The Village King (7 page)

R
ory
kneeled on
the road;
hands clasped on the back of his head. Blood filled his teeth. He spat it onto
the ground in front of Stephen. At either side of him, in the same position,
were his friends. Tim looked woozy from a brick on the side of his head from
Phil. Deek just look shame-faced, and scared, despite his tussle with Gary.
Their faces were lit up by the hall burning. In front of them, the contents of
their pockets had been emptied onto the ground. Amongst the grubby debris shone
the keys to the warehouses. Stephen smiled at Rory as he fished them off the
ground and slipped them in his own pocket. Rory held Stephen’s gaze.

Gary was looking at Rory’s rifle.
“It’s the cadet version. I used this in the cadets.”

Stephen shook his head at Rory.
“You sold us out for a cadet rifle?”

Gary sneered, “Not even a grown
up rifle.”

“And not many rounds either,”
said Phil, who had his Glock back and pointed it at the three kneeling men.

Stephen stared at Rory, who had
that odd sneer on his face; the same one he’d had the other day. He thought for
a moment, “Watch them for a minute. No-one moves.”

Gary nodded and threw the cadet
rifle to the ground. He pulled Stephen’s Glock which had been retrieved from
Tim.

Stephen went off to the
wash-houses. Frank and Dave stood around nervously outside. He put a hand on
each of their shoulders. “Good lads. Off you go home.” Frank and Dave looked at
each other. Frank nodded and tapped the younger man on the arm to leave.

Stephen watched them go then went
inside to his billet. Alana shivered when the door opened. She sat on the
mattress, hugging Karen. She breathed out a few times, gently unhooked herself
from Karen, stood, and rushed towards him. She embraced him and they wrapped
their arms round each other. She held onto him tightly.

“Thank God,” she said. “Thank
God.”

Stephen pulled himself back. “We
don’t have much time. The fire might have been seen by Morgan.”

She nodded once, relief making
her breathe quickly.

He continued, “Go to the manse.
Secure whatever is there. Guns, ammo...” Stephen searched for the words.

“Our food.” Alana finished.

He took her hand and she motioned
for Karen to follow. The girl jumped up and grabbed Alana’s other hand. The
three of them stepped outside and walked round to the hall. Stephen had to hold
Alana back because she started shouting at the men, cursing them and clearly
wanting to get at them. She kicked out but Stephen got a hold of her, reminding
her, “The manse.”

Alana calmed herself. She
snatched Karen’s hand back and they made off to the manse behind the hall which
blazed in the night. Stephen walked up to Phil and took the pistol out his
hand.

“Go and help Alana,” he said
gently. “We’ll take care of this.”

Phil nodded once to Stephen and
scurried off after the girls. Stephen turned to Rory. “Get on your feet.”

Rory spat again, but he got to
his feet. Deek followed but Tim vomited. Stephen instructed them to help him.
Rory and Deek grabbed an arm each and got him up. “Move it,” said Stephen and
motioned towards the cattle-grid.

Rory sneered again but he turned
and pulled Tim. Deek followed meekly. Stephen looked to Gary, who stared at the
back of the three men’s heads. They rounded the cattle-grid. Stephen looked up
at the manse. In the firelight, he saw Alana on the doorstep. Phil had broken
the lock and had entered. She watched them for a moment before following Phil
inside.

An hour later, Stephen and Gary returned to the
manse. In an expansive front room, Alana had lit a fire and she sat next to it
in a big chair with one the soldier’s rifles over her lap. She had seen it was
them and was relaxed when they entered. She didn’t say anything. Karen lay
sleeping in the corner on a ratty old sofa, snuggled up in the blankets from
the wash-house.

Stephen felt exhausted. He rubbed
Gary’s shoulder as he closed the door behind him. Phil stood at the top of the
stairs. Gary followed him up, dog-tired.

Alana looked at Stephen then
rocked her head back into the room. She took his hand and they went passed the
staircase to a kitchen. Their cans were stacked neatly up next to the back
door. Alana eased herself onto the work surface and took off her top. Stephen held
her close, breathing in the smell of her hair.

B
oots
clattered on
the
staircase. Stephen breathed awake. Alana did the same. It was light. Gary
blundered towards the front door, stopped and looked in the front room. Alana
lay, wrapped in a blanket, across Stephen’s knees as they curled up together on
the big chair.

Gary grinned. “Nice.” Then he was
off out the front door after Phil, who had already gone outside unheard.

Alana sat up and looked around,
bleary-eyed. Karen stood at the window, already out of her sofa bed, looking
outside. Alana pulled herself up and shuffled over to Karen. She kept the
blanket over her shoulders, despite having dressed again before sleep. Stephen
suddenly felt cold. He saw the fire was out.

