by Mick Farren
X
Elly-May dug her nails into the burly skinner, faking ecstasy as he grunted and humped on top of her. Mentally she cursed herself for turning down a free ride into Festival for Celebration. The revelry there had left Afghan Promise half-empty and she was forced to make a token with tricks like this oaf.
Why couldn’t she find more guys like the drifter who had got into the shootout with the troopers from Festival? He was a crystal freak and fargone too; turning a trick with him probably would have been weird and even painful, but at least he was pretty, and his eyes seemed to reflect more than the usual johns’ that hung round Eggs’s joint.
The skinner gasped and lay still. His dead weight forced her down on the hard bed. She wriggled to ease the bruises that still remained from the beating the soldiers had given her, trying to get information about the drifter.
‘You finished, darlin’?’
The skinner grunted and rolled over. Elly-May got up from the bed, wiped herself and squeezed into her dress. She threw the skinner’s shirt onto the bed.
‘You better get dressed an’ split darlin’; otherwise the boss’ll wanna charge you for twice.’
The skinner raised his head.
‘Stop hustlin’ ya bitch, I’ll go when I’m ready. Got it?’
‘Don’t tell me, darlin’, tell the boss. He makes the rules.’
Despite his protests, the skinner began pulling on his clothes. When he was dressed he came over and tried to grab her. Elly-May ducked under his arm.
‘All right lover boy, you had your fun. If you want any more you gotta pay, or I yell for the boys.’
Muttering, the man stumped out of the small room. Elly-May sat down on the bed and began to re-draw the patterns on her breasts and eyelids with colour sticks from her pouch.
Fug this town, she thought, I don’t know why I bother to get done up for most of these pigs. It wasn’t as though she couldn’t compete with the Festival girls: she had a good figure, breasts that needed no support, a slim waist, long legs. Her face was okay; maybe her nose was small and her mouth was a little too large, but the men seemed to like it that way; and her hair—she was really proud of its natural pure black and the way it hung almost to her waist, like in the text, ‘rolls and flows all down her breast’.
Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a burst of gunfire on the strip. She jumped up and opened the window shutter a fraction. The strip was full of armed horsemen, firing into buildings and cutting down townsmen who ran frenziedly for safety. She slammed the shutter and pressed herself back against the wall. The unthinkable was happening.
Afghan Promise was being raided.
There was gunfire from the bar room and the wall shook. Elly-May looked around desperately. The only ways out were either through the window into the strip which Was thronged with horsemen or through the door which led into the bar which, from the screams and shooting, seemed also to be a battlefield.
The door crashed open and a big shaven-headed man in a fur tunic stood framed in the doorway, holding a heavy shotgun.
Elly-May screamed and backed into the corner but instead of shooting her the outlaw laughed, lowered his gun and reached out and grabbed her by the arm. Elly-May struggled but his fingers tightened and he dragged her out into the bar.
Eggs and three of the boys lay on the floor looking very, dead. In the corner three of the bar girls huddled, guarded by another outlaw. Elly-May was pushed into the corner and ordered to strip. She stood dumbly, unable to do anything. The outlaw repeated his order.
‘Strip.’
‘But I…’
The outlaw took a firm hand on the front of her dress and ripped downwards. The fabric rent down to her stomach and she reluctantly slipped her arms out of the torn garment, stepped out of her sandals and was pushed into the corner. The outlaw picked up her clothes and threw them into the street.
Two of the women in the corner with her were huddled together weeping. Slightly apart from them, her partner, red-haired Anna, sat against the wall looking resigned.
Elly-May crouched beside her.
‘Wha’s gonna happen? They gonna kill us?’
Anna looked up.
‘Maybe, maybe not if we come onto them. They’re only johns, we oughta be able to impress them.”
‘Why do they take our clothes? We gonna get raped for sure, oh Anna.’
‘Listen, get yourself together. It’s only rape if you struggle. Otherwise it’s just another buncha tricks. Think like that an’ maybe we’ll stay alive longer. You hear?’
