John Christopher - The Death of Grass

“It has been looted?”

“After a fashion. Not very professionally.”

“It will give us a roof for the night,” John said. “What beds there are will do for the children. The rest of us can manage on the floor.”

Pirrie looked round him in speculation. Thirty-four. It isn’t a very big house. I think Jane and I will risk the inclemency of the weather.” He nodded, and she came towards him, her rather stupid country face still showing no signs of anything but submission in the inevitable. Pirrie took her arm. He smiled. “Yes, I think we will.”

“Just as you like,” John said. “You can have a night off guard duty.”

“Thank you,” Pirrie said. “Thank you, Mr Custance.”

John found a room in the upper storey which had two small beds in it, and he called up Davey and Mary to try them. There was a bathroom along the landing, with water still running, and he sent them there with instructions to wash. When they had gone, he sat on a bed, gazing out of the window, which looked down the valley towards Sedbergh. A magnificent view. Whoever lived here had probably been very attached to it—an indication, if such were needed, that immaterial possessions were as insecure as material ones.

His brief musing was interrupted by Ann’s entry into the room. She looked tired. John indicated the other bed.

“Rest yourself,” he said. “I’ve sent the kids along to smarten themselves up.”

She stood, instead, by the window, looking out.

“All the women asking me questions,” she said. “Which meat shall we have tonight? … Can we use the potatoes up and rely on getting more tomorrow? … shall we cook them in their jackets or peel them first? … why me?”

He looked at her. “Why not?”

“Because if you like being lord and master, it doesn’t mean that I want to be the mistress.”

“You walked out on them, then?”

“I told them to put all their questions to Olivia.”

John smiled. “Delegating responsibility, as a good mistress should.”

She paused; then said: “Was it all necessary—joining up with these people, making ourselves into an army?”

He shook his head. “No, not all. The Blennitts certainly not—but you wanted them, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want them. It was just horrible, leaving the children. And I didn’t mean them—I meant the others.”

“With the Blennitts—just the Blennitts—the odds would have tipped further against our getting through to the valley. With these others, we’re going to make it easily.”

“Led by General Custance. And with the able assistance of his chief killer, Pirrie.”

“You underestimate Pirrie if you think he’s just a killer.”

“No. I don’t care how wonderful he is. He is a killer, and I don’t like him.”

“I’m a killer, too.” He glanced at her. “A lot of people are, who never thought they would be.”

“I don’t need reminding. Pirrie’s different.”

John shrugged. “We need him—until we get to Blind Gill.”

“Don’t keep saying that!”

“It’s true.”

“John.” Their eyes met. “It’s the way he’s changing you that’s so dreadful. Making you into a kind of gangster boss—the children are beginning to be scared of you.”

He said grimly: “If anything has changed me, it’s been something more impersonal than Pirrie—the kind of life we have to lead. I’m going to get us to safety, all of us, and nothing is going to stop me. I wonder if you realize how well we’ve done to get as far as this? This afternoon, with the valley like a battlefield—that’s only a skirmish compared with what’s happening in the south. We’ve come so far, and we can see the rest of the way clear. But we can’t relax until we’re there.”

“And when we get there?”

He said patiently: “I’ve told you—we can learn to live normally again. You don’t imagine I like all this, do you?”

“I don’t know.” She looked away, staring out of the window. “Where’s Roger?”

“Roger? I don’t know.”

“He and Olivia have had to carry Steve between them since you’ve been so busy leading. They dropped behind. The only place left for them to sleep, by the time they got to the house, was the scullery.”

“Why didn’t he come and see me?”

“He didn’t want to bother you. When you called Davey up, Spooks stayed behind. He didn’t think of coming with him, and Davey didn’t think of asking. That’s what I meant about the children becoming scared of you.”

John did not answer her. He went out of the room and called down from the landing:

“Rodge! Come on up, old man. And Olivia and the kids, of course.”

Behind him, Ann said, “You’re condescending now. I don’t say you can help it.”

He went to her and caught her arms fiercely.

“Tomorrow evening, all this will be over. I’ll hand things over to Dave, and settle down to learning from him how to be a potato and beef farmer. You will see me turn into a dull, yawning, clay-fingered old man—will that do?”

“If I could believe it will be like that…”

He kissed her. “It will be.”

Roger came in, with Steve and Spooks close behind him.

He said: “Olivia’s coming up, Johnny.”

“What the hell were you doing settling in the scullery?” John asked. “There’s plenty of room in here. We can put those beds together and get all the kids on them. For the rest of us, it’s a nice soft floor. Fairly new carpets in the bedrooms—our hosts must have been on the luxurious side. There are blankets in that cupboard over there.”

Even while he spoke, he recognized his tone as being too hearty, with the bluffness of a man putting inferiors at their ease. But there was no way of changing it The relationship between himself and Roger had changed on both sides, and it was beyond the power of them to return to the old common ground.

Roger said: That’s very friendly of you, Johnny. The scullery was all very nice, but it had a smell of cockroaches. You two, you can cut along and line up for the bathroom.”

From the window Ann said: “There they go.”

“They?” John asked. “Who?”

“Pirrie and Jane—taking a stroll before dinner, I imagine.”

Olivia had come into the room while Ann was talking. She started to say something and then, glancing at John, stopped. Roger said:

“Pirrie the Wooer. Very sprightly for his age.”

Ann said to Olivia: “You’re looking after the knives. See that Jane gets a sharp one when she comes in to supper, and tell her there’s no hurry to return it.”

“No!” The incisiveness had been involuntary; John moderated his voice: “We need Pirrie. The girl’s lucky to get him. She’s lucky to be alive at all.”

“I thought we could see our way now,” Ann said. “I thought tomorrow evening would see things back to normal. Do you really want Pirrie because he is essential to our safety, or have you grown to like him for yourself?”

“I told you,” John said wearily. “I don’t believe in taking any chances. Perhaps we won’t need Pirrie tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean that I take cheerfully to the idea of your egging the girl on to cut his throat during the night.”

“She may try,” Roger observed, “of her own accord.”

“If she does,” Ann asked, “what will you do, John—have her executed for high treason?”

“No. Leave her behind.”

Ann stared at him. “I think you would!”

Speaking for the first time, Olivia said: “He killed Millicent.”

“And we didn’t leave him behind?” With exasperation, John went on: “Can’t you see that fair shares and justice don’t work until you’ve got the walls to keep the barbarians out? Pirrie is more use than any one of us. Jane is like the Blennitts—a passenger, a drag. She can stay as long as she’s careful how she walks, but no longer.”