Pat Kelleher - The Alleyman

They walked for several hours through the forest until Chandar directed them to stop by a grove of trees. There they waited.

Several hours later, a patrol of chatt soldiers, scentirrii, led by none other than Rhengar, the Khungarrii general, appeared. Its antennae waved, sensing something.

Chandar stepped forward and greeted them, its arms open wide as it breathed its benediction over its fellow chatts.

“Where have you been?” wheezed Rhengar. “Was your undertaking a success? This One has waited here every spinning at the appointed time. This One had given up hopes of your return, Chandar.”

“GarSuleth has willed it, Rhengar.”

Rhengar and Chandar fell to speaking rapidly in their own language, with many glances toward the chaplain and the nurse. The Padre got the feeling that Rhengar didn’t approve of their presence. Eventually the two chatts reached some agreement and the party headed on into the forest, the scentirrii, their antennae twitching, escorting Padre Rand and Nurse Bell along a path only they could detect.

In a way, Padre Rand felt that he too followed such an invisible path, guided by a Divine hand; from his comfortable parish of St Chad’s in Broughtonthwaite, to the trenches of France, where he lost the trail, like a path petering out on featureless moors. It was only once he found himself here, on this world, that he found his path again. Here, where he thought himself lost from God’s sight, that still, small voice could be heard if he but listened, for the men of the Pennines were themselves God’s creations, even if nothing else in this world was. A spark of the Divine existed in each one of them, so even out here, in the shadow of death, there was a light to mark the way. He drew comfort and strength from that. Like Daniel in the lion’s den, he felt a calmness, as though he was at the centre of a storm. He walked erect and with a feeling of peace he hadn’t known for a long time. But he knew this was only a moment of clarity, for even Our Lord had His Gethsemane.

Nurse Bell walked close beside him, but whether out of fear or concern he couldn’t say. Maybe both. It wasn’t surprising. He had surprised himself by volunteering for this, just as she had surprised him by offering to accompany him. Her Christian charity touched and partly shamed him. In coming here, he had an ulterior motive. Bell could have none, other than his welfare at heart. He did wonder briefly whether that made her the better person.

Nevertheless, he offered up a silent prayer of thanks for her presence. At least now, he would be forced to go through with his plan. Alone, he might not have had the strength. His resolve might have failed as it had before. His faith was gaining the fervour he once held, but it still felt fragile.

“You are one of the Tohmii’s dhuyumirrii?” wheezed Rhengar, waving its mouth palps behind its mandibles.

“A priest, yes,” said the Padre.

“You do not worship GarSuleth.” There was no intonation in its voice. There never was with chatts. It took them enough effort to form the words in the first place. He wasn’t even sure if they had emotions as he experienced them.

“No. I do not.”

Rhengar fell silent, clicking its mandibles together in a thoughtful manner as it walked.

The Padre wondered whether he had gone too far, spoken out of turn and offended them.

Chandar caught up with them and limped alongside. “They are scentirrii,” it explained. “They are not bred to question.”

“Stop,” said Rhengar, coming to a sudden halt.

The group of scentirrii stopped with him. Rhengar turned towards the Padre and Nurse Bell. “You go no further,” it told them.

Nurse Bell stepped forward, affronted. “But you said–”

“You will be killed.” It signalled to the scentirrii guards. They turned and advanced towards them.

The Padre wheeled on Chandar in disbelief. “You told the Lieutenant that we would be safe.”

There was no time for the crippled chatt to reply. The scentirrii closed in about them. The Padre gathered Nurse Bell to him, putting his arms around her. She looked up into his eyes, and then turned to face the chatts with defiance as the Padre rattled out a hasty orison under his breath.

The gathered scentirrii opened their mandibles and hissed as one…

1 stApril 1917

My Dearest Flora,

Off to get the Boojum back tomorrow. Don’t worry, I know where we left it. Not only that, we get a ride there, too. Should be a cushy number, which would be a first for this place. Just a case of ‘there and back to see how far it is,’ as Dad says. Porgy’s happy and you know how workshy he is, so that bodes well. Pot Shot says it’s going to be like riding elephants from the Raj. Not sure what I think about that. I know Mam will worry about me getting airs and graces what with riding round like a maharajah, though. Perhaps I should get Pot Shot to send her one of his pamphlets about how all workers deserved to be treated like that! Not that I’m complaining. I may even get used to it. Gutsy’s not happy though. He’s never been a good traveller, unless it’s by Shanks’s pony.

The Padre is going to visit the locals, with whom we’ve been having a little difficulty. You could say it’s raised a bit of a stink. I thought the French could be a bit off, but this lot take the biscuit. Still, with a little bit of luck it might all be sorted out by the time we get back, and we’ll all come up smelling of roses.

EVERSON CALLED THE officers together for a briefing in the Command Post. They had to be ready for whatever might happen next and he was trying to prepare them as best as possible. Unfortunately, most of them were like Palmer, good solid officers who could take orders, but not the initiative. Tulliver, on the other hand, he felt had too much initiative.

“So you’ve let the chatt go?” said Palmer.

Everson shook his head. “Not exactly. We’ve come to an agreement. Right now, we have something they want. We’re holding the sacred scent texts we found to ransom until we get the deal we need.”

“Which is?”

“Basically? They leave us alone, we leave them alone. If Chandar can convince its colony that we are not this Great Corruption their high priest speaks of, then there’s a good chance that can happen. From there, we’ll have to have further negotiations.”

“But to send the chaplain and a nurse back with it!”

“Chandar wanted someone to speak our case to the Khungarrii council, the Shura. Padre Rand volunteered. He felt they might listen more to a priest than a soldier. I think he may be right.”

“And the nurse? Good God, man.”

“The Padre sustained a head injury during the mutiny. Nurse Bell feels he may still need medical care.”

“I can confirm that,” said Lippett. “It does mean that I’m short of two nurses thanks to your plans, Everson. Damn fine nurses, too.”

“I thought you didn’t approve of women on the front line, Doc.”

Lippett shifted in his chair. “I didn’t, but since those three arrived, they’ve done their damnedest to make themselves indispensable, blast them. You make sure that Abbott and Bell get back, John, or it won’t be me you have to answer to, it’ll be Sister Fenton; and I, for one, wouldn’t want to be in your shoes then.”

“Point taken.”

Seward still wasn’t convinced. “If this gambit of yours fails, Everson, the Padre and the nurse will be killed,” he protested.