by Susan Price
Some of the men brought their rifles and laid them down immediately, but a handful of them hung back. One of them said, “A pup yapping when old hound be quiet!” And then he’d grinned at the other men.
Per had darted at him, dragged the pistol from his hands, and thrown it down with a clatter. He’d shoved the man in the chest and tripped him, sending him sprawling on the hard, rocky ground. Standing over the man, and looking around at the others, Per had said, “You God-damned, back-jumping, horn-brained, dead-eyed cod’s heads!”
The fallen man, plainly furious, had twisted to his knees before he saw that Wat and Ingram had come up behind Per, neither of them in good temper. All the other rifles had been brought and laid on the pile, and one of the men helped up the one Per had knocked down and hustled him away, telling him to calm down. Per had said to them all, “You rut-minded, gutless runts! You should all be bent over tables this night and whipped!”
Andrea had been startled. She’d never seen Per so angry, and couldn’t help feeling a little impressed. She’d looked at Joe and had seen by his expression that he was also taken aback. He’d scuttled over to the heap of rifles and started putting the safety catches on, trying to look as if he’d had nothing to do with shooting the bullets off.
While Per had been organizing the carrying of the rifles to a storeroom, he’d seen Andrea and had eyed her, obviously wondering whether an approach would be snubbed. The possibility had been too much for his pride; instead, seeing his father and uncle come from the tower’s gate, he’d run down to meet them, followed by his cousins. “We shot ’em all, Daddy! All three!”
Toorkild had opened his arms to him, hugged him and lifted him off his feet. Andrea, coming up, had heard an excited account of the killing of three men, and had watched Toorkild and Gobby proudly kissing and petting their sons as they listened. The cousins had competed vociferously to claim their share in the murders, and Andrea had been quite unable to convince herself that Per had somehow been a bystander, going along for the adventure but holding back from any unpleasantness. The best she’d been able to do had been to remind herself that the Sterkarms had been defending their land against invasion—and she would have found that an excellent excuse if the people they’d killed hadn’t been her people. And if the stains on Per’s clothes hadn’t been, quite clearly, blood.
Soon after that, the Land Rovers had been wrecked. Their hubcaps had been taken off, their mirrors wrenched off and seats torn out, their windshields smashed. Someone had accidentally released the handbrake on one, and it had gone careening off down the hillside, the gathering rumble shaking the ground beneath their feet. The uneven ground had sent the Land Rover shooting into the air, and it had crashed down onto its wheels several yards lower down, with an impact that made Andrea cringe almost to the ground. When she’d looked up, it had been to see the Land Rover run into an outcrop of grayish-reddish rock and rear up over it. A crunching, grinding, ripping sound of buckling metal had carried back to them as the Land Rover’s underside was torn away.
The Land Rover exploded. Andrea had seen it happen often on film but had never heard such a shattering noise in reality before. She thought her eardrums had been burst as the whole world became muffled in the aftermath—the noise was even louder than the rifle fire. The force of the explosion had shoved at her, and the heat of it touched her. Bits of metal, dirt and rock had pattered down around them. Orange flames had leaped up from the Land Rover, and black smoke spread from it. The first pollution, she thought, that FUP had succeeded in bringing 16th side.
From the Sterkarms there had been a long silence, then wild cheers and screams. The second Land Rover had soon followed the first—it hadn’t taken them long to work out how to take the brake off deliberately. They cheered and danced as it went down the slope, tilting and tilting at such an angle that, despite its wide wheel-base, it tipped over on its side. There had been disappointment all around when it failed to explode.
But there’s nothing like an exploding Land Rover to set the mood for a party. Isobel had promised to set a feast on the tables, and there’d been more cheering and dancing. People had run off to find fiddles and pipes, and such finery as they possessed. Isobel looked around for Andrea, and beckoned to her. “Tha must learn,” Isobel said, “what be in store and where to find it. No better time to start than now.”
