Straybeck Rising

by Michael James Lynch

  “It’s not just you to think about. If you’re caught up in something you shouldn’t be, then it puts us all at risk. So I’ll ask again, where do you go when you should be working?”

  Ryan let out a bark of laughter. “Do you really think I’d tell you anything? You’re a traitor. You sold out your best friends. Why would I share anything with you?”

  His dad jumped up, sending his chair skidding backwards across the kitchen.

  “Watch your mouth,” he shouted but Ryan refused to back down.

  “You want to know what I’m doing? It’s everything you should have done if you hadn’t been too shit scared.”

  His dad was around the table before Ryan could get up. He grabbed his neck and shoved his face against the table top.

  “You think you’ve got it all worked out, don’t you? You say all these clever speeches, spout off all this bullshit, but underneath it all you’re just a scared arrogant kid.”

  The grip at his neck grew tighter, but his dad’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And your friend at the chapel. Believe me, his days are numbered.”

  Ryan froze. How had his dad found out about Brynne?

  “Robb, let him go,” his mum had come home and was running through the hallway towards them.

  Ryan used the distraction to twist out of the grip and then shoved against his dad. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snarled, but the certainty had drained from his voice.

  “Don’t I?” He jabbed a finger at Ryan. “If I know about him, you can be sure the gunnermen do too.”

  Ryan didn’t want to hear anymore and shouldered a path between his parents. As he pushed through, something clattered to the floor and shattered into dozens of tiny pieces. A frayed length of electrical wire dangled accusingly from Ryan’s waist and they all stared in shock at the covert camera that was spread out before them.

  “What’s that?”

  Ryan said nothing, but went to his knees and gathered the pieces back into his coat pockets.

  “Is that a camera?” his dad said. “Have you been recording us? Here?” He hauled Ryan to his feet. “Who’s got you doing this?”

  But he was tired of being pushed around. He shoved back with all his strength, sending his dad into the table and throwing the chairs into disarray.

  “It’s got nothing to do with you,” he screamed and tore upstairs, kicking open the bedroom door where his brother reared up from the top bunk in fright.

  Ignoring him, Ryan pulled the wreckage of the camera from his pockets, threw it to the lower bunk, and covered it all with the blankets. He wanted to hide it beneath the loose floorboard but couldn’t let John see.

  His younger brother was propped up on his stomach with an open notebook in front of him. As soon as Ryan had seen it, John quickly hid the book from sight beneath the blankets.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing. I was just writing.”

  “Writing what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Ryan was instantly on guard. “Well it must be something or you wouldn’t be trying to hide it.”

  John didn’t answer and he wouldn’t meet his brother’s gaze. Seized by a sudden urge to kick down on someone weaker than him, he shoved John to one side and yanked the blankets from the bed. He grabbed at the notebook but John was quick as a viper and snatched it back. They both held fast until Ryan twisted it away and found the page where John had been writing.

  “Dear Alia,” he read aloud. Of all the things he had expected to see, that had been the last. How did John even know Alia? It was outrageous. For a moment they just stared at each other and then he couldn’t stop laughing.

  “You’re writing to Alia? Oh my God this is too funny.”

  John jumped down from the top bunk, but it was easy to fend him off. Ryan continued to read it aloud while pinning his brother to the bed with one hand.

  “Dear Alia. I’ve never been able to talk to girls the way I can talk to you. So why is it so hard to write this letter?”

  He felt an odd sense of satisfaction watching his brother’s eyes glisten with tears and his face drain of colour. The next line of writing had been scribbled through, so he squinted closer to decipher the scrawl.

  “Since the first time I saw you in school, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” Ryan gave him a patronising look. “Aw, you can’t stop thinking about her?”

  John threw a punch that caught him behind the jaw and rattled his teeth shut. It was never going to knock him over, but it stung enough to provoke a surge of anger from Ryan.

  “You little shit,” he growled and grabbed his brother by the head, pushing him to the carpet. They landed in an awkward bundle and Ryan quickly pinned him down and placed one knee across his chest. He still had the notebook in his hands and threw it down hard onto John’s face.

  “Never hit me again. Alright?”

  The book landed on the floor and slowly flipped open, settling near to the front. There was a date written at the top from a few weeks ago and as Ryan scanned through the paragraphs beneath, his heart sank.

  “I followed Ryan to an underground station at the far side of the Worker District. He met the man from the chapel and then disappeared. The man pinned me against the wall and threatened to kill me.” Below that there was another entry dated a week later. Ryan stood up and spoke the words quietly as he read them. “I followed Ryan to the chapel again and waited outside until he left. When I went inside, the man from the train tunnels was hiding in a secret room beneath the altar.”

  “Ryan, stop.” John scrambled up and grasped at the book.

  “I hid behind one of the benches and then a gunnerman came in. He called the man Brynne. They went down to the secret room together.”

  Ryan crunched the notebook in one hand, eyes closed. It had all become startlingly clear. “How could you let him turn you,” he murmured.

  “I’m trying to help you,” John pleaded.

