The Texts of Festival

by Mick Farren

  At the gate Iggy swung his men round and, leaving a group to see that the gate would not be opened, he ordered the others to spread out. Systematically they moved back through the Quarter either killing or driving all before them back towards the milling, slaughtering hill men.

  * * *

  High up on the west wall of Backstage, Joe Starkweather and a group of his men stared down at the butchery in the Merchants’ Quarter. Horrified, a young guard swung round to Starkweather.

  ‘Why the fug don’ we open fire? Those people are gettin’ massacred.’

  ‘Hold your fire an’ shut up!’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Those people have the guns an’ ammunition that could have defended all of us. I don’ intend using the little we have to get them off the hook.’

  ‘You’re as bad as them fuggin’ outlaws.’

  Starkweather grabbed the kid by the shoulders.

  ‘Listen punk, we don’t have enough to defend ourselves without pumpin’ half of it down there. They opted out an’ there’s nothin’ we can do. So get a grip on yourself an’ get back to your post.’

  The young trooper shook his head and stumbled away. Starkweather grimly watched him go and then turned back to the battle below him.

  * * *

  Frankie Lee looked round the circle of tense faces.

  ‘They’re inside the Merchants’ Quarter an’ there’s a good chance they’ll come outta the South Gate an’ straight at us. If that happens it’s down to us to hold ’em long enough f’ the boys in the trenches t’ either get back here or to Lou’s. If one o’ the houses falls on ’em it’s also down to the people in th’ other one to give enough coverin’ fire f’ them to get across the Drag. If both houses start to go we fire the flare an’ Joe’ll cover us so’s we can get behind the walls. Everyone clear?’

  The defenders who were crowded inside the bar of the Last Chance nodded silently.

  ‘Okay then, you all best get t’ your positions.’

  * * *

  The Merchants’ Quarter had fallen. Some of the buildings around the North Gate were on fire but for the most part it remained intact. Of the population only a few survived: the tiny minority who had managed to flee over the walls and a handful of young women who were already being herded back to the outlaw camp surrounded by leering guards. It was becoming apparent that Iggy’s war on Festival was one of complete attrition. In Shacktown and on the Drag the defenders waited while he organised his next move.

  With his advantage of arms and numbers Iggy saw no need to hurry. The Festival men would never chance coming out from’ behind their defences and pushing a counter attack; time was completely on his side.

  Almost casually he cantered his horse down the avenue where Winston had lined up the entire force. He reined in beside Winston.

  ‘Cut out half of the mounted tribesmen; I’ll take them an’ our boys outta the South Gate an’ hit th’ Drag. You take the resta the bunch an’ circle roun’ the walls. We’ll meet up in the arena.’

  Iggy sat on his horse and watched as Winston rode up and down, yelling, cursing and gesticulating, dividing the outlaws into the two groups. When it was finally accomplished he rode back to Iggy.

  ‘There y’ go boss, you wan’ me to move ’em out?’

  ‘Jus’ hold on a while.’

  He urged his horse forward and looked around at the assembled outlaws.

  ‘Okay yous guys, we’re gonna clean up th’ resta this city.

  Half o’ yous’ll take Shack town an’ th’ other half’ll come wi’ me an’ clean up th’ Drag. After that we link up an’ hit them walls.’

  He gestured at the high Backstage that loomed behind him. There was a hysterical tone creeping into his voice.

  ‘An’ after they fall, tha’s when the party starts!’

  His voice rose to a scream:

  ‘OKAY?’

  There was a roar of assent from the outlaw rank. Iggy swung his horse round, jerking the reins so it pranced and reared. As he galloped towards the South Gate his men fell in behind him, whooping and yelling..

  * * *

  As the sound of the footsteps of the guard bringing the midday meal came faintly through the door, Preach backed up against the wall. He motioned the others to silence.

  ‘Jus’ sit there an’ act natural, I’ll take care o’ the rest.’

  The keys rattled in the lock and the door swung open. It opened inwards and hid Preach, pressed against the wall, from the guard.

  ‘Here’s the food, lads.’

