“Where do you live?”
“Straybeck.”
“Where in Straybeck?”
Ryan gave his address and the gunnerman scanned the card to check that they matched. Still not satisfied he radioed through a second time.
“Travel history for Calloway please?”
After a few seconds, the reply crackled through. “Nothing regular. This is the third trip between Karasard and Straybeck today though.”
“That’ll do for me,” the gunnerman said to his mate and then gripped Ryan by the front of his jacket and dragged him from the bench.
“What are you doing?” Ryan protested.
“Kicking you off the train, what’s it look like?”
“I’ve got clearance to travel.”
“Not anymore. Premier doesn’t want you lot dossing down here all night. You can sleep somewhere else.”
Ryan was dragged between the benches and thrown towards the two dust addicts at the end of the carriage.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Ryan turned to face the gunnermen, his anger boiling over.
The fist thumped into his cheek like a block of iron and knocked him to the floor. He scrambled up, but a heavy boot crashed into his ribs and he sank back to the floor. Suddenly the bony fingers of the dust addict gripped him by the arm and tugged him upright.
“Stay quiet lad,” he hissed. “It’s easier that way.”
Ryan felt another shove at his back.
“Anything else you want to complain about?” one of the gunnerman goaded, but Ryan clutched his ribs and didn’t look back.
The three of them were corralled down the train towards the end carriage. They passed the two businessmen who recoiled as though they could somehow be contaminated if they got too close. At the end of the train he saw the other mill girl, presumably the one called Iris. She was standing beside the prostrate body of the journeyman and his dog that Ryan had seen on the platform. He was nestled into a corner of the train nodding occasionally while Iris chatted to him. She was leaning against a railing and they seemed like old friends. Neither one was in the least phased when Ryan’s group arrived. The dog was resting its old grey muzzle onto her owner’s lap while the journeyman stroked its ears affectionately.
“Time for us to go, old girl,” he said.
And as if the train moved at his command, Ryan felt their speed falling away.
“Looks like a good haul for you today,” he said to Iris. His voice was scratchy but had a warmth to it. He rolled to his knees and the dog gave a disgruntled whine of protest.
The gunnermen showed no intention of restraining the journeyman. The train checked its speed again and lights flickered past the windows. The lead gunnerman shouldered Ryan aside and gripped hold of the door release lever. He wrenched it downwards and the door slid open sending a rush of cold air into the carriage.
“Who’s first then?”
He turned to them with a cruel smile. Through the open doors, Ryan saw a sloping embankment that rolled down into darkness. No one spoke and the only sound was the clattering of wheels on rails. Ryan saw the two dust addicts shrink towards the ground. The old journeyman seemed resigned to his situation and gave Ryan a wan smile.
The gunnerman grew tired of waiting. He grabbed the old woman by her hair and dragged her screaming to the door. Ryan wasn’t sure if he’d have done anything if that old man not been staring at him. Whatever the reason, he jumped forwards and grabbed the gloved hand of the gunnerman, twisting it free from the woman’s hair. The look of shock on his face was quickly replaced by a snarl of anger.
“You little bastard.”
The gunnerman slammed one palm into Ryan’s throat, twisted to the side and hoisted him off his feet. Ryan’s stomach lurched as he was thrown backwards. He had a brief glimpse of the wheels and coupling rods and for a moment was certain that the train would chew him up. Instead he landed heavily on the embankment, pushing all the air from his lungs. He tumbled and bounced down the slope and them his skull cracked against a rock and the world turned black.
Chapter 33
In John’s backyard was an old outhouse that used to be the family toilet. All the workings had been removed years ago and his dad used it to store stacks of bricks and wood. To John though it would always be the clubhouse where he and his brother had held their secret meetings.
Ryan had been the undisputed leader. His seat was way up on a shelf that used to hold the cistern, while John had to content himself with a makeshift bench. He could remember looking in awe at the carefree way his brother lounged on that shelf, throwing luck stone up and down.
Luck stone was something they’d found buried one day in the garden. A strange kind of quartz that glistened different colours depending on how the light reflected off its surface. Although John had been the one to find it, Ryan reasoned that he should keep it safe because he was older. So it rested on his shelf throughout their meetings, always on show, but always out of reach.
It had long since disappeared, but every so often John would climb up to his brother’s shelf and take another look. As always, the only thing he found today was the lumpy remains of some candles they had burned years ago. On the wall behind them, the names Ryan and John were scratched into the red bricks. A shiver suddenly ran down his spine, but John knew he wasn’t ready to go back in the house yet. That would only confirm what he already knew in his bones. Ryan wasn’t coming home.
After the argument about Brynne and Alia, he was glad that Ryan had left. He was fed up with protecting him and trying to keep him safe. He could do whatever he wanted and deal with the consequences himself. That night though, John had lain awake on his bunk counting down the minutes until curfew. He still hadn’t forgiven Ryan, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that if the gunnermen arrested him, they’d take him to The Cathedral like his dad. Hours slipped slowly by while John prayed for the sound of their front door opening or the gentle creak of footsteps on the stairs.
