Chapter 2b
Malone decided to try sounding him out. He didn't strike him as quite as zealous as the others. Maybe, with a little gentle urging, he could be made to see sense. “It's because the guards aren’t chasing the criminals anymore,” he said. “These days, they spend all their time looking for us.” He eyed the other man carefully from the edge of his vision to see what effect his words had. “Hunting criminals is supposed to be their job,” he replied. “They're not doing it. They've been told not to do it. It's almost as if the Powers That Be want the country to go to hell.”
“The toffs ain't scared of highwaymen,” said Lewis. “Anytime they go out on the road, they can take a whole private army with ‘em. They ain’t scared of burglars either, their palaces are like fortresses. I know, I saw one once. They ain’t scared of muggers, bandits, cutpurses, pickpockets. What they’re scared of is us. And they control the guards. They tell the guards to get the people they’re scared of, and that's us. That's why the roads ain’t safe anymore. Cos of the toffs telling the guards to get us.”
Malone nodded. What Lewis said was right, so far as it went, but there was more. A lot more. “They're scared of us and so they’re out to get us, and we're scared of them and so we’re out to get them, and all that fear is tearing the Empire apart.”
“So what do we do? The guards’ll do anyone who even looks at ‘em funny. Not just us, anyone! If my mum and dad don't show ‘em the respect they think they’re due, they'll do them just the same as us. Same with my brother, the people who live next door to us, anyone. If people knew they had nothing to fear from the guards so long as they kept the law, that'd be something, but they'll do anyone, for no reason, just because they’re in a bad mood or something.”
“Because they’re recruiting thugs into the guard. Putting uniforms on criminals. Moving all the good guards with ties to the community to some far off province on the pretext of promoting them, which makes the common people even angrier. Makes more of us want to join the movement, to fight back. And the toffs know it. If the toffs really want to wipe us out, why are they doing everything they can to piss us off, to make more of us take up arms against them? Doesn't it seem, sometimes, that maybe what the toffs really want is to tear the Empire apart?”
“Why would they want that? They've got it good! They've got money, big houses, servants... Why would they want to end all that?”
“I'm just saying that's what it looks like, that's all. If they really wanted to protect the Empire, they could end the movement by bringing the guards into line. Make sure they only went after proper criminals, not decent people, like they used to. I mean, none of us wants to kill people, We’re being driven to it by the guards. If the toffs got the guards under control, we could all just get back to our ordinary lives and the toffs would be safe. Their money would be safe, their houses and servants, they'd all be safe. Instead, they're doing the exact opposite, as if they want to put an end to their own cosy lives.”
“It's because they’re stupid. They think we don't have the guts to fight back. They think they can keep pushing us and we'll just keep on taking it, but we won't. We're tougher than they think we are. They think that if they keep knocking us down, sooner or later we'll stay down, learn to toe the line, but we won't. They can knock us down as many times as they like and we'll get back up every time. We'll never stop fighting, not until they learn they can't treat us like this!”
Malone nodded. He wasn't going to have any luck with this man, he realised with disappointment. He wouldn't even have tried with Porto and Sykes, he had a suspicion they'd had run-ins with the law even before the current troubles, but he'd had hopes for Lewis. He’d struck Malone as being a little more level headed. A little more amenable to reason. Maybe he'd been involved with the popular uprising for so long that the message had sunk in and properly taken root. Any further attempt would only make him suspicious, he realised. He'd have to let it go.
“You're right,” he said therefore. “They're just stupid.”
Lewis nodded vigorously, his face set and determined, and Malone leaned back in the seat, his thoughts a turmoil in his head.
Is it just that I know what's going on, and that's why I can see it? he wondered. If I hadn't been with the Brigadier when he discovered the Radiant conspiracy, would I be as blind as everyone else? He found that hard to believe, but none of his three companions were stupid. They were obstinate, rude, bad tempered and belligerent, but they were of around average intelligence. Easily bright enough to see what was going on, he would have thought. And yet they could see no further than that the authorities were out to exploit and oppress the working classes and that they had to fight for their rights and their liberty. It was a brilliant strategy on the part of the Radiants, he mused unhappily. Just what you would expect from a race of higher beings.