Andrea had gone with her, not knowing how to refuse, but the words had sent a dart of fright through her. Why should she have to learn what was in store, and why now? Because the Elves were beaten, the Elf-Gate closed, and she wasn’t going home.
Now, in the hall, the din rang from wall to wall as people shouted, laughed, sang. At least three different groups were singing “Come, Who Dares Meddle with Me!”
It was a special occasion, and so Isobel was waiting on the tables herself, serving bread and ale. Andrea had elected to help. It kept her away from Per. She wasn’t sure this was a good idea. Under the circumstances, she should probably be doing all she could to get back in Per’s favor. If her past experience was anything to go on, it wouldn’t be difficult—except that it would, because she’d have to pretend to forget all the dead 21st men and her own predicament. She’d have to try and pretend, all over again, that Per was a lover and a loving son, and not a killer, raised to cut throats at his mammy’s knee.
A man raised his cup to her. She filled it from her jug and raised her eyes to find him smirking at her. What he was thinking was as plain as if he’d spoken: She was one of the defeated. A captive, as good as. She turned her head and looked the length of the hall, to where Per was, and the man quickly, guiltily, looked in the same direction.
Per and his cousins were defending the family table from the main hall with scuffles and thrown bread and bones. A crust hit Per, and he was jeered at because he was looking at Andrea instead of paying attention. She looked away quickly, pretending that she hadn’t really been looking for him at all.
Per saw her turn away. She was still in a bad temper with him, then. If he tried to go to her, she would call him a sheep’s head and a sheep’s son again, in front of everyone.
He withdrew from the defense of the table and leaned against the wall behind his father’s chair, watching Andrea. If she looked around again and saw him like that, she might feel sorry for him.
Would she have been happier if the Elves had won, and he’d been killed? Or if they’d lain down in the mud and let the Elves use them as stepping-stones on their way to take Sterkarm land? Maybe she would. There was no telling with Elves.
I stand outside my sweetheart’s bower door,
Where I’ve stood many times before,
But I can’t enter nor yet win in
To that pleasant bed that she lies in.
After having killed the Elves on the hillside, he didn’t want to spend the dark hours alone. Company he could always find: Ecky, Hob, Sim … He didn’t want to listen to them braying and laughing. He wanted to be cuddled up with Andrea, in her bed. And he wanted her to want him there. Vaylan stole his Elf-May’s swanskin and made her his wife by capture, but she flew away and left him as soon as her chance came.
He made up his mind that he would stop shillyshallying, go across to Andrea and speak to her. Straightening, he pushed himself away from the wall—and then leaned on it again and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. Cuddy, lying under the table, saw him and her tail wagged. There was one bitch who loved him!
Andrea moved to a table where most of the men were from Gobby’s household. As she leaned over the shoulder of one to fill his cup, their conversation faltered, and one said, “Shut it. She no wants to hear.”
She glanced around at the men. Their faces weren’t friendly, though a couple held out their cups. She held her jug back. “What do I no want to hear?” They looked at each other, and no one answered. She turned away. “No ale for you then.”
Behind her, one of the men said,
“Elves should be trod down in water.”
She turned to face them, as others at the table nodded and agreed. Some looked away from her, others stared her in the face.
“They trod Grannams down just for cutting May. Elven killed Luggy.”
Andrea moved away, leaving them to be served by Isobel. Looking back, she saw them still talking. Three of them rose, moved to the next table and stooped to talk to the men there. As she poured ale on the other side of the hall, she saw those three and several others pushing their way down the hall to the family table. They leaned across the board, speaking to Toorkild and Gobby.
Toorkild stood up and called his nephews over to him. Strangely, Per didn’t seem to be there—but then he rose up from behind his father’s chair, with Cuddy leaping up to rest her paws on his shoulders. All of them began to talk with the men of Gobby’s household.
It wasn’t hard to guess what they were talking about. Andrea stood amidst the noise, holding the jug and watching everyone near the family table being drawn into the argument. She felt queasy. She hadn’t lived so long with the Sterkarms without learning how they felt about justice. They expected a life for a life. Or, in exchange for a Sterkarm life, many lives.
