“Partly,” he nodded. “It’s partly that.” He was standing to one side but swayed in time with Robb so that he could keep eye-contact. “Look at that face,” he said like a proud parent. “Not a mark on it.”
Robb instantly jolted back, expecting the gaoler to smash his teeth or gouge an eye, but Ashgate just smiled indulgently. “No Robbert. We won’t be touching that face. Not now.”
A chilling thought occurred to Robb and his mind groped for a timeline of his imprisonment. At first, he had been interrogated about the planned attack and the rest of his group. So far as he could guess, that had abruptly stopped maybe two days after his capture. Since then, Robb had been beaten and tortured but not questioned. Another memory clicked into place and Robb realised what the change had been.
They said you were dead. I didn’t know Robb.
Ashgate smiled like a cat. “I think you’ve got it.”
He guessed that Farren told them everything before they killed him. Robb had no energy left to be angry though. Farren had settled his own debt and right then it didn’t seem like a bad trade off. Robb lifted his head to stare at Ashgate.
“Kill me,” he murmured.
“What? Kill you? Oh no Robb. We need you. The Premier himself has deemed it. And that leaves me with only one unanswered question. Are you going to do it?”
“Do what?” Robb screamed, voice cracking. The repetition was maddening but Ashgate’s smile never wavered.
“Unmask yourself as the double agent that you are. Tell the world how you chose to sell out your own side. Explain how you will work tirelessly to fight against the traitor Colonel Stephens until he is captured or killed.”
Robb shook his head, pride hardening his glare. The idea of branding himself a traitor had dredged a reserve of strength he thought they’d knocked out of him.
“Don’t be so hasty,” Ashgate warned. “Think about the repercussions of your answer.”
Robb inhaled the stench of his own burned flesh and looked down at the melted skin on his chest. Both legs were broken and bound in thick bandages which were soiled in blood and excrement. In that moment – naively as it turned out – Robb guessed there wasn’t much else they could do to him. He stared at Ashgate, meeting him with unblinking eyes and tight lips.
The gaoler shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid you’re not going to like what happens next.”
Chapter 43
After leaving the Chapel, Brynne was even more cautious than usual and zigzagged across town towards the train station. The snow was heavier than an hour ago and wherever possible Ryan walked in the gutter where it hadn’t fully settled.
“Save your shoes,” Brynne said. “The snow will cover our tracks quickly enough.”
They travelled the rest of the journey in silence and by good luck, or good planning, they stayed clear of any roaming checkpoints. Although the old man hadn’t said, Ryan guessed what was waiting for them at Karasard. It was a new month and they were going to the town square. It could only be the oath ceremony. Before they reached the entrance to the Worker District Station, Brynne unzipped his coat and repositioned the canvas satchel he had brought with him. They wore one each, slung across their chest like a bandolier but hidden from view. Ryan tried to conceal the contents as much as possible around his hips and stomach, but whatever was inside had an awkward feel to it and dug into his ribs as he walked.
“Which ID have you got?”
“Both.”
“Use the real one. We can’t risk those gunnermen catching you using a different name.”
“What if they try to throw me off the train again?”
“I’ll sort it.”
Ryan doubted whether even Brynne would be able to talk his way past those two, but he said nothing. The journey took over an hour and his nerves rattled worse than the old carriages. He found himself wondering if Alia was still awake and if she was thinking about him. He doubted that she’d approve of what he was doing now, which only added to his worries. He tried to block them out when the factory lights of Karasard twinkled through the train windows. Their speed dropped to a crawl as they approached the station.
Despite the early hour, Karasard Central was already a buzz with activity. Platform attendants were sweeping the concourse, while small pockets of workers gathered on the cross-city platforms which led to the other underground stations.
“They’re stokers,” Brynne said. “Always first to arrive at the factories.”
“What do they do?”
“If a furnace goes out it stops production for days. Their job is to make sure it never happens. Twelve-hour shifts stoking the flames. Poor bastards.”
Ryan studied one group as he passed by. They were small and unremarkable men, waiting like stones, as though they refused to waste energy in conversation.
The snows hadn’t reached Karasard yet, but under the yellow street lights Ryan could see the occasional flake drifting past. Together, he and Brynne moved towards the heart of the city until the main square came into view. The old man gazed up at the clock tower.
“We’ve a bit of a wait,” he said.
“What time will they get here?”
He shrugged. “Ceremony’s always at eight. But the families arrive early. You ever seen one before?”
Ryan shook his head. He knew that the oaths of allegiance were taken at the top of the town hall steps. He’d been taught the words at school for as long as he could remember but had never actually seen the real ceremony take place.
“Well you’re going to remember this day for the rest of your life then.”
The town square was completely enclosed except for the checkpoints on each corner. The streets had been widened here to allow hundreds of military vehicles to drive in and out each year for the parade. Along each side of the square was an unbroken block of three-storey buildings. At first glance, they looked to Ryan like the grand houses he had seen in Old Straybeck. Maybe at one time the wealthy and important people of Karasard had lived here. Now they were inhabited by law firms and financiers.
