Daygo's Fury (23 page)

“We need to get some food,” he whispered, still uncertain. He coaxed her up and they bought food at a stall with the money he had received from Lana the day before. Racquel ate little, woodenly chewing on the bread.

They slowly made their way back to the flat, two hours before dark would come. Liam idly thought back to the scene outside the bakery. A handcart had been drawn up, with the clear shape of a body underneath, a faded white cloth on top of it. Men and women had been queuing up to shake the baker’s hand and offer him their sympathies as the destra in his blue cotton robes chanted from the Sevi Natan, the holy book of Levitas. He had pulled back the covering to reveal Racquel’s aunt’s face. He traced the sigil of the ten thousand over her forehead with the scented oil before setting it alight, burning it into the dead skin through blue flame, imprinting the scent upon her body until rot and decay spoiled the meat.

He was struck by a sad and glorious vision as he walked slowly home, Racquel by his side. It was an image of himself and Racquel living above the bakery. Running it. Enough bread to eat every day, freshly baked with dried raisins and apricots. Customers calling at the door. They could work hard, expand, prosper, build a good living for themselves. A simple life. The vision seemed bright in his mind, as though everything were lit up by an exceptionally sunny day. Simple and comfortable. Two rooms all to themselves upstairs, a lavatory. They could sweep the floors, keep them clean, make the bread. He didn’t know how bread was made or where it came from, but it couldn’t be hard, Racquel could teach him and he could keep her safe. He could be her protection and the bakery’s. Why couldn’t it have been so?

He looked across at Racquel, still caught up in the splendour of his vision, realising fully, sickeningly, what she had lost; not just her aunt, but her future. And he hated Galo all the more for taking it from her. He wondered if she had yet realised the same. He doubted that she had seen past her grief.

******

Liam was at a loss for what to do. He felt frustrated and angry. He stopped dead on the stairs as he looked into the flat and saw Carrick standing by the window, looking out with a bored expression on his face.

Cid was curled up in the corner, Bradan sitting beside him as usual. He seemed to be shivering slightly. Deaglan and Ultan lounged against the far wall, opposite the stairs with a clear view of everyone, chatting amiably and flicking their knives casually into the floorboards in front of them. There was no sign of Erinin.

“Liam!” Carrick said, as he turned and saw him enter. “Where the fuck have ye been? Been fuckin’ waitin here for an hour for ye.”

“What are ye doin here?”

“Been waitin’ all fuckin’ day for ye, haven’t I? Think I got nothing better to do?”

“Then why aren’t ye doin’ it?”

“Some way to treat a friend! Where’ve ye been? Expected ye over at the tavern ages ago!”

“Calum was a friend, how well did ye treat him?”

“Wasn’t my fuckin’ fault. Gave that fucker what he had comin’ to ’im though, made him sorry that he killed Calum. If I hada known, woulda killed the fuck. Din’t know Calum was dead. Then you ran off. Din’t know at all. Got the fucker good though, won’t be messin’ with us again.” Liam ground his teeth and walked up the rest of the stairs. He put his hands against the wall, leaning against it. He sensed Racquel behind him.

“What do ye want?”

“What the fuck’s wrong with ye! Just came over to give ye yur share of the cash from the shield. Sold it after.” He put a hand in his pocket and walked over to Liam. Liam lifted his head. Racquel took a step up from the stairs and moved away, giving space for Carrick. Her steps were awkward as she found herself in the centre of the room, unsure what to do.

Liam put out his hand and Carrick dropped seven half klats onto it. A laugh burst unbidden from Liam’s lips.

“Seven fuckin’ half klats,” he said with bitterness. “The price of Calum’s life.” Lana had given him five times as much yesterday for free. He could see from the corner of his eye that Carrick was getting angry. He needed Carrick, didn’t he? How else was he going to get enough money to support him and Racquel both?

“Always pay my way. Never let a friend down. That’s me, ye know that. Came all the way out here to give ye the money, yer share. Did good work, damn shame about Calum, but got that fucker for him. Made ’im pay for it.” Out of the corner of his eye, Liam saw Deaglan approach Racquel. He knew Carrick wanted him for something, why else would he be there? He wanted to wait, make him come out and ask, to drop the pretext.