His mum woke him at first light and John felt a moment of peace in his mind.
“Morning sweetheart,” she soothed and John smiled at her.
Then the worries of last night flooded back to him and he rolled over the edge of his bunk. Ryan’s bed was empty and hadn’t been slept in.
“I’m sorry love,” his mum said, reading his thoughts.
John felt a stab of fear but masked his face and shuffled towards the ladder. “Is Dad still here?”
His mum shook her head, a sad smile on her face. “I’ve got work too. Will you be alright getting to school?”
He nodded but after she left, searched the house for any sign that Ryan had been home. He hoped that there would be a note or some secret indication that his brother was safe and everything was fine between them. There was nothing, either then or after his day at school.
The door of the outhouse pushed open and John looked up hopefully. Instead of Ryan though he saw his mum’s silhouette framed by the opening.
“Come on love. Come inside.”
“I don’t want to.”
“He’ll come back. I promise he will. But you won’t change things sitting out here. Come on. Let’s get warm and get some food.”
“How can I? When he’s out there without any food.”
His mum’s voice had an edge when she next spoke. “Your brother can look after himself. And he can always come home if he gets hungry.”
She stepped to one side and unhappily John followed her across the back yard. Inside the kitchen, a big pot was bubbling noisily on the gas ring and he recognised the familiar smell of a potato stew. His stomach growled appreciatively.
“Go and change out of your school clothes,” his mum said. “Tea won’t be long.”
John went upstairs and flopped onto his brother’s bunk landing on something that was hidden beneath the blankets. Pulling them back he found a collection of broken plastic and wires. John sifted through the wreckage and found something that made his heart sink. It was a small camera and the so
rt of thing that Ryan had no business keeping in the house. He suddenly felt very lost, very sad and utterly alone.
“Your mother said you were up here.”
He jolted upright to find his dad standing in the doorway. The camera was still strewn across the bed and there was no way to hide it.
“It’s not mine,” he said quickly. “I just found it.”
His dad limped quietly into the room and sat beside John. A grimace of pain passed across his face as he did so.
“Seems you’ve got a knack for finding things you shouldn’t,” he said, gathering up the tangle of plastic and wires.
“What is it?” John asked.
“A covert camera. The kind you only need when you’re doing something you shouldn’t be.”
“What was Ryan doing with it?”
“Something he shouldn’t have been. You probably know better than I do what goes on in your brother’s head.” The forlorn expression on his dad’s face was a mirror of John’s own feelings. “Is there anything else hidden? I need you to be honest with me.”
John felt a crippling indecision. The loyalty to his father ran almost as deep as it did to his brother. Slowly, he moved to the corner of the room and knelt beside the second to last floorboard which had split and worked loose from the joist.
“He thinks I don’t know about this.” John levered up the floorboard and revealed a shallow cavity maybe a foot deep which extended out of sight beneath the other boards. He lay on his side and swept the hidden space with one arm. His dad brought the camera over and knelt beside him, the gristle in his joints crunching angrily as he did so.
“Anything?”
John pulled out two pamphlets. They were like the ones he had found in the loft all those weeks ago. The first one had a tatty front cover with a grainy image of the gunnermen blockading a street. They had their rifles raised and aimed at a crowd of rioters. It looked more like a quarry village than somewhere in Karasard or Straybeck, but John couldn’t be sure. He handed them over, noting the extra sag it caused in his dad’s shoulders and worry lines on his face. His mum called from downstairs and the two of them turned quickly to the door.
“Let’s put it all back in there for now,” his dad said. “I’ll get rid of it when I can. No one else can know about this stuff though John. You understand?”
“I know Dad. All they need is an excuse.”
“This is much more than an excuse. If the gunnermen found these, we’d all be finished.”
Together they placed the camera and the pamphlets into the hole and John slotted the floorboard back into place. “What will you do with it all?”
“I’m not sure. But it can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
He pushed off the floor, making his knees grind noisily again. In the doorway his dad hesitated as though there was something left to say. He put one hand on John’s shoulder. It was an awkward gesture, but he didn’t mind.
“I’m very proud of you, you know. The way you try to take care of everyone. You’re so much like you’re mother.”
“Does that mean Ryan’s like you?”
His dad gave a humourless laugh. “More than he’ll ever know.”
“It really upset me when he laughed at my letter.”
“What letter?”
“To Alia. You know, the girl from school.”
A shadow of irritation passed across his dad’s face. “You mean the one that bought drugs?”
“Dad, I told you. She had no choice about that.” They crossed the landing and headed downstairs.
“Okay, I’m sorry. So what did Ryan say?”
“He said that she’d never be interested in me because I’m just a boy.”
“Well that’s nonsense. Age doesn’t matter. Your mother’s a good twenty years older than me.”
“I heard that,” a voice called from downstairs.
His dad chuckled and then lowered his voice. “Ryan’s just scared of the competition.”
“Do you think I should finish the letter then?”
“Look at it this way. If you write it and she doesn’t reply, what have you lost?”