“Morning, sweetie,” Alana said as
she knelt down and shared her blanket with Karen. She looked out the window.
“They’re like boys with a new toy.”

Stephen sniffed and blew the air
out his cheeks. He jumped up and left the room. Stepping outside, he saw that
Phil had a rifle up to his cheek and Gary was showing him the ropes. Liberated
from the dead soldiers, their two rifles were prized and useful weapons.
Stephen rubbed the back of his head and breathed in cold morning air. Stale
smoke drifted over from the village hall. He heard sounds of someone rooting
about inside the ruined building.

He left the boys to what they
were doing and walked round the blackened building. At the front, Frank and
Dave were dragging the body of one of the soldiers. They pulled him over to an
old car trailer where the body of the other already lay draped over the back.
Stephen went over to help them.

As he neared, he saw the body of
Paul lying next to the first soldier. He gulped and looked around. It was early
and there was no-one about. He greeted Frank and Dave and assisted them lifting
the soldier onto the cart. He was heavy and the dead weight was difficult, even
with the three of them doing the lifting.

“Thanks, Frank. Dave.” Stephen
said. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them.

Frank sighed. “We couldn’t leave
them. Especially not Paul.”

“Yeah.” Stephen looked away.

“He was a good village bobby
once,” said Frank. “A long time ago.”

Stephen fought down the urge to
tell Frank that Paul should have stayed that way and intervened on their behalf
the night before but he knew the older man was also trying to tell him
something else. Paul might have been a good policeman once, but this new world
required a new police force. Paul hadn’t cut it.

“What will we do with them?” Dave
looked ill as he waved a finger at the corpses.

“We’ll bury them in the
churchyard, lad,” said Frank.

Stephen looked at Dave’s shoes,
just battered and dirty trainers. He looked at the boots on the soldiers.
“These boots fit you, Dave?”

Dave curled his lip in disgust as
he looked at the dead men’s feet. “Probably, but...”

“We’ll sort you out, lad,” said
Frank. He looked at Stephen. “We’ll get this, you’ve got visitors.” He cocked a
head behind him.

Stephen looked up the street and
saw a thin line of people walking their way. He helped Frank and Dave get the
trailer moving towards the church. As they moved, Stephen kept looking over his
shoulder as the people came nearer. When the trailer had cleared the hall,
Stephen called to Phil and Gary.

They came running down but
Stephen ushered them back. Gary took the rifle off Phil and he slung it across
himself the way the soldiers did. The three of them backed up to the house.

As the people came nearer,
Stephen could see they wore thin smiles. They looked humble and were carrying
some things. Bet was first up. She carried a small bundle of clothes. She
handed them to Stephen. He saw a small pink jumper and a small pair of jeans
amongst some other things; a girl’s clothes. He looked in the window at Alana’s
puzzled expression staring out.

Next up was Iqbal. He carried
Gary’s shotgun and the small box of shells. “From Rory’s place,” he said,
handing it over to Phil.

Alana came out the door and stood
next to Stephen, taking the bundle off him and showing them to Karen, who
appeared beside her legs.

There were a few other gifts;
blankets, pillows, some clothes for Alana. Most of the village was there,
looking at them. Stephen said, “Thank you for this.”

Gareth stepped forward, and moved
towards the gate to take up his usual position on top. “Don’t thank us, Stephen.
Just make the trains run on time.”

Stephen knew what that meant. He
was in charge now. After all, he had told Dave the night before that in the
morning he would be running things. He breathed in. “Where’s Suzanne?”

“Won’t come out,” said Bet.
“After she got thumped, she’s locked herself in.”

Stephen thought for a minute. He
felt the weight of it on him, suddenly, but he knew what to do. “Gareth? You
keep an eye out for Morgan. Ring that bell as soon as you see them.”

Gareth gave a thumbs up. Stephen
looked out at everyone. “We’ll meet in the church tonight. Everyone.”

“What about the kids?” someone
shouted.

“Everyone.” Stephen saw a few
people nod though a few shook their heads quietly to each other. “Agreed?”

“Stephen?” It was Gareth from
atop the gate.

Stephen stepped forward. “Morgan?
Already?”

Gareth laughed. “No, something
you won’t believe. Sails.” He pointed out to sea and everyone’s eyes followed.
Sure enough, out on the horizon was a small pale sail. A boat was heading their
way, the first for a number of years.

S
tephen
and Gary
stood at
the end of the pier. They held back from the moorings where Phil stood watching
a large yacht approach. Margaretvale bay formed a natural horseshoe shaped harbour
and the yacht sailed into calm waters. Two crew members lowered the sails and
one of them dropped an anchor as the boat stopped. Still some distance from the
pier, the two men organised themselves on board. A small wooden boat, tethered
to the stern, bobbed up and down.