“I’m Deaglan.”

“Racquel.”

“I heard about your mother.”

“She was my aunt.”

“I’m sorry, my family are all dead too. How’d she die?”

“My … her husband …”

“Bastard.”

Liam stood up straight and leaned against the wall, his eyes looking past Carrick’s shoulder at Deaglan and Racquel. He put his arm around her and walked her to the far wall. Carrick’s foot was tapping. He seemed to be waiting for Liam to say something. Good. He turned his head and followed Liam’s gaze for a moment and smirked and gave a little snort of experience and knowledge. He seemed about to comment.

“Got any work goin’?” Liam burst angrily, frustrated with himself for brokering the subject but wanting to be done with Carrick. Carrick stopped short, smirking.

“Can get another job for ye, alright,” he looked at Liam. Liam met his eyes, and Carrick instantly moved them on. He never made eye contact. “Come on over to Sal’s tomorrow at noon, I’ll tell ye what’s up then. We’ll be doin’ it that evenin’.” Liam gave the barest of nods.

“Alright,” said Carrick as he sauntered past him and walked down the stairs. “Damn shame about Calum.”

Liam looked across at Deaglan and Racquel, bile building up inside of him. He clenched his fist and straightened from the wall. He walked over to them. He heard the door scrape open and closed below him.

“Ye ever wanna talk about it.”

“Alright, Deaglan,” he said aggressively, interrupting their conversation, stopping a yard away from them.

Deaglan looked back at him. “Alright, Liam,” he said, the edge of his mouth twitching upwards in that infuriating way of his. Racquel looked up. She still seemed too frail after what had happened to her. The tears that she had shed throughout the day, that he couldn’t stop, were still fresh in his mind. It felt as though such a delicate face should never see such a flood of tears. “I was just havin’ a chat with Racquel. It’s terrible what happened.”

“Fuck off, Deaglan.”

“Liam …” Racquel said quietly.

Deaglan spread his arms out wide. “Liam, I’m just tryin’ to help.” His gaze matched Liam’s, his voice innocent, and that hint of a smile always on his face.

Liam’s anger boiled within him. Perhaps this would be their showdown. It had been building for a while. Liam knew his knife was in his pocket. But could he use it? Would Deaglan use his? The rest of the boys wouldn’t be happy. It was an unspoken rule, you never use your knife on your family. Dave had, two years back. Everyone had turned on him, and he had been kicked from the flat. Liam used to see him every now and again for a while, in the neighbourhood, then he disappeared.

He was uncomfortably aware of Racquel, like a weakness in his side.

“Get the fuck away from her.” Liam’s voice was slow and gravelly; he could feel the tension in his face, his eyebrows drawn together.

Deaglan’s grin slowly slid from his face and he stood up a little straighter. His eyes narrowed.

“Remember what I told you, Liam? After that prick Calum died?”

Liam stepped in close to Deaglan, their faces inches apart. Deaglan was taller. “You think you’d have a fuckin’ chance against me?” There was a cold rage growing within him. Racquel had slipped from his mind. All of a sudden the hate and anger that had been building and bubbling under the surface for Deaglan since Calum’s death was coalescing and boiling within, threatening to explode outwards like a volcano of old. He knew that once it did, there would be no stopping him, no control. But he didn’t care. He wanted it to happen; he wanted Deaglan to take that final step that would send him over the edge, he was waiting for it. Egging for it. His eyes looked up, filled with fury, staring into Deaglan’s.

“I’ll gut you like a pig!”

“You’ve never gutted anything that wasn’t already dead, you fuckin’ pussy.”

Deaglan lashed out with his head but Liam saw it coming, dodging back and to the side before the blow could land. Deaglan followed up with a right-handed punch but that, too, found empty air as Liam dodged back once more. He was on the tip of his toes, about to launch an attack, his muscles bunched and filled with blind rage, when he heard a scream from behind Deaglan.

“Stop! … Stop,” Racquel cried out, crouching down on the floor. She scuttled back towards the broken railing above the stairs, tears flowing freely. She looked awful, panic-stricken. Liam was wrong-footed as he watched her. Deaglan’s left fist caught him on the temple, knocking him to the floor.