  The trooper stooped and set the tray on the floor. As he straightened, a puzzled frown crossed his face.

  ‘Hey! Where’s th’ other…’

  His words were cut short as Preach’s clasped hands struck at the back of his neck. The trooper slumped to the floor. Preach snatched the gun and keys from the guard and slipped through into the corridor. He beckoned to the others.

  ‘Okay, it’s clear.’

  The other men followed him out of the room. Halfway down the corridor, Preach halted.

  ‘This is th’ lord’s room.’

  He banged on the door.

  ‘My lord, my Lord Valentine. It’s me, Preach. We come to get you out.’

  There was a muffled reply from inside the room.

  ‘My lord, please stand back, I’m gonna blow the lock off.’

  One of the other men caught Preach by the arm.

  ‘If you shoot you’ll have Starkweather’s fuggin’ guards down on us.’

  Preach shook him off.

  ‘We’ll take care o’ that, an’ mind your language, th’ lord might hear you.’

  He put the gun to the lock and pulled the trigger. The explosion was deafening in the small corridor. Preach put his shoulder to the door and pushed. It swung open. Valentine stood in the centre of the room. He looked pale and unshaven and stood blinking at the men.

  ‘So you’re my loyal troops, are you? You’re a sorry looking lot.’

  The five troopers shuffled uncomfortably. Preach scratched his ear.

  ‘We been locked up f’ some time, my lord.’

  Valentine stepped into the corridor and glanced round.

  ‘How many guns you got?’

  ‘Jus’ one, my lord.’

  ‘Give it to me.’

  Preach handed over the gun.

  ‘Wha’ do we do now, my lord?’

  Valentine started down the corridor.

  ‘Follow me.’

  As they reached the end of the corridor a sound made them turn.

  ‘The guard! He’s woken up!’

  Valentine pushed past the men. The guard leaned against the wall shaking his head. Valentine raised the gun carefully and fired. The guard twisted and hit the ground. The men stared, open mouthed.

  ‘He’s dead. We knowed him, we rode with him.’

  Valentine stared at them with contempt.

  ‘Shut up an’ follow me.’

  XXIII

  The South Gate of the Merchants’ Quarter flew open and Iggy’s horsemen thundered in. The men in the trenches broke and ran; a few were cut down but most made the shelter of either Madame Lou’s or the Last Chance. Frankie Lee crouched on the sandbagged porch of the Chance directing the heavy rapid-fire at the first wave of horsemen who, under the hail of bullets from the two houses, crashed into a confusion of plunging horses and falling men.

  Frankie Lee looked round in jubilation as the outlaws withdrew towards the Merchants’ Quarter to regroup.

  ‘We broke the charge, we stopped ’em.’

  Harry Krishna pointed.

  ‘Looks like they’re up t’ somethin’, Frankie.’

  The outlaws were bunched, out of range, in front of the Merchants’ Quarter. Men on foot hurried out of the gate carrying bundles, and wisps of smoke rose from the ranks. Ace looked at Frankie Lee.

  ‘Wha’ they up to?’

  As if in answer a handful of riders detached themselves from the main group and galloped towards the Drag.
In their hands they carried blazing torches.

  ‘Fire! They’re tryin’ to burn us out!’

  ‘Pick ’em off before they reach the buildings.’

  The defenders opened fire and two of the outlaws immediately crashed into the dust. The other kept on coming. More went down but two managed to reach the end of the street and, before they were shot down, hurled their torches at one of the abandoned buildings.

  The dry timbers with their many coats of paint blazed quickly, flames licking hungrily up the side of the house. Frankie Lee cursed as thick smoke rolled across the Drag, obscuring the approaches from the South Gate.

  ‘Should we try an’ put out th’ fire?’

  ‘No way, stay put, you wouldn’t last a minute in the open. Watch the street, they’re gonna be comin’ through that smoke any minute.’

  As though in reply the first outlaw broke through the smoke, crouched low in his saddle and firing as he came. More followed, strung out in a long line to make less effective targets for the machine gun. They streamed down the Drag firing alternately left and right and although many went down the majority made it down the street and out into the Arena where they turned in a wide circle and headed back towards the South Gate.