One of the crew members lifted
some sort of rifle in the air, one handed, indicating he had it but not using
it, while his companion watched the pier through binoculars. Gary readied his
rifle, the army issue SA80. Stephen could see he was enjoying owning it. Before
running down, Stephen had divvied up the guns between his party. Gary had his
shotgun so Alana got her Glock back and so on. Stephen kept his Glock in the
waistband of his trousers. His Lugar monocular was still missing, having been
taken during “the arrest”, so they just had to watch.

On the boat, the crew member was
making an elaborate show of putting the rifle onto the deck and stepping back
from it. The other man lowered the binoculars and shouted, “Ahoy! We just need
some fresh water.”

Stephen looked at Gary, who shrugged.
He was aware of the crowd who hung back near the distillery gates, watching his
every move. Stephen raised an arm and beckoned the men in. The one with the
binoculars made his way to the small boat. When he jumped in, his partner
untied it and he started rowing to the pier. The partner stayed on the yacht.

When he was near the pier, the
man stopped rowing. He said, “We don’t want trouble. Just fresh water.”

“We won’t offer you trouble,
mister,” said Gary. He stressed the word “offer” and the man in the boat showed
he knew what Gary meant by nodding wryly. He threw Phil a rope, which Phil
caught after a fumble and pulled the boat in. He made an attempt at tying it
up. The man stepped ashore. On the wooden mooring, he stumbled a bit.

“Just finding my legs,” he said.
He turned to the yacht and raised four fingers in the air, some kind of signal.
Turning back, he said, “I’m Malcolm.” He held a hand out and smiled, friendly
enough.

“Stephen.” He shook Malcolm’s
hand, but he never introduced Gary or Phil. They remained quiet.

“We just need water, said
Malcolm. “If we could maybe just go to the burn.”

Using the Scottish term for a
stream, Malcolm pointed at the mouth of the River Margaretvale. It was the
source of water for the village and had been dammed higher up the hill to make
a reservoir. Only the overflow found its way to the sea. Stephen couldn’t see
any reason why they couldn’t have water. His eye caught the creels sitting
quietly at the moorings and thought of Frank fishing.

“We’ll be on our way after that,”
said Malcolm. “Maybe you could spare some whisky too?”

Stephen looked up at the long
warehouse painted with “Glen Craobhmore”. Turning back to Malcolm, he said,
“I’ll tell you what. We’ll fill your tank. We still have water from the mains.
In return, give us some news.”

Malcolm gave a shallow nod, like
he was thinking. “And the whisky?”

“Go and do some fishing for us.
Take those creels too and get us some shell fish. Bring back as much as you can
by tonight and we’ll trade you a fair price in whisky.”

Malcolm gave that shallow nod again
and a sly smile appeared on his face. “Fair enough.”

They shook on it. Stephen
suspected Malcolm had thought he could maybe have gotten the whisky and water
for nothing and be on their way. He sent Phil up the pier to organise the
water. Malcolm signalled his companion on the yacht, by holding up a fist, and
soon it was berthed up against the moorings.

Frank operated the hoses, installed at an earlier
time for tourist yachts, and filled the water tanks of Malcolm’s boat. All the
time, Malcolm spoke openly about what they had seen. “Some places like yours up
and down the coast, but nothing big, though we steered clear of Edinburgh
itself. We’re headed south to see what we can find.” He described fires,
lighting up the sky, which they had seen when they had been off the north-east
coast, and what may have been other vessels, hazily glimpsed on the horizon.

“This is the first boat we’ve
seen for a long time,” said Stephen. Alana and Karen had joined him and they
admired its faded white hull. Neat script lettering at the bow said it was
called “The Mercury”.

“We were lucky,” said Malcolm. He
gestured to his friend whom he hadn’t introduced by name. “We found her berthed
at Largs.”

“You’ve been all round the
north?” Alana said, incredulous at The Mercury’s journey from Largs on the west
coast to here on the east.

Malcolm smiled and nodded. “We
were lucky.” He stepped aboard. Phil ran to untie The Mercury from its mooring.
Malcolm’s companion used a boat hook to push away while Malcolm raised a sail.
“We’ll be back for that whisky.”

“We’ll be here,” Stephen called
out. As the yacht slipped out, he turned his back and said to Alana, “What do
you make of that?”

She leaned in. “He never
introduced his friend.”

Stephen shrugged his eyebrows. “I
never introduced you or the boys.”

“And he’s not telling you how he
found the boat. One boat left moored up? When all the others were already away
or burnt out? You’ve seen Berwick, I’m sure.”

Stephen agreed with her,
remembering the sight she was describing. He gathered Phil and Gary together.
“Keep your wits about you when they get back.”

Gary and Phil grinned at each
other, eager for adventure.