‘Sure, but…’
‘Okay, shut up an’ see what happens.’
Two more women were brought in, stripped and pushed into the corner. Outside the gunfire became more sporadic.
Anna looked up and deliberately grinned at the guard.
‘Hey mista, what you boys a-doin’?’
The outlaw looked surprised; most women they captured screamed and wept. He threw out his chest.
‘We take town.’
‘Plenty loot?’
‘Sure, plenty loot.’
‘An’ women, you like women?’
‘Sure.’ The outlaw grinned.
‘You get to pick your women?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Me an’ me friend,’ she indicated Elly-May, ‘we can sure give a man a good time.’
‘Good time?’
‘Lovin’ like you never had inna hills.’
The outlaw looked bewildered; southern women had strange ways.
‘You not speak. I look for you in line. I remember.’
‘You do that darlin’.’
Elly-May listened in wonder; how could Anna get into hustling in this situation? She seemed to have the right idea. Maybe they would survive.
Another group of women were dragged into the bar. The naked group in the corner grew steadily.
* * *
A sniper holed up on the roof of one of the few brick buildings was holding his own, preventing Iggy or any of his boys getting within thirty paces of the building. At the other end of the strip Oltha’s foot men were herding a bunch of prisoners out of the general store. Two more houses were burning but except for the man on the roof and a group of maybe ten besieged in another building all resistance had ceased.
Celebration at Festival had left the town half-empty and it had fallen to their surprise attack with almost no trouble.
Soon the ammunition would run out in the pockets of resistance and it would all be over.
Cautiously Iggy moved out to where Winston was directing the fire into the house still held by the townsmen. He crouched beside the line of gunmen.
‘Hey Winston.’ Winston crawled over to him. ‘Where’s the chief?’
‘Oltha? I think he’s with his boys, roundin’ up prisoners.’
‘Lissen, let your boys keep the men in the house pinned down an’ we’ll get some of Oltha’s bowmen t’ let go a bunch a fire arrows. Burn th’ muthas out.’
Iggy and Winston crawled away. As they reached the strip a cheer went up as a lucky shot toppled the man from his position on the roof. They hurried over to where Oltha stood.
‘Hey Oltha, can you send up a buncha yer archers? We’re gonna havta burn out those guys in th’ cat house.’
Oltha nodded and made a signal. Five archers obediently trotted towards the building and Winston followed them. After a while smoke began to rise and the shooting stopped. Iggy turned to Oltha.
‘Tha’s it, the town’s ours.’
‘The fight was easy.’
‘All down to plannin’, chief. Now we gotta deal with the prisoners.’
‘We kill.’
‘No way. We need ’em.’
‘For what?’
‘First we need more men, an’ some of the bozos in this town wouldn’t be adverse to hirin’ on wit’ us. So tomorrow we give ’em the option. Ri’?’
The chief looked doubtful.
‘Option?’
‘Join us or get waste
d.’
Oltha still looked doubtful but finally nodded.
‘What of the old ones?’
‘Let ’em go back to their homes. If we watch ’em they’ll cause no trouble an’ we’ll need their skills.’
‘I say kill.’
‘Lissen, there’s gonna be generator boys, blacksmiths, weavers; we gonna need that shit.’
‘P’raps, although tribe manage without.’
‘Yeah, I figure on some comforts.’
Oltha shrugged.
‘So be it. What do we do with all these people?’
‘Pick a big building an’ herd ’em inside an’ put guards all round. Make it clear that anyone who tries a breakout gets it. Ri’? Then tomorrow put ’em to work.’
‘Work?’
‘Sure, an’ our own boys. The way I figure it, word’s gonna get back to Festival that we took the town an’ an army’s gonna come a-runnin’, so I want the place sealed up tight; barricades, trenches, the whole bit.’
‘Why not simply march on to Festival?’