He looked up and saw Cid move with sluggish slowness in front of Deaglan, his arm outstretched, his face pale and slick with sweat.

“Come on for fuck’s sake, leave it.” Cid put a restraining hand on Deaglan, but he shoved it off roughly. He turned and walked out of the flat. Liam looked across at Racquel from the floor. He realised that he had seen her from the corner of his eye the whole time, seen her slowly crumble, but he had been too focused on Deaglan to pay attention. Guilt overcame his anger.

He sat down against the wall and watched her as she cried, her head buried underneath her arms. Cid gave a small glance his way before returning to his place, almost collapsing back onto the floor and wrapping his blankets around himself. After a few moments, Liam stood up and walked over to Racquel. He sat down beside her, shoulder to shoulder. He looked at the floor and across at the wall as everyone else watched on and Darren returned to the flat.

******

Liam lay awake beside Racquel, his mind a turbulent storm of conflicting thoughts. He couldn’t sleep. Racquel snored quietly beside him, joined by the soft snoring of the rest of the room’s inhabitants. He tensed as he heard the door scrape open below him. It must be Deaglan, finally returning to the flat. He lowered his eyes to slits and steadied his breathing.

Everyone could sense the danger between them now and seemed subdued as a result. It would have to come to an end, and Liam didn’t see a way out.

His heartbeat thumped in his ears as the stairs creaked from the pressure of slow footsteps. He was lying on his side, facing away from the stairs. The steps reached the landing. Liam watched from the corner of his eye, straining to see. Deaglan’s form appeared and stopped at the foot of his bed. He seemed to be staring down at him. Liam’s whole body tensed as he fought to remain still. An age seemed to pass, Deaglan standing and staring. Liam started to consider whether to confront him. Then he turned and moved on.

Liam could hear the rustling of blankets as Deaglan lay down on his cot. He barely slept the rest of the night. He jumped awake with a shock more than once, looking about for what woke him but finding nothing .He kept a hand underneath his pillow, holding tightly to the knife there.

******

His bones were tired. He coughed and rubbed at his eyes, which were thick with sleep. His muscles ached. He pulled his arms up around himself. Dust, everywhere there was dust. He sneezed. Groaning, he shuffled up onto his hands and knees. He stretched his back out, rolling it up and down. Then he turned and sat against the wall, yawning. He rested his head back, allowing his eyes to slip closed for a moment.

The crying had been there since he had woken. It had been there while he had slept. It was quiet, muffled … tired. The type of sobbing that had been a constant for some time. The owner of the grief was worn out, he was exhausted, yet had nothing else to do, no other purpose, but to grieve. Liam opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. He understood those sobs. He knew them. He knew their source, deep within his gut, he knew, without looking. He fought against his pounding heart and the panic welling up inside of him. He fought against the tears and the immense sorrow that threatened to overtake him.
Oh Lev, Lev …

He didn’t want to change his gaze from the ceiling. He didn’t want to look down to confirm what he already knew. A few more seconds, a few more moments of denial. To deny this life, to deny this hell. Just over a month ago … It had all gone to shit. He dropped his head, quickly, into his arms, avoiding sight of the room. He took deep, calming breaths.

After a while, he felt that he was ready. He looked up. Bradan was crunched up on the floor, quietly whimpering. Liam’s eyes glanced to the still form beside him, just to confirm. He banged his head back against the wall. Hot tears escaped and cascaded down his cheeks. His eyes moved across the room. They met Darren’s. They were red-rimmed. A large growth was at the corner of his left eye, an angry red in colour. His face was dirty, his tunic worn thin and torn in places, like Liam’s, except too large rather than too small. He held his gaze for a long time. They were opposite one another. At last Liam glanced down at the leather sandal that sat beside Darren, like a talisman, a silent friend that could not die.

He looked to the corner where the girls sat. They looked wide-eyed and sad. They were fucked, out of all of them they were the most fucked. He had to get out of there. He, Racquel, Darren, they all did. They had to move on. They had to find something.