They were talking about taking Windsor, and Bryce, and the other 21st men—who all had families, wives, children—and treading them down in Bedes Water.
Locked in the storeroom, the 21st men pressed close against each other’s sides, arms around each other, trying to keep warm. They breathed each other’s breath, listened to each other sigh and snuffle, and were silenced by embarrassment. Close as they were, it was so dark that they could only glimpse an occasional movement of a head.
Hours before, they’d heard rifle fire from outside, and an explosion, muffled to a rattle and a ker-ump by the stone walls around them. A rescue party? No rescue had come.
It hadn’t taken long to establish that the only way out was up. The walls were of stone, and the floor, though only of earth, was hard packed and they had nothing to dig with. A search, scrambling around on hands and knees in the dark, banging heads and bruising knees, had made certain of that. There was nothing on the floor but straw, and nothing hung on the walls.
But above their heads were wooden floorboards, either nailed or pegged into place. They could reach up and touch them, usually dislodging a shower of dust. Sterkarm guards were above too. They could hear them walking about and talking. Long before the prisoners could succeed in forcing a floorboard out of place, the guards would raise the alarm.
Bryce tried not to remember that he’d warned Windsor, over and over, not to underestimate the Sterkarms. Gibing at Windsor wasn’t going to be any help. Nor was anything else he could think of.
Putting the jug of ale down on the nearest table, Andrea edged and shoved her way through the people until she reached the family table too. Reaching between the bodies of others, she caught at Per’s arm. He looked around, and his face took on an expression of wary surprise. Andrea pointed toward the door that led from the hall to the stairs, and then let go of his arm and pushed her way through the crowd.
Andrea reached the small landing outside the hall door first. The only light came from the hall’s open door, and the stairs were dark She climbed a few steps toward the upper story and leaned against the plastered wall, waiting. The stone walls muffled the din from the hall and blocked the heat. Where she waited it was quiet, and chill.
Per came out onto the landing, with the noise and light of the hall at his back, and looked up to see her standing above him on the stone steps, melting into the darkness, only faintly touched by light. He thought she looked very beautiful, and he was afraid to speak in case he said the wrong thing. He didn’t know how to hold his face: whether to look pleased, or sad, or indifferent. He was afraid that she’d called him out here to tell him that she was going to use some Elf-Work to leave him. Or that, although she would stay, she would never speak to him or look at him again.
Andrea, on her side, was ashamed to be asking for his help. She held out a hand to tell him to keep his distance: It would be unfair to let him think she wanted anything but help. “Per, what will they do with Elven in lockup?”
Per was stung by the disappointment. She was interested in her fellow Elves, then, not in him. He looked over his shoulder toward the hall, and the firelight shining through the doorway lit his face. He gave a slight shrug.
“They will kill them!” she said.
“There be talk of it.” His voice was hard. If she didn’t care how she hurt him, then he didn’t care for Elves.
She came down the steps, closer to him. “Per, be so good, let them no be killed. Be kind, let them gan.”
Immediately he felt that he’d been cruel, and his chest and throat tightened. He went toward her, meaning to cuddle her, but her outstretched hand still told him to keep away.
“Talk to thine father,” she said. “Ask him to let them gan.”
“It be Gobby wants them killed. It be Gobby who lost a man.”
“But they be in thine father’s lockup. Be so kind, Per. I promised them they’d be ransomed. Be kind, do no make me a liar. I be one of them: They be my people. Be so good.”
“Oh, Entraya.” He climbed the steps to her and put his arms around her.
She tried to push him away, but he caught her wrists and folded her arms up against his chest. He was very strong. He hugged her to him tightly, enveloping her in his smell of sweat and sheep and leather—a blunt instrument of a smell, but one that was rich and musky and irresistibly comforting, since it meant Per, and ease and happiness. Instead of pushing him away, she leaned on him and burst into tears. “Oh Per, I be so scared. I do no want those men to be killed. Be so kind, let them not be killed.”
