had kept his mouth shut. “There was still torture,” he said quietly. “After the Premier came to power. I think.”
He was suddenly aware of the silence in class and then watched Mr Matthews launch a piece of chalk at a child in the back row. “Concentrate,” he barked. The rest of the class snapped to attention and Mr Matthews continued the lesson without breaking stride.
“Ah. You mean the gypsies. Very good Calloway. It is true that the people asked Premier Talis to clear out the campsites so that gypsies could be set to work. Some of the old travelling families called this torture, but the Premier correctly saw it as a re-education of an underprivileged class. Now,” he said, changing tack, “turn to page fifty-eight in your text books.” He dropped a stack of them at the end of each row. When he reached John’s table he leaned forwards and spoke in a whisper. “Careful lad.” Then he was away and speaking to the whole class as if the words had never been uttered. “I want you to work through questions one to ten.” A collective groan escaped the class but as he reached for another piece of chalk, everyone dropped their heads and busied themselves in work.
After the lesson, John found himself scuffing across the schoolyard on his own. There were some older boys kicking a football around and beyond that a group of girls huddled in the corner smoking. Danny Saunders had been kept in, so he didn’t have anyone to talk to and he plodded aimlessly with his head down. There was a sudden sharp smack against his face that almost knocked him off his feet.
“Sorry kid,” one of the older boys shouted. Then he pointed at the football. “Kick it back then.” The ball had managed to hit his cheek and nose at the same time. John felt tears tingling at the corners of his eyes, but had enough pride to hold them back. He kicked the ball and it landed reasonably close to where he had aimed. The older boys resumed their game and John scuttled away.
There were some steps at the entrance to the lower school and his stomach turned a somersault when he saw Alia sitting there. She had a forlorn look in her eyes and seemed paler and thinner than when they’d last met. John moved alongside her and cleared his throat. She sq
uinted up into the low sunshine and shielded her eyes with the flat of one hand.
“John,” she said happily and her face broke into a genuine smile.
As overwhelmed as he was by that response, John couldn’t help but notice the bottle of pills that she quickly hid inside her pocket. Alia gave him a wan smile but said nothing. “How come you’re sitting here on your own?”
She shrugged. “You know. New girl, new school. People don’t exactly go out of their way to be friendly.”
“I know what you mean.”
“How about you?” she said. “Not with that mate of yours?”
“Danny? No, he’s in detention with Mr Matthews. We’re not even that good mates really. He’s just someone to talk to.”
She shifted along the step and patted the cold stone beside her. “Well how about we sit on our own together?” John plonked himself on the step in a heartbeat and she pushed her shoulder against his in a playful sort of way. “What happened to your face?” she said, pointing at the red mark.
“I got hit with a football.” Alia pinched her lips together, trying not to laugh. “It’s not funny. They kicked it really hard. I could have lost an eye.”
She laughed out loud then which gave John butterflies in his stomach. He wished they weren’t sitting in such a hidden away corner. He wanted everyone to know that he was spending his break time with Alia Turner and that she had just laughed at his joke. She helped him wipe the mud off his face and they chatted until the bell rang. Begrudgingly, John got to his feet.
“Where are you now?” she said.
“Upper school.”
“I’m down this end. Thanks for the company though.” She flashed him one last perfect smile and went inside.
At home that night, John stayed at the kitchen table after tea and took out the homework that Mr Matthews had given them. His dad was sitting across from him, reading his paper and listening to the drone of the radio.
“What’s up?” he asked.
John realised he had been staring into space.
“What? Nothing. I just don’t know what to do.” He propped his elbows on the table grumpily.“What are you learning about?” his dad said, folding his newspaper on the table
“How Premier Talis overthrew the King. I’ve already answered question one,” he passed his dad the book, “but the rest are really hard.”
He scanned over the answer and looked genuinely impressed. “It’s very good. Did you answer this on your own?”
“Mr Matthews helped with some of it,” John said quietly. Although in reality, most of the first answer had been copied from the blackboard.
“Steve Matthews?” his dad said, a strange smile on his face.
“I don’t know. We just call him Mr Matthews.” John had never known anyone smile when they talked about Mr Matthews before. “Dad? Were you alive when the King was in power?”
His dad laughed. “You make it sound like the dark ages. But yes, I was.”
“Was it really bad back then?”
He took a deep breath and then checked the doorway as though he expected a gunnerman to storm in. “Honestly? It wasn’t that different. It wasn’t that the old King was particularly bad. He was just old and his regime had become corrupt. Prices were rising and people were going hungry. The Gabblers were raiding beyond Norde Pass and people were very afraid. In those kind of conditions, it’s easy for a man like Talis to seize power.”
“But if he was just trying to make things better, why did you want to kill Talis?” The words hung between them and John wondered if his dad would answer.
“However well-intentioned Talis started out, he didn’t stay that way. He used fear to divide people. Turned friend against friend, even families against one another. I think it was the fear, more than anything else, that I was fighting against. I didn’t want to live,” he stopped and gave a quiet laugh. “I guess I didn’t want to live like this. That was why I tried to kill him.”