John shrugged.
“There’s your answer.”
He watched his dad negotiate the rest of the steps, feeling very sad that he would never be able to walk normally.
“Are your legs alright?”
“They’re fine. Just old and brittle like the rest of me.” He paused on the bottom step. “Write the letter. If there’s one thing you don’t want in life, it’s regrets.”
That night John sat alone in his room with his knees tucked up like a pyramid beneath the blankets. Ryan still wasn’t back and the room felt bleak without him. Pushing it from his mind though, he turned to a fresh page in his book and began to write. He had rehearsed it so many times in his head that the words flowed easily now.
Dear Alia
I’ve never been able to talk to girls the way that I can talk to you. Since the day we ran from the gunnermen, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I know there’s an age gap between us, but if we really like each other, then it shouldn’t make a difference, should it? I hope you feel the same way and we can see each other soon.
Love from
John
The next day at school, John left his final class with Alia’s note gripped tightly in his hand. He raced down the corridor as fast as he dared, determined to reach the knife gates before the older students were released from lessons. He stopped momentarily at Mr Matthews’ open doorway and peered inside. He was cleaning the blackboard with his back turned, so John took a chance and sprinted for the knife gates.
The queues were already forming and he pushed his way to the front, flashing his ID card to the bored looking school guard. Outside of the school, he climbed onto the wall and waited with keen eyes for Alia.
Packs of students gathered outside the gates and meandered past the Informer Station and towards town. John scanned each group as it passed him by, eventually spying Alia at the top of the steps frowning towards the overcast sky.
She was alone and John watched her plod behind a raucous group of second years. She had her rucksack looped over both shoulders and thumbs tucked beneath the straps. He jumped from the wall and into the school yard, moving against the tide of pupils until he was standing before her.
“John,” she said, and a smile spread across her face.
He couldn’t speak though and instead just passed her the folded letter.
“What’s this?”
“It’s for you. It’s…” but afraid of what she might say, John ran through the crowd and out of sight.
Chapter 34
When Ryan awoke it was morning and he found himself face down on the muddy railway embankment. A knife-like stab of pain slid neatly through his skull. He lifted his head and the skin on his face tightened and cracked as a freshly healed scab re-opened. Ryan rolled onto his back and opened his eyes to a pale blue sky and the fading twinkle of stars.
For a moment he had no idea where he was or how he’d got there. Then the confrontation on the train replayed itself and he felt once more the lurch in his stomach as he remembered falling from the carriage.
He rolled his head left to see dawn breaking over the nearby station. The early morning sun had chased black from the sky and a clean and vibrant blue was showing through. Song birds chirped brightly along the railway embankment, chasing each other in a flurry of brown feathers.
Ryan propped himself up and felt his ribs groan in reply. Tenderly, he touched the side of his head where an egg-shaped lump protruded. He knelt and then rose fully before limping across the sloping embankment towards the station.
It was centred upon a collection of buildings that included a ticket office, waiting room, toilets and guard-room. Running alongside the platform on either side of the tracks were open-sided shelters so that the waiting passengers had some protection from the elements. The signs on the building declared this to be Obern Station.
Ryan
knew that the town of Obern was at least twenty miles outside of Straybeck and maybe double that to the outskirts of Karasard. Thankfully, the station was empty and Ryan was able to shuffle into the public toilets. He was met by an enormous painting of Premier Talis staring at him from the wall opposite.
This station is monitored was written in stark white lettering across the Premier’s chest. Ryan automatically scanned the roof space for cameras but could see nothing. It didn’t guarantee they weren’t there though.
He hunched over the porcelain sink and saw a battered and bruised figure reflected from the mirror. His clothes and face were coated with mud from the embankment. Awkwardly, he lifted his jacket and shirt to reveal deep bruises and a stripe of pain running from his armpit to his hip. Ryan dropped the clothing back into place and cradled his side where it was most tender. He guessed that something might be broken but hoped he’d be able to patch it up later.
More worrying was the lump that had risen from his head like a devil horn. The skin had split across the top of it and then scabbed over with dark blood. His hair, cheek and jawline were similarly stained red with blood and Ryan ran a slow trickle of water from the tap to wipe delicately at the cuts.
Just then, the toilet door dragged open and a guard stood silently beside the Premier’s painting. Ryan nodded but the guard made no response.
“What time’s the train for Straybeck?”
The guard was an old and formidable figure with bulging stomach, cropped white hair and a drooping white moustache. His uniform was crisp and every brass button rubbed to a shine.
“There is no train.”
“No train? For how long?”
The guard twitched his moustache, straightening up.
“There’s no train for you. At all.”
“I’ve got clearance to travel,” Ryan snapped, reaching for his ID card. His checked his trouser pockets and then tried his jacket. “Looking for this?” The guard held Ryan’s ID just out of reach. “Two gunnermen gave it to me last night. Said you’d been bedding down on the trains and if I saw you I should send you on your way.”
Straybeck Rising: Calloway Blood: Book one (Calloway Blood 1) Page 19