  “Help me?” he shouted. “How? By informing to that traitor downstairs?”

  “No,” John was almost crying now. “I haven’t even shown it to Dad.” Heavy footsteps sounded at the base of the stairs and John gabbled his words before they could be interrupted. “He’s bad Ryan. The man in the chapel. I know he is.”

  “I can’t believe you’d do this to me,” Ryan repeated but then their dad was in the doorway, red-faced and breathing hard.

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Here he is,” Ryan jeered, “dragging his leg behind him.”

  His dad gave a murderous look. “John. Leave us alone,” he said icily.

  “Don’t bother. I’m done with the lot of you. Keep your reports. Tell the gunnermen for all I care. I won’t be back here again.” Then he ran downstairs, slammed the front door and was gone.

  Chapter 32

  Straybeck was cold but Ryan was too angry to feel it. He stalked the streets in a quiet rage, replaying the argument with his father and brother. He had been let down and betrayed too many times. He knew he couldn’t live there anymore. It was no longer a home for him.

  Ordinarily he would have migrated to the chapel but he didn’t even feel welcome there after Brynne had sent him away. For a moment he considered visiting Alia but dismissed it almost immediately.

  Hi. I know we’ve only been out a couple of times, but can I stay at your house?

  So instead, as the light faded and the temperature dropped, Ryan made for the train station in the Trade District. He flashed his card to the gunnerman at the gate, finding grim humour in the fact that the one time he finally had nothing to hide, he was able to slip through the checkpoint without even a question.

  The platform was long and poorly lit and there were a handful of people already waiting. Two men in collars and ties were speaking in low voices and cast a nervous glance at Ryan as he waited nearby. Beyond them were two young women waiting separately but both dressed in the typical mill-worker clothes.

  The Straybeck mil
ls and factories weren’t due to shut for over an hour though and Ryan wondered why they should be heading for Karasard at this time.

  He examined his own attire and realised they probably had the same thought about him. He’d left the house without his coat and was still in the clothes he’d tried to blend in with at the factories. After hiding behind the wall outside the chapel, one knee had gone through in his trousers and his sleeve was crusted with mud and brick dust. All of which served to make his worker story sound all the more authentic. In fact, the only one who looked worse off than him was a journeyman nestled into one corner of the platform. He had a thick grey beard and was bundled into a collection of grimy blankets. Far from providing warmth, they looked more like a collection of ragged holes, ingrained with dirt. Ryan understood why the man had chosen to rest up here though. Screened by the high station walls, there was at least some shelter from the keen winds that liked to tear through Straybeck.The journeyman suddenly rolled into a sitting position, crying out in pain as he did so. The two white collars jumped at the sound and backed further away as the man propped himself on one elbow, hawked and spat onto the tracks. Ryan watched with growing amazement while the bundle of blankets was stripped away to reveal a tall, gangly man dressed in mismatched clothing. He was leaning against a bulging rucksack and curled beside him was a mangy dog with one blue eye and one cloudy.

  In the distance, Ryan heard the quiet clatter of a train. It was timed so perfectly that he wondered if the journeyman had learned to rise and sleep with the arrival of each one. Ryan watched him loop a rope around his dog’s neck and gather up his belongings. As it drew closer, the train checked its speed, issuing a series of squeals from its brakes. The five carriages grudgingly shunted and locked into place and then silence smothered the station.

  Ryan climbed onto the empty central carriage while the journeyman went to the very last one. The other commuters boarded through various doors, all trying to separate themselves from each other.

  Straybeck’s Worker District was the final stop on the Karasard line. Or the first, depending on which direction you were heading. From there, the train took a sharp loop so that it could begin the return leg. Having completed the journey once already today, Ryan knew it would take over an hour to reach the big city. He pulled up the collar on his shirt and hunched down into the seat trying to get comfy. His thoughts fell upon the argument with John and he was surprised by the ache that it had left in his chest.

  Ever since Brynne revealed the truth about Ryan’s dad, he had been prepared for the inevitable betrayal. For it to have happened was neither a surprise nor a loss. But Ryan had always considered his brother’s loyalty to be complete. The idea that things could be otherwise had never occurred to him. He wondered how their dad had persuaded him to do it.

  I’m trying to help you Ryan.

  There hadn’t been even the hint of deceit on his face and Ryan wondered if it was genuine concern on his brother’s part. He certainly wouldn’t put it past his dad to twist John’s emotions for his own ends.

  Which just left the letter to Alia.

  Ryan thought back to all their meetings. He had been so careful to check for people following. Yet on at least one of these occasions John must have seen him. And what had happened after that? Had John gone back to her house? Introduced himself?

  Ryan shook his head. This was his twelve-year-old brother. There was no way he would have the courage to do that. Although an hour ago it wouldn’t have occurred to him that John could inform on him.

  Round and round the thoughts went until the train rattled clear of Straybeck and settled into a more sedate pace on its way towards Kirsk. It was twilight now and Ryan twisted in his seat to watch last of the city fall away. Finally, the sun sank below the hills and the moon glowed milky-white overhead.