I have to stop it! he vowed. He'd met enough Kelvons now to know that most of them were wonderful people. Kind, generous, hospitable. Willing to go out of their way to help a stranger. It wasn’t his country, and part of him felt guilty that he was here, trying to help the Empire, when his own country had much more immediate problems, but this was the job the Brigadier had given him and he could see the wisdom of it. If the Empire fell into chaos and anarchy, the entire human world would be dramatically weakened. Maybe fatally so. The power and resources of the Empire might be essential for their victory over the Radiant threat, so if Malone could help the Empire, he would be helping his own country, and learning the identity of the industrialist supplying guns to the popular uprising might be a vital part of saving it.
As it turned out, they had no trouble on the road and arrived at Spennymoor while the sun was still a good distance above the horizon. Spennymoor was a small town which served mainly to house the men who worked in the large industrial complex that sat beside it. They’d known they were getting close for an hour or so beforehand as the traffic on the road increased and they passed wagons much like their own escorted by their own riders. Empty wagons heading in the same direction as them and wagons groaning under the weight of heavy cargoes, sitting low on their springs, heading in the opposite direction. A few minutes later the road turned to run alongside a river, white and foaming with industrial waste, on which barges also ran to and from the industrial town, pulled by large, powerful carthorses walking along the tow path.
“Now, we want unit number 224,” said Malone, looking ahead at the anonymous grey buildings on the horizon ahead of them. “Hopefully they’re numbered. Otherwise, I suppose, we can just ask someone.” He was rambling, he knew. Thinking out loud. He did that sometimes when he was nervous, and he was growing more nervous by the second. They were here to carry out a highly illegal transaction, buying guns that were to be used in an insurgency, and he remembered the Brigadier's warning that if he got in trouble with the law, there was nothing he'd be able to do to help him. I'm trying to save civilisation, he reminded himself. No-one said it would be easy.
The buildings were numbered, thankfully, and were laid out in order, so that when they came across unit number 202, with unit number 204 beside it, they knew that they only had to follow the road to find the one they wanted. Unit number 224 turned out to be on the very edge of the complex, with a barbed wire fence beside it on the other side of which was a waving field of wheat. The huge, sliding doors were open and Malone took the wagon straight in.
Two men immediately closed the doors behind them, plunging the warehouse into darkness lit only by the sunlight filtering in through half a dozen grimy skylights. Malone jumped down onto the ground, while Lewis remained in the drivers seat, covering him with the shotgun. Porto and Sykes brought their horses alongside the wagon and dismounted, their hands hovering close to the pistols they were wearing on their belts.
A man in a business suit was walking towards them. “Mister Crow, I assume?” said Malone. He also assumed that Crow was an alias. His job, his real job, was to learn the man's real identity, if he could.
Mister Crow stared at him. “Where's John Martin?” he demanded.
“John Martin is on assignment. I'm here in his place. Do you have what we came for?”
Mister Crow made a gesture, and three men emerged from the darkness in the corner of the warehouse. Porto and Sykes drew their weapons and stood with their backs to the wagon. “My arrangement was with John Martin,” said Mister Crow. “I don't know who you are. Government spies, maybe.”
“So long as we’ve got the gold, do you care who we are?” Malone produced the bag of gold coins, bounced it in his hand to make it jangle.
“I care if you've got a squad of guards waiting outside, ready to arrest me.”
“You think we’re rats?” demanded Porto, pointing his weapon at Crow's face. “Nobody calls me a rat!”
Malone put a hand on his gun and gently eased it down. He could feel the man quivering with fury and guessed he was already putting more pressure on the trigger than was safe. This could go bad very quickly. “It's okay, Port,” he said. “It's natural for him to be suspicious.” He turned to Mister Crow. “We were just told to bring the gold and buy the goods. We didn't know you were expecting a particular person.”
