Алан Гарнер – Red Shift (страница 6)

“And the time you spend in that house alone. Do her parents know?”

“Of course,” said Jan.

“Then they ought to know better.”

“Than what?”

“Than to let you get up to things in their own home.”

“It’s the only,” screamed Tom, “place I could ever work without your clattering: drivelling: the weather! The only – keep books clean! Jan first ever,” his eyes were shut, “see anything. anything in me. worth. anything.” He rammed the backs of his fists into his face, dragging his eyes open.

“I do not propose to discuss our relationship, or matters appertaining to it, beyond that statement. I will be private, sergeant-major. I will be private sergeant-major—” He meant to laugh, but the trembling reached his throat. He stood, his father’s size, broken.

“You great wet Nelly,” said his father. “You’re as much use as a chocolate teapot.”

“Is Tom right?” said Jan. “Is that why you’ve done it?”

“What can’t speak can’t lie,” said his mother. “I can read that one like a book.”

“You cow. You think we’ve been having it off together, don’t you?”

“I’ve told you to watch your filthy tongue, young woman.”

“You’re afraid,” said Jan. “Afraid we’re doing what you did when you had the chance. And what if we have? Who are you to preach? I bet you’ve flattened some grass in your time.”

Tom ran from the room.

“That’s no way to speak.”

“Sorry, sergeant-major. Will you excuse me? I must see how Tom is after your achievement.”

“I knew what you were the moment I set eyes on you,” said Tom’s mother. “I felt a shiver right down my spine. And our boy. See what you’ve done to him. Standing there, crying his heart out. Couldn’t look his own mother in the face. Couldn’t deny it: not even his fancy words could get round that one.”

“Oh, piss off, you,” said Jan, and slammed the door.

She found Tom leaning across the sink, his head on his arms against the window glass. The sobbing came from his stomach, shook the caravan. His sleeve had dragged a clean line through the condensation, and his giant shadow was on the wood outside, like a hole in space among the white birches.

Jan put her arms round him, stroked, kissed, “It’s all right, it’s all right,” but the spasms of his weeping shook her, would not be subdued.

“How dare they—?”

“Hush, love, it’s all right.” Both taps of the sink had been twisted out of shape, but Tom’s hands were not marked. “It’s all right; I’m here.”

“How dare they try – how dare they – how dare they try to—?” He pressed his open palms against the window gently, relentlessly, so that it broke without shattering, and the glass collapsed only when he moved his hands.

“Tom!”

He held the fragments like crushed ice. Shallow, pales lines crazed his skin. He felt nothing.

The hard, smooth terror was in him. He saw the birches carved, bent to shapes that were not trees but men, animals, and the hardness and the terror were blue and silver on the edge of vision. He opened his cloak, and Logan saw him strike at the guard with something smooth held between his hands. The guard fell, and Macey jumped from the road to the ditch.

“Follow the kid!” shouted Logan. “Move!”

They drove for the wood. Logan snatched the rein of a pack mule. The air thrummed and hissed arrows. The mule’s baggage was a shield, but Logan stumbled over men on the open ground.

Macey was behind a birch, wiping his hands on rags, wrapping, thrusting the rags under his cloak.

“Come on, kid!”

“No,” said Macey. “Stop. And the others.”

“Move!”

“No.”

The guards were still on the road. They had not followed.

Macey went to the edge of the trees. “This,” he called across the ditch, “for all men, in the name of the keeper of the place.”

“Don’t push it,” said Logan.

“They won’t touch sanctuary,” said Buzzard.

Logan looked about him at the worked trees. “Where are we?”

“Rudheath.”

“It’s a Cats’ sanctuary,” said Face.

“And Cats is allies,” said Magoo.

“The country’s federation ground hereabouts,” said Buzzard.

“Federation ballocks,” said Magoo. “Cats is Cats.”

“I don’t trust nobody past Crewe,” said Logan. “Get further into the wood.”

They retreated until the guards and the road were lost.

“How good’s this sanctuary?” said Logan.

“Depends how the Cats rate it,” said Face, “and what they figure the army’ll pay to get us back.”

“The road must’ve clipped the sanctuary,” said Buzzard. “Reckon the army won’t be too popular.”

“We need hardware,” said Magoo. “Ain’t nothing on the mule.”

“Go see what you can find on the dead guys,” said Logan. “There may be a knife, or something.”

“Lotta use that’ll be,” said Face.

“It’s a start.”

“We was marching degraded, remember?” said Magoo. “Hey, what was that Macey pulled on the guard?”

“Not!” said Macey. He sat by a tree. Sweat from his hand had soaked the rags. The hardness wrapped in tatters hung at his shoulder, beneath his cloak. The weight of it was heavy for the first time, heavier than anything ever.

“Aw, come on, goofball.”

“He said no.” Logan watched the men.

“What’ll we do?” said Face.

“We’ll soldier,” said Logan. “We’re the Ninth.”

“There ain’t no Ninth,” said Face. “Why are you carrying on like we wasn’t busted?”

“I don’t give a toss what some minging stonemason does because he thinks he can run an army. Let him build his goddam wall, and the rest of the crap, but we’re still the Ninth, not brickies. Right?”

They looked at each other, and at the sanctuary.

“Yeh.”

“Anybody claim rank over me?” said Logan. “Right. We’re back on duty. Military discipline will apply. Face, Buzzard check out this place. You still waiting?” he said to Magoo.

Macey was inert, wrapped in his cloak. “My mates,” he said.

Logan tethered the mule. “That was pretty smart, kid. I thought you’d flipped.”