They approached the south-west checkpoint and saw two gunnermen waiting at the booth. Brynne suddenly stopped and unhooked the heavy satchel from Ryan’s shoulder, placing it around his own neck.
“I’ll deal with this,” he said quietly. “Wait a minute and then follow me through.”
Ryan wondered what Brynne would do if he were searched, but knew the old man could look after himself. He counted a slow sixty and then headed for the checkpoint. As he presented his card though, the gunnerman stepped out from the booth.
“Against the wall,” he ordered sharply.
“My card’s clear,” Ryan said but it only earned him a swipe around the head to encourage his compliance. He was made to stand with his hands on the wall while one gunnerman patted him down. With a practised movement, he kicked Ryan’s feet wider apart, knocking him off balance before going through his pockets and throwing anything he found to the floor.
“Take off your boots.”
Ryan kicked them off and the gunnerman checked inside each one, pulling out the souls and banging them against the wall. Finally satisfied, he allowed Ryan to retrieve his belongings and pass through to the town square. By the time he had fastened his boots up, his socks were sodden and both feet like blocks of ice.
“What was that about?” he fumed.
“It’s an oath day,” Brynne said. “Sometimes there are people who don’t agree with the Premier. And sometimes they bring weapons to make their point. Take it as a compliment. You must look like a dangerous man.”
“They didn’t search you though.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
Inside the square, a metal barrier had been erected at the bottom of the town hall steps to create a cordon around the oath takers.
“Over here,” Brynne led him to an alcove between two immense stone pillars and deposited one of the satchels into a nook he found there. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Wh
ere are you going?”
Brynne pointed to a band of people that were waiting at the far checkpoint although Ryan couldn’t make out their features from so far away. “His name’s Arris. He’s a good man. Everyone will see that today.”
Then he stalked across the cobbles and Arris crossed the square to meet him. As he drew closer, Ryan saw a young man with angular features and pale skin. In fact everything about him seemed stooped and worn out. Arris removed his wire-rimmed glasses and cleaned them as he approached. He and Brynne shook hands stiffly and spoke a few words.
Behind them, a small group of people approached from the checkpoint and Arris introduced them to the old man. Ryan guessed they were his parents and maybe an uncle too. Saddest of all was the little girl who trailed behind, no older than six or seven.
Brynne offered a handshake to the first male, but it was pointedly ignored. More words were exchanged and then the uncle lunged forwards. Arris checked him with one arm and was able to restrain him until at last he broke free and stomped back to the checkpoint and out of the square.
Brynne gave Arris a pat on the shoulder and then returned to the steps. The younger man lingered behind to embrace his mother and then shake hands with his father. Ryan watched him put one knee on the wet ground and open his arms to the little girl. Instead of coming forwards though, she clung to her mother’s legs, hiding her face from view. After his entreaties were ignored, Arris reluctantly stood and walked away.
He hadn’t gone more than a few paces before the little girl let out a heart-breaking sob and ran after him. Arris caught her against the front of his legs, smoothing her blonde hair and trying to sooth her tears. She refused to unfasten her grip though and eventually the mother and father took an arm each and pulled her away so that the young man could leave.
When Arris arrived at the stone pillars he gave Ryan a hard stare. “Who’s this?”
“It’s a friend. He’s okay.”
“No friends today Brynne, just family.”
Ryan didn’t blame him for that and he was almost glad to remove himself. After all, what do you say to man with less than an hour to live.
“Don’t go far,” Brynne said flatly.
Before too long, a small crowd had gathered at the steps and Ryan stood beside them listening to each conversation in turn. The oath-takers themselves were kept in a separate area near to the pillars where Brynne had been waiting with Arris. Three gunnermen were standing beside them, chatting quietly while two more officials strutted around organising everyone.
Eventually, the oath-takers were herded into formation at the foot of the steps. Ryan searched for any sign of Brynne but couldn’t see him. His eyes focused on Arris though and watched him fade down the line and take position at the very end. The others said nothing and the officials seemed not to have noticed.
As the ceremony began, Ryan made his way back to the pillar and waited beside Brynne’s satchel. The lead official called for attention and then began his speech.
“These twelve young citizens of Karasard are here today to confirm their loyalty to The Unified City States and our most Supreme Leader. Through his benevolent wisdom, they shall become full citizens of these kingdoms, with all the rights and all the expectations that follow from it.”
Ryan’s brow furrowed at the hypocrisy of it. There was no free choice here. Not when the only other option was pain and a slow death. He scanned the crowd and saw that most were listening with mute acceptance, just waiting for the ceremony to end.
One man was watching with such intensity however that it drew Ryan’s attention. It was Arris’s father, his jawline set hard, one arm fastened around his wife’s shoulders. She stood alongside him, barely watching the stage and clutching her daughter tightly. Silent tears slipped down both of their cheeks.
One by one, the oath-takers climbed the steps and waited at the wooden block to say the words. “I declare myself a subject of The Unified City States under Premier Talis, the Supreme Leader. As a citizen of his lands, I will abide by his laws and subject myself to his judgements.”
The oath was read from a card, sometimes with passion, but mostly in a nervous mumble of words. That was until the gaunt and awkward figure of Arris ascended the steps and took his place before the crowd. The official handed him the oath card and then moved aside.