“Ssh! There be nowt for thee to fear, Honey.” He kissed her eye and held her tighter. She seemed so warmly alive and soft in his arms, so easily hurt. So human. “Nobody shall hurt thee—I will no let them.”
“But Elf-Men!” she said. Her face was all wet and caught the little light from the hall door. “They did no want to come here, Per. They had to come—and they have families—be so kind, be so good, do them no hurt.”
Tears came to his own eyes. He wanted to tell her anything that would make her happy. Now that she was in his arms again, looking up at him, asking for his help, he didn’t want to fail her or make her angry again—but she asked him for something he couldn’t give. If he promised it, he would only have to break his word, and that would make her angrier than ever. “They killed Gobby’s man, Sweet.”
“Look how many of them you killed! Men who—” She was crying too hard to go on.
His hand went to the back of her head, stroking her hair. “But little bird, they attacked us. They’d come to take our land.”
She tucked her head hard under his chin, and sobbed, “Be kind, do no kill them, be kind be kind do no kill them, be so kind, Per, be so kind.”
Above her head, he grimaced, trying to blink his eyes free of tears. He couldn’t refuse her, but he couldn’t promise her anything either. It was a joke at the tower that his mother and father would give him anything he asked for, but he knew it wasn’t true. If he asked for the lives of the Elves, he didn’t think he would be granted them. Largely for his sake, Toorkild and Isobel wished it to be known that the price for taking a Sterkarm life was many other lives. Their slogan, “Come, Who Dares Meddle with Me!” must always be more than mere words.
“Entraya? If we spare Elven—if we let them gan back to their home—wilt thou stay?”
She stopped crying and froze, keeping her head down against his chest. What would life be like, if everyone else from the 21st went back through the Tube, and the Tube was shut down, and she was left here alone? She loved Per, despite everything—with his arms around her, she knew she loved him—but what if he was killed? What about the time she’d spend waiting for him to be hurt again,
or killed, and dreading it?
With an uprush of feeling that choked her, she realized with what deep longing she wanted central heating and inner-spring mattresses, supermarkets and intensive care, microwave pizzas and noisy, crowded, polluted cities where you could go out alone for the day without needing a troop of friends, all armed to the teeth, to ensure that you got home again. She loved Per, but she didn’t think she was strong enough to stay with him in the 16th.
“Stay, Entraya. Be so kind, stay. Tha’ve been happy here—tha said it was more green here, tha said people were more friendly than Elves, tha said tha never wanted to gan home!”
She had said these things, in her first flush of enthusiasm for all things Sterkarm, in the first drunkenness of finding that Per wanted her—but that was before things had become complicated. When she’d said those things, and meant them, she had always known, at the back of her mind, that it would be easy to return home to the 21st. Nothing was the same now.
“Entraya!” He bent his head down and sideways, trying to see her face. A kiss landed on the side of her nose. “If our folk fight, we no have to fall out! I ken tha’ll be leaving thine own folk, but every may leaves her folk, and she be sad for a while …” The Sterkarm women sang laments about it on their wedding day. Andrea had written out some of the songs in her notebooks. “But she settles, and has bairns and is happy! And I’ll make thee happy, Entraya! I’ll do all to make thee happy. I’ll buy thee writings.” Per was uncomfortably aware that Elf-Land was wealthier, more luxurious and comfortable than anything he had to offer. “I’ll buy thee cloths for the floor, and a bed with a feather mattress. Tha shalt have thine own sheep and cow. And a pig—all thine alone. I’ll—I’ll—” His imagination couldn’t stretch to anything else he could give her. “And I’ll wed thee, Entraya. We’ll jump broom—now, this night, if tha’ll say ‘aye.’”
In the absence of any priest, jumping over a broom together before witnesses, followed by drinking from the same cup and an exchange of rings, was a binding marriage for the Sterkarms. She started shaking her head, feeling overwhelmed by his insistence. “Per—”