‘We gotta wait for more men. Lissen, you sent your messengers to the other tribes?’
‘Yes.’
‘An’ d’yer think they’re gonna come?’
‘Hill raiders will come to burn Festival.’
‘So how long they gonna be?’
‘Four, maybe five days.’
‘Then we wait a week before we do anything. Sit here snug behind our defences an’ wait for more troops. If Valentine sends out soldiers we waste a bunch an’ send ’em home.’
‘You think soldiers come?’
‘More’n likely, tha’s why we spend tomorrow gettin’ ready.’
Oltha thought for a while.
‘My men will find it strange not to kill prisoners but your plan sounds good. I will give orders. What of the women?’
‘Women?’
‘We have gathered all the young women of the town in building.’
Oltha gestured at the now battered front of Eggs Akerly’s bar.
‘Soonly the tribe come, we Sing Dead. The men expect to dice for loot an’ women. I get them to let prisoners live, but if no women…’
Oltha spread his hands; Iggy smiled.
‘They’ll get the women an’ my boys too. Lissen, send a squad to bury the dead an’ you an’ me’ll look over the chicks.’
* * *
More and more women were pushed into the bar and their clothes removed.
A side of the room was filled with forty or more women, every bar girl and hooker who had worked the strip, young wives, sisters and the elder daughters of merchants and craftsmen, and women who had just been passing through. A dozen lounging outlaws guarded them.
Suddenly the guards stiffened as two men walked through the door. Elly-May turned her head to see the new arrivals. The two men had brought no more women; they just sauntered across to the bar and helped themselves to drinks. She could see that one was a hill man, broad and, by the grey in his beard, probably in middle years, while the other… Elly-May caught her breath. It was him—the drifter. She grabbed Anna by the arm.
‘It’s him, it’s him!’
Anna looked round.
‘Who?’
‘The one in the black hat an’ cape, it’s him, the drifter. You know, the pretty one who shot the soldier.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure.’
‘Can you attract his attention? I’d like to get out of this meat market.’
Elly-May looked around carefully. From the manner of the other men, he and the older one had some kind of authority. Perhaps there was hope. Anna watched her.
‘Are you gonna get somethin’ together? I don’t rate pulling no train for these hillbillies.’
Elly-May screwed up her courage, stood up and then pushed her way through the frightened women towards Iggy, but as she emerged from the group a guard stopped her and started to push her back.
‘Wait, I wanna speak to him.’
The guard ignored her. Would she blow it if she yelled out? She didn’t even know his name. Then he turned and saw her and the guard. He started to walk over.
‘Whassama’?’
The guard stopped shoving her and turned to Iggy.
‘Dunno chief, I…’
Quickly Elly-May interrupted.
‘Please mister, remember me? At the table… the fight?’
Her voice trailed off. Iggy stared at her blankly for a while; then he grinned.
‘I got started tellin’ you about some trips, ri’? So? You want something?’
It was now or never. She took a deep breath, put one hand on her hip, licked her lips and, working as hard as she knew, said softly:
‘I thought you might like to go on from where we got interrupted.’
Iggy burst out laughing.
‘Far out, sister! But you maybe wouldn’t dig all of it. You really think you’re ready for anything.’
‘Sure, I’d work pretty hard to not get turned out for the whole team.’
Iggy laughed again.
‘Yeah, maybe you would. Okay, I got nothin’ to lose.’
Iggy gestured to the guard.
‘Let her through.’
Elly-May looked at Iggy.
‘Listen, I got a friend back there, the one with the red hair, me partner, she’s a heavy chick. The best in this town. I’d… could you get ’er outta the lineup?’
Iggy turned to a man who had walked in.
‘Hey Winston, wanna meet the lady’s friend?’
Winston smiled.
‘Sho’ nuff boss.’
‘Okay babe, your friend comes too.’
‘Thanks mister, you won’t be disappointed.’
She beckoned to Anna who hurried through the crowd.