Arris glanced at the card, drawing a deep breath through his nose as he did so. He removed his glasses and folded them precisely before placing them inside his coat pocket.
Ryan felt nerves rise in his chest and glanced at the gunnermen nearby. They were either unaware or indifferent to what was happening on stage, but Ryan found he couldn’t look away.
“I think my whole life has been counting down to this day,” Arris said. His voice was soft and filled with melancholy, but he had a way of projecting it so that the words carried across the square. “I’ve often wondered what decision I’d make when I found myself standing here.”
The official hurried forward, taking hold of his arm. “We don’t want to hear any speeches thank you. Just read the…”
“Take your hands off me,” Arris flared, his voice full of authority. “By the Premier’s own laws, the laws you claim to uphold, I am afforded the right to speak on this day.” He reached into his coat and drew out a small canvas bag. “And speak I shall.”
It took Ryan a moment to recognise it, but then he saw that Arris was holding the same satchel that he had carried from Straybeck. Beside him the gunnermen were now on full alert, reaching for their rifles as Arris unzipped the top of the bag.
“Don’t shoot,” the official screamed, his eyes tracking from the small bag, along a coiled wire and finally to the detonator that Arris now held in his other hand.
A gasp of panic rippled through the crowd but as they tried to scatter, Arris spoke again. “I have no heart for violence. That much I have learned about myself. And this,” he raised the bomb higher which provoked another frightened gasp from the crowd. “This is not the way to begin a dialogue, but I learned a long time ago that a powerless man is a desperate one.”
He scanned the faces before him and Ryan wondered if it was Brynne he was searching for. The seconds lingered until eventually his shoulders slumped with resignation.
“Well it looks like I’m alone in this,” he said wearily. “But that changes nothing. I refuse to swear an oath to this dictator we call Premier. I refuse to subjugate myself to his laws. I refuse to…”
A gunshot cracked sharp through the square and Arris was spun off his feet, landing heavily on the ground. The lead gunnerman had overcome his inertia and was running up the steps, gun zeroed on his target. He wrenched the detonator from Arris’s hand and hurled it, satchel and all, into the empty space behind the crowd. People at the rear squashed forwards, waiting for an explosion that never came. Instead, two smooth lumps of scrap iron rolled out of the satchel and lay dormant on the ground. There had been no bomb. Just a naive young man with a big heart and a point to make.
On stage, the bullet had taken Arris in the chest and blood was soaking through his jacket. He was still conscious and had risen to one knee as he attempted to staunch the wound. The first gunnerman threw him down onto his chest, evoking a scream of pain, while the second reached for his handcuffs.
More gunnermen appeared and cleared a path through the crowd. They formed a protective cordon at the bottom step while Arris was dragged from the platform. Ryan climbed up the stone pillar to get a better vantage point, desperately searching for a way to help Arris. As he watched it all unfold though, he suddenly heard a sharp click and a sound like gears turning from the base of the pillar. He glanced down and found himself staring at the second satchel.
Chapter 44
At Straybeck Central, John was waiting in line at the school gates, his eyes wide with fear. One corner of the Informer Station was charred black and the metal exterior warped by fire damage. A gunnerman patrol car was parked on the grass alongside it and beside that was an investigators va
n. Everyone was gawping as they filed past until the headmistress, Mrs Reaton, appeared from the back of the burned-out building.
“Into class,” she yelled. “Keep moving.”
As always, she was viciously efficient in maintaining discipline at school and John could sense the anger dripping from her as he went past. Instead of registration that morning, an emergency assembly had been convened in the great hall. Over a thousand students took their chairs in narrow rows, their excitement occasionally bubbling up into a rush of whispered exchange, only to be snuffed each time Mrs Reaton strode past.
John thought he was going to throw up. He clutched his stomach tightly and swallowed down the excess saliva in his mouth. The events of the last day continued to plague him and he had felt so wretched when he got home that he barely slept all night. Even the anger he had once felt over Ryan and Alia had deserted him. When he arrived home and saw all the damage and his dad’s injures, John knew it hadn’t been worth it. Not even close.
Worst of all, the gunnermen must have tracked him to the school now. There was CCTV in the Informer Station and they’d have his face on camera. They were probably going to drag him on stage in front of the entire school and arrest him.
John remembered how he had run from the sirens when he left the school grounds. As one thought led to the next he was overcome with a fresh wave of panic. He swivelled round in his chair searching the hall. Where was Mr Matthews? He suddenly felt like crying. What if they’d got him too? He would already be at The Cathedral telling them everything.
Just then the double doors at the far end of the room swung open and Mr Matthews stepped into the great hall. He strode purposefully down the corridor of space left between the chairs and stood next to Mrs Reaton. They spoke in hushed tones and the noise in the assembly hall dropped to an absolute whisper. This was bad. Very bad. If Mr Matthews hadn’t been arrested then he must have informed to the gunnermen already. How could he have believed that a teacher would stick to his promise and help? John knew he was finished. All he could do was wait for the gunnermen to arrive.
Straybeck Rising: Calloway Blood: Book one (Calloway Blood 1) Page 26