No one ever talked to John about this stuff, but it seemed to make sense. At least more than the version he had read at school. “Mr Matthews is as old as you. Why doesn’t he tell us what it was really like?”
His dad shrugged. “He probably wants to. But it’s not always safe to say what you think. I shouldn’t really be talking to you like this. And you must never repeat our conversations to anyone. All they need is an excuse.”
“I know Dad.”
“You just need to be careful.”
“God, you sound like Mr Matthews.”
“What?”
“In class today, he told me to be careful.”
“Why?”
“He was talking about how life had changed since the old King. He said that everything was better now, but I said that it wasn’t.”
“John,” his dad said with a groan.
“I was just thinking about you,” he said defensively. “Mr Matthews said that it was all different now, but I said people still got tortured after Talis came to power.” John’s dad closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “It’s okay,” John said quickly. “He thought I was talking about something else. About the gypsies. He said it was a good answer. But when he was handing out the textbooks, he said that I should be careful.” His dad still said nothing. “Will I get in trouble?”
“I don’t think so. But you’ve got to think about what you’re saying. The things I’ve told you about my past. They can’t leave these four walls. It’s too dangerous to rake it all up again.”
The front door suddenly clattered open and they heard Ryan bustle into the hallway. John quickly leant across the table. “Have you spoken to him yet? About what I told you?”
His dad put one finger to his lips. “Don’t worry about that anymore. I’ve said I’ll deal with it.” They both turned to see Ryan watching them. John grabbed his school books and squeezed past his brother, unable to mask the guilty expression on his face.
“And John,” his dad called. “You listen to Steve Matthews. He’s a good man.”
John nodded and then ran upstairs. He dropped his homework books to the floor and jumped on the top bunk. From inside the pillow case he grabbed the notebook that he’d been using to keep tabs on Ryan. This time he needed it for an altogether different reason. He turned to the centre pages, creased the book down its spine and with a nervous hand put pen to paper.
Dear Alia…
Chapter 31
Ryan had felt miserable since Brynne sent him away from the chapel. In the heat of his anger he’d thought about dumping the camera on the steps outside but knew he couldn’t do that to Brynne. So instead, he had made the journey across town and decided to stash it at home until it was safe to go back.
When he arrived, his dad and brother were talking in the kitchen. Judging by how quickly the conversation stopped and then the guilty look on John’s face, Ryan guessed they’d been talking about him. He stared accusingly at his dad while John squeezed by, but the coward wouldn’t even meet his eyes. With a snort of disgust Ryan walked away.
“Have you got a minute?”
There was nothing his dad could say that Ryan wanted to hear. Even so, he found himself dragging out a chair and sitting side on at the table. He said nothing, waiting for his dad to break the silence.
“When did you quit the factory?”
Ryan sighed. “Does it matter?”
“Only if you want to earn money. Only if you want to stay clear of the gunnermen.”
“Whatever.”
“You should have told me. I had to vouch for you to get that job.”
Ryan gave a cruel laugh. As if the word of that old has-been made the slightest bit of difference in the biggest factory in Karasard. The truth was, he quit because the work was dull and physically relentless. There was no way Ryan was going to throw half a lifetime into a hole like that.
It was actually Brynne who gave him the way out. He had got Ryan’s details on a fake work card so that he didn’t flag up with the employment department. He even gave him mo
ney each week like an allowance. It wasn’t much, but what else did he actually need? A true revolutionary should be able to leave at a moment’s notice with just the clothes on his back. It was the only way to be self-sufficient.
“You don’t need to worry about it,” Ryan told his Dad dismissively. “It’s sorted.”
“It’s sorted is it? Ok so where are you working?”
“Here and there,” Ryan snapped. “Why does it matter to you?”
“Is it in Straybeck?”
“Nope.”
“Karasard?”
“Well if it’s not Straybeck, then obviously yes.”
“Which factory?”
“You wouldn’t know it.”
“Try me.”
He’d had enough of the conversation. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“If you’re caught up in something, I need to know.”
Ryan’s stomach clenched up and he stopped halfway across the kitchen. His immediate reaction was to tell his dad to go fuck himself. But Brynne had taught him to be smarter than that. Something about the whole conversation was prickling his suspicions. When had his dad ever shown an interest in what he was doing? And all this on the day that a stranger turns up at Brynne’s chapel.
Ryan was certain now that it had been an undercover gunnerman and on the walk home he had replayed the scene, analysing exactly what Brynne said. The old man had been almost cruel in the way he dismissed Ryan. That wasn’t like him at all. But maybe if he had known from the beginning that it was a gunnerman, then maybe he had done it to keep Ryan safe.
What if his dad had found out about Brynne? What if he had already informed and that was why the gunnerman had shown up. He searched his dad’s face, looking for any sign of guilt.
“Come on Ryan. We both know something has changed in you. The way you act, the way you talk, the way you think.”
Straybeck Rising: Calloway Blood: Book one (Calloway Blood 1) Page 17