  When they had passed Frankie Lee looked round. Harry Krishna and two other men Jay groaning on the porch. He signalled to the defenders inside the bar.

  ‘Get these men inside an’ try an’ make ’em comfortable.’

  Men hurried from inside bearing crude stretchers. Frankie turned to the ones still standing.

  ‘Nex’ time they come, aim f’ the horses we gotta snarl up that line. We ain’t got the ammunition t’ try an’ pick ’em off as they run round us.’

  He followed the stretcher bearers into the bar and watched as Claudette and one of the barmen busied themselves with the wounded.

  ‘They gonna be okay?’

  Claudette looked up.

  ‘Al’s dead, an’ I don’ reckon Nick or Harry’s gonna last much longer.’

  Before Frankie could reply there was a shout from outside.

  ‘They’re comin’ again!’

  Frankie Lee burst through the door, firing as he hit the porch. Bullets crashed into the woodwork behind him and he threw himself flat. The outlaws streamed past, firing as they went. By the time he had crawled to the sandbags they had passed and two more men lay dead on the porch. Ace looked at him anxiously.

  ‘They’re whittlin’ us down, Frankie. We got mebbe a dozen of ’em that time but it’s costin’ us.’

  ‘Yeah I know, best we move back inside before the nex’ pass. We’re too easy a target out here.’

  * * *

  After the third wild rush down the Drag, Iggy halted beside the South Gate and gathered his top guns around him.

  ‘We’re gonna haft a be suss about this. The boys in those cat houses are tough, we’re hurtin’ ’em, but we’re losin’ too many men. I’m gonna send down one more charge wi’ the hill boys in front an’ us followin’. Only this time it’s gonna be different. Soon as you boys reach the firs’ buildin’, hit the ground an’ beat it f’ cover. Then work your way down th’ street an’ try to get inside one o’ them houses. Concentrate on th’ one on the left, th’ one wi’ the sign that says Madame Lou’s. Ri’?’

  The outlaws nodded. Iggy turned his horse and rode to where the tribesmen were gathered, their painted faces smeared with sweat.

  ‘I’m gonna give you a great honour. Yous can lead the nex’ charge. We aim f’ the house on the right. You understand?’

  The head gun, once Oltha’s deputy, raised his rifle.

  ‘We understand.’

  ‘It would be lastin’ shame to the tent of any warrior who lives but doesn’ reach that house.’

  Again the head gun raised his weapon.

  ‘None will turn back!’

  Iggy smiled.

  ‘I’m real glad ’bout that. Okay, lead your men out.’

  * * *

  Ace and Frankie Lee stared through adjacent firing slits in the boarded windows.

  ‘They’re a long time comin’, Reckon they’ve called it off.’

  Frankie Lee shook his head.

  ‘They’ll be back.’

  He turned from the slit and looked round the room. It had come a long way from the dim, smoky, comfortable bar room that he had hung out in for so long. It was still dim and still smoky but the pleasant fog of booze and weed had been replaced by the acrid bite of gunpowder. The dark stained timbers were no longer friendly but seemed to brood on fear and menace, the furniture that had been broken to bar doors and stop windows seemed to be a symbol of the coming destruction. Frankie Lee had always liked the way sunlight slanted through the haze of the daytime bar room but now the shafts of smoky light seemed filled with bright menace.

  There was a trace of despair in the faces of all his companions as they gripped their weapons and waited out the lull. The pile of ammunition stacked in the centre of the room was getting alarmingly small.

  The room was silent; the only sounds came from outside: the crackle of the burning building, distant screams and gunfire coming from Shacktown.

  Claudette looked up from where she was doing her best to care for the wounded.

  ‘Harry Krishna’s dead.’

  * * *

  The tribesmen, yelling and howling, raced into the smoke of the Drag. Iggy held his own men back for a few more moments as the chatter of rapid-fire preceded a chorus of screams from men and horses. Iggy smiled, put the tribesmen under threat of shame and they would willingly commit suicide.

  ‘Okay!’