Iggy led them to where Oltha stood by the bar.
‘Lissen, I’m cuttin’ out these two, so you wanna take charge till dawn?’
‘I post guards; we all party.’
‘Okay fine.’
He turned to Winston and the women.
‘You wanna get these ladies dressed up an’ all. Then we find us the best house in town to party in. I’ll cop the brews an’ crystal.’
* * *
Elly-May looked at Iggy. Asleep at last despite the amounts of crystal he had hit up. With a lower tolerance she was still wide awake. She swivelled her head around the big room in the Shirrif’s House. On cushions at the far side of the room Anna and Winston lay wrapped around each other. There was debris everywhere; even furniture was broken. It had been a heavy night.
After she had persuaded Iggy to take her and Anna out of the crowd of women, he had taken them to her room and watched them as they got ready.
She had done the best job on herself ever.
Having painted her breasts, mouth, eyelids, thighs and the fiat of her stomach, she went to the cupboard and first of all pulled out her long boots. These were prized possessions, almost perfect pre-disaster relics that she had bought from a scavenger. Then she had brought out the long calfskin dress that was laced from her armpit to her hip and finally fell away to her ankles, leaving two slits that revealed her long legs. Anna had emerged in a wraparound skirt of local cloth and a bead work halter that showed her painted breasts as she moved. If the two of them couldn’t turn on these guys, she remembered thinking, no woman in town could.
And that was just what they had done. Since it was a matter of turning on Iggy and Winston in order to survive they had used every trick they knew and the two men had responded. Elly-May had thought she had known about male weirdness, but there had been times during the night when she had been unable to stop herself from screaming as Iggy giggled and revealed even more perverse tastes. A swap with Anna had given her the break which, at the time, she had felt was the salvation of her sanity.
Finally, though, Iggy had drifted off to sleep, leaving her bruised, aching and wide-awake behind crystal, but satisfied that her performance had been a success.
; XI
Raucous laughter drifted across the walls of Festival and Joe Starkweather drummed restlessly as he smoked yet another pipe of weed. All evening he had tried to pin down Valentine to discuss the outlaw situation, but the lord of Festival had successfully managed to avoid him.
Finally Joe stood up and walked to the door. He looked tired and grim, if Valentine didn’t choose to listen then he would have to be forced. By now he would be alone in his chamber with his current woman. He’d get mad but he’d be unable to run off.
Unquestioned by the guards, Starkweather limped through the corridors of the palace. He tried the door of the lord’s chamber. Valentine hadn’t bothered to bolt it.
A single candle was almost burned out and on the vast bed two figures lay wrapped in a fur rug. The floor was littered with black satin and red velvet in a crumpled heap together with white leather boots and belt.
For a while Starkweather stood silently; then he spoke.
‘Valentine.’
The figures on the bed lay still.
‘Valentine!’
Slowly the cocoon began to come apart and Valentine opened his eyes.
‘Whassappenin’?’
Starkweather stood at the foot of the bed. Valentine sat up rubbing his eyes; then, becoming aware of the dark figure, he scrabbled for the pistol on the low bedside table.
‘I wouldn’t try shootin’ me, Valentine; it’d probably cause a revolt.’
Valentine lowered the gun and stared poisonously at Starkweather.
‘You better have a good reason for comin’ here like this. I could call the guards.’
‘I hardly think your guards are gonna try arrestin’ me.’
An edge of panic crept into Valentine’s voice.
‘You’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you? I heard them shouting for you today. You’re plotting to become lord.’
Valentine raised the gun again.
‘I’ve sussed you out. Honest Joe Starkweather, eighth lord of Festival, or will it be another stinkin’ commune? I’ll kill you first, Starkweather. You and the mob won’t run me out of Festival.’
Starkweather’s voice cut through Valentine’s hysteria.
‘Shut up an’ put that gun down. I don’t want your pathetic title.’
Almost as a reflex, Valentine lowered his gun again.