“You think I'm going to just hand the goods over to the first person who asks for them? I have no idea who you are. I have no idea if you can be trusted...”
Malone pulled at the drawstring and opened the money bag, showing him the gold coins inside. “How many people go around with five hundred crowns in gold? We came at the time you were expecting us, with the exact amount of money you were asking for.”
“Maybe John Martin was taken by the guards, made to talk.” The three approaching men were drawing their own guns and looked quite ready to use them.
“John Martin would never talk!” said Sykes. “If you knew him, you'd know it. Maybe you’re the rats, ready to sell us out to the guards.”
“They're as good as rats,” said Porto, his anger growing. “They're bosses, They’re just out to make money. People are suffering and dying, and these bastards just want to make money out of it.”
“Have you got the goods, or haven't you?” asked Malone. “If you have, let's just do the deal and go our separate ways before something...”
One of the approaching men tripped over something in the darkness. As he fell, his gun went off with a deafening detonation. Everyone jerked in surprise and Porto’s finger spasmed on the trigger. His gun went off, and Mister Crow crumpled and fell.
"Shit!” cried someone. Everyone was paralysed with shock for a moment, their brains struggling to process what had just happened. Then the other approaching men dropped to a crouch and fired their weapons. Malone dropped the bag of money, several coins falling out and rolling away across the dusty floor. He drew his gun. He and Sykes fired back, neither of them bothering to aim. They just wanted to make Crow's men pause for a moment, give them a moment to think. Maybe Crow wasn’t dead. Maybe they could still salvage this... Then Lewis fired his shotgun, a deafening blast in the confined space, and another of Crow's men fell with his head blown apart in red ruin. Unquestionably dead.
That settled it. “Let's get out of here!” shouted Malone. He jumped back onto the wagon, but the other two of Crow's men were shooting and Porto and Sykes both fell. Malone reached for the reins as Lewis fired off the second cartridge, the shot going wide, and then he dropped the shotgun and reached for the pistol at his belt.
“Get aboard!” shouted Malone. “Quick!”
Lewis was firing his gun in total panic, though, every shot going wide, and a moment later he also fell, a bullet piercing his heart.
Crow's men turned their guns on Malone, who shot back. An icy calm descended as the Brigadier's training came back to him and he took his time to aim before squeezing the trigger. A man fell, then another. The remaining man froze in shock, staring at his fallen companions, then turned and ran. Malone shot him in the back.
A terrible silence fell as the last echoes of the gunshots died away. The air was full of the smell of blood and burned gunpowder; acrid and sour. Malone waited in terror to see if anyone came to investigate the sound. Someone must have heard it! If there were more of Crow's men waiting outside, they'd come running in, guns blazing. If not, people would be running in the opposite direction, to raise the alarm. If the first, he had no time. If the second, he had a little. Not much, but a little...
When five seconds had passed with no more enemies entering the warehouse, Malone jumped down from the wagon. He checked Porto and Sykes, finding them both dead, then checked Mister Crow, finding him dead as well. That meant there was nobody left alive who'd been close enough to get a good look at his face. Nobody who could identify him. Good. He looked at the bag of coins, thinking that he might still be able to salvage his position with the popular uprising if he returned it to Jamie Fry and tried to explain what had happened. The sound of alarmed voices were coming from somewhere outside, though. His time had run out. He jumped onto Sykes's horse, turned it towards the door and spurred it into a gallop.
He had to get off the horse for a moment to pull the sliding door open a couple of feet, and outside he saw people hurrying for cover, staring in his direction in shock. Malone jumped back into the saddle, turned the horse towards the barbed wire fence and spurred it into a gallop again. A half raised goat jumped out of the way with a bleat of terror, and the horse jumped the fence before galloping away across the field of wheat.
Malone had no idea what lay in this direction, and he didn't care. His only thought was to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible. His time as an undercover agent was over. It was time to return to the Brigadier.
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