  Iggy urged his men forward, following the tribesmen with a good deal more caution.

  As they broke through the pall of smoke, a spectacle of carnage met their eyes. Dead men and horses were littered all over the street. Small groups crouched behind their fallen horses and were firing into the Last Chance while others made futile rushes at the building, which invariably ended with the fast hammering of the rapid-fire.

  A man immediately in front of Iggy screamed and toppled from his horse. It was time to move. Iggy signalled to the outlaws behind him and slid from his horse, hitting the dust and rolling to avoid the oncoming hooves. A dozen of his men followed suit.

  Crouching and weaving he ran for the cover of a deserted house. For a moment he lay gasping in the shadow of the building as one by one the rest of his team joined him.

  ‘This ain’t no suicide deal. We gonna get into that house an’ we gonna walk out, so take care, let the hill boys be brave, jus’ work y’ way down th’ street nice an’ easy. We’ll meet up this side o’ Madame Lou’s. An’ remember, don’ let them fuggers inna Chance get a shot at yous. Ri’?’

  ‘Ri’.’

  One at a time the outlaws slipped away, carefully working their way down the Drag in quick dashes from building to building.

  * * *

  ‘They’re crazy! They jus’ keep comin’!’

  Despite their terrible losses, the tribesmen kept attempting to rush the front of the Last Chance. Ace looked at Frankie Lee; he was obviously close to panic.

  ‘We musta killed hundreds! Why don’ they pull back?’

  ‘They gotta be under threat of shame. It makes ’em a suicide squad. Jus’ keep shootin’.’

  Although he tried to conceal it from Ace, Frankie Lee was worried. Iggy might be crazy but he wouldn’t waste so many men and horses unless he was up to something.

  * * *

  ‘Here’s the plan.’

  Iggy crouched with his men grouped around him in the shadow of Madame Lou’s.

  ‘The difficulty is that we’re gonna hafta work our way along the front o’ th’ place an’ break through the front door wi’out drawin’ fire from across th’ street.’

  * * *

  A stocky tribesman sprang with a yell onto the front porch of the Last Chance and rushed to the front door waving a heavy war axe but before he could land the first blow Big Red’s shotgun knocked him off h
is feet.

  Suddenly Ace yelled.

  ‘There’s men tryin’ to break into Lou’s place.’

  Frankie Lee swung his gun in the direction of the cathouse door.

  * * *

  Iggy hit the ground and rolled as bullets kicked up the dust at his feet and thudded into the woodwork beside him. Paddy and Eugene worked on the barricaded door with their gun butts. It was impossible for the defenders to get a clear shot at them but the men in the Last Chance had seen them. Iggy screamed to the tribesmen.

  ‘At them, at them! Stop those fuggin’ guns!’

  Eugene spun and fell but Finger leaped into his place. A group of tribesmen rushed at the Last Chance, giving Iggy and his men some cover, until they were shot down.

  The barricaded door gave way and the outlaws’ rapid-fires started their cruel hammering as the outlaws blasted their way inside.

  * * *

  ‘They’re inside Lou’s, they’ve busted the door in.’

  ‘Frankie! There ain’t too much ammunition left.’

  The last rush from the street had drained most of their remaining stocks but it had also broken the back of the hill men’s attack. Only a handful remained, most of them retreating to the line of outlaws who fired sporadically from the end of the street.

  One-Legged Terry burst from the door of Madame Lou’s and hopped awkwardly across the Drag towards the shelter of the Last Chance. In the middle of the street he was shot down by an outlaw who appeared in the doorway.

  Frankie Lee took a shot at him but missed. Before he could let go a second round, the man had ducked out of sight.

  * * *

  From a high window on the top floor of Madame Lou’s Iggy looked down on the Drag, comparatively quiet since the remains of the hill tribes had drawn back. The street was littered with dead and wounded. Those fuggers had cost him a lot of men but he could afford to lose tribesmen.

  It was a pity that his men had had to kill the women inside Madame Lou’s: they would have been useful at the victory celebration but they had fought like wild animals and capture had been impossible.

  He turned to the four men beside him and pointed to the Last Chance.