  His thoughts returned to the Government agent who had appeared in the chapel. If Ryan had seen through his disguise, then surely Brynne would have done too. His caution was almost an obsession. But if he had known all along that he worked for the Government, then why let him into the chapel at all. Whichever way he came at the question, Ryan could make no sense of it.

  The train slowed and he saw the introduction of buildings in the open fields and up ahead were the glowing yellow lights of a small township. Several figures were standing on the platform and Ryan’s heart sank when he recognised the sharp silhouettes of two gunnerman in amongst them. They boarded at the front of the train while the other commuters dispersed between the remaining carriages.

  An older man passed by wearing a simple dark suit and found a seat on the bench opposite. Ryan didn’t even make eye-contact and hunched further into his seat, keeping his head down.

  As the train gathered speed and lurched forwards, one of the mill girls who had got on at Straybeck stepped through from the other carriage. Ryan raised his eyes and caught her staring at him. She was younger than he had first thought, maybe twenty. To his surprise, she gave him a coy smile as she stepped around his outstretched legs, using the roof rail for support. He managed a tight smile in return and she took a seat a couple of places down from him.

  “These trains take so long,” she said wearily and began un-braiding the weave of hair that she wore draped over one shoulder.

  She had sharp clever features and her thick brown hair was swept back beneath a light blue bandana. Ryan could think of no reason why she would want to begin a conversation with him.

  “My boss lets me finish early so I can catch this train. Still takes forever though.”

  Ryan nodded, unsure what to say. In his experience, people didn’t just start conversations with complete strangers.

  “You look like a factory man. Am I right?”

  He seized upon the story that he and Brynne had so often rehearsed.

  “I was working. But they don’t need me anymore, so now I’m looking for work.”

  The girl stopped untangling her hair and looked at him sympathetically.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s happened to me before. It’s really hard, isn’t it?”

  Ryan shrugged.

  “Where were you working?”

  They’d rehearsed this too and he named one of the bigger factories in Karasard that Brynne said was well known for hiring and firing workers.

  “Had you been there long?” the girl said idly as she re-plaited her hair.

  Ryan felt his unease growing. “Where is it you work?” he said, ignoring her question.

  “Graysons,” she smiled. That was the busiest mill in Straybeck. It employed hundreds of women and men from the town. “They’re alright really. Don’t treat you too badly. Not like some of those ones in Karasard. I’m Emma by the way.”

  “Ryan.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she leaned across to shake his hand. It was her charm that actually saved him. For in that moment he gave his real name rather than the one from the fake ID that was still with the wreckage of camera on his bed.

  “So, do you live in the city Ryan? Or are you a Straybeck boy?”

  Before he could answer, the door burst open and two dishevelled figures were propelled into the carriage. The first was a woman in her fifties with a face that was hollowed out at the cheeks. She fell to her knees with a shriek of pain and dashed her head against one of the upright poles. From there, she curled into a ball while the second figure, a man of similar age, rushed to her side. He too was malnourished and dressed in loose fitting rags. Ryan took them both for journeymen and probably dust addicts too.

  “My head,” the woman wailed. “My head. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Her partner hooked a hand under each of her armpits and tried to haul her upright.

  “Leave me. Let those bastards finish me off.”

  “Come on,” he fussed. “Come on. It’s just a knock.”

  “I’m going to be sick,” she cried again, pressing her finger to the crown of her head. When they pulled away Ryan saw dabs of blood on her fingertips.

>   Two gunnermen moved into the carriage and looked over the scene. The first had a sneer on his face while the second appeared merely bored. He pulled on a pair of thick black leather gloves.

  “Get up you pair of shit-heels.”

  “You’re okay sir. You’re okay. We’re moving now.” The old man bowed and scraped as he moved down the aisle, shunting the woman as best he could.

  Ryan saw Emma, the mill girl, look at them with utter disgust as she pulled her legs up onto the seat. He was astounded at how quickly a beautiful face could turn so sour.

  “Any others?” the gunnerman said.

  “Iris is with one in the end carriage. I’m not sure about this one,” Emma pointed a finger at Ryan. “Says he’s unemployed and looking for work at the factories.”

  The gunnermen closed in.

  “Card.”

  Ryan knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. He passed over his ID and they gave it a once over.

  “Calloway? He a gypsy?”

  Emma shrugged. “Didn’t get that far. Said his first name was Ryan though.”

  The gunnermen double-checked the name and the picture while Ryan looked at the girl with fresh eyes, making no attempt to hide his disgust.

  “This is what you do?”

  “Shut-up,” she said dismissively.

  The gunnermen were carrying the new portable radios and transmitted Ryan’s details to the comms operator.

  “Not known or wanted,” came the reply. “If in company with Robb Calloway, stop and search.”

  “Who’s Robb Calloway?”

  “My dad.”

  “What’s he done that’s so special?”

  “He’s a traitor. I don’t have anything to do with him.”

  “Why are you going to Karasard,” the second gunnerman asked.

  “No reason.”

  Which was a stupid answer because you were never free to act without reason.

  “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.