Саймон Морден - Down Station

The women stood the other side of the dying man, the other side of the thick lake of blood that was welling up and out of him, across the floor, up to the walls.

‘Sweet Jesus,’ said Mama, ‘Sweet merciful Jesus. Look what you did, Stanislav. Look what you did to this man.’

Elena shrank back behind her, using her bulk to shield the ruination from sight, but Luiza grabbed hold of her cousin, and started barking at her in Romanian. Stanislav was already down the corridor, at the junction. His face was set hard, and he shouted one word: ‘Hurry!’

Dalip took a deep breath. ‘Mama, we don’t have a choice now. We can’t go back. But we can get out of here: just come with me.’

Reluctantly, Mama took hold of Dalip’s proffered hand and she jumped over Pigface’s body. The man was no longer moving, breath no longer rasping, fingers no longer twitching.

‘Go. The door. Do what Stanislav told you.’ Dalip eased her past him and away.

Luiza all but threw Elena at him, and leapt the obstruction herself. Dalip muttered his apologies as they squeezed by, but Luiza merely tutted her frustration and shoved Elena hard in the back to speed her up.

They diverged at the end of the corridor. The women went into the guard room, Dalip into the pit. It was completely dark, something that neither he nor Stanislav had bargained for.

‘We need a light,’ the older man growled, and hurried out, coming back with a lantern from the guard room.

The glow it gave was feeble, and Dalip could barely see the edge of the parapet. Even though he’d jumped up to it several times now, groping around in the dark wasn’t going to make it any easier.

Stanislav put the lantern on the floor and judged his position. Dalip trotted over to the far wall and braced his back against it.

‘Ready?’ he called.

‘Yes.’ The shadow was so deep that it was almost impossible to tell. They’d just have to trust that they’d trained enough.

‘Okay. Three, two, one.’

Dalip ran, half-blind, hoping that Stanislav could see him better than he could see Stanislav. He raised his foot and stamped it down at the undifferentiated mass of darkness, and then he was flying. He remembered in time to raise his leg, turn his body, reach out in case he hadn’t risen quite far enough.

The landing was brutal. He’d overcompensated and so had Stanislav. He slammed, sight unseen, on to the balcony, having cleared the parapet completely, crashing into the throne and shoving it across the floor until it wedged against the wall. Parts of him were tangled with the legs of the chair, and not for the first time, he could taste blood in his mouth.

He’d also made enough noise to wake the dead. If there was anyone within earshot, they’d be busy raising the alarm and arming themselves. A slave uprising always had to be a possibility for a slaver: even though there were only five of them, and calling it an uprising was nothing more than a bad joke.

He staggered to his feet, spitting, and leaned back out over the pit.

‘The knife. Throw me the knife.’

The lantern was there, but Stanislav wasn’t. The confusion at the door was Luiza shouting at Elena, trying to get the table through the gap. They tried repeatedly, and only succeeded in blocking it for Mama.

Dalip spat on the ground again, wiped his mouth, and realised that if anyone came through the door behind him, he’d have to deal with them himself. His only weapon was the throne, too solid to break up, too heavy to wield. He could still drag the chair against the door until they were ready, so he did, and went back to the parapet.

They’d finally negotiated the doorway and were carrying the table in.

‘Here, just here,’ he called. They looked up, changed their path, and placed the table against the wall below him. Mama stacked the chair on top of it, and Luiza climbed up straight away.

When she stretched up her hand, Dalip could reach down and clasp her wrist.

‘Okay?’ he asked, and he could make out her nodding.

He thought that it’d be a strain, an effort, something he’d struggle with. It turned out that either she was very light, or he was now very strong. When he could, he used both hands, and was even able to ease her over the top, rather than dump her like a sack of rice on the floor.

‘Still okay?’

‘Yes… yes.’

‘Go and stand by that door. Listen out for anyone coming.’ He pointed, and she nodded again, brushing her hair back from her ear in readiness.

Elena was next, and again, despite all her weight being on one arm, he could lift her and hold her until she was able to swing herself over the edge of the parapet.

Mama was next. A more substantial challenge, and there was still no Stanislav.

‘Mama, get on the table, then on to the chair.’

She was surprisingly limber despite her rolling curves.

‘Oh, that poor man. That shouldn’t have happened,’ she said as she clambered up on to the tabletop.

‘Yes, Mama. I know. I… it’s wrong, but what else are we supposed to do? Ask them nicely to let us go?’

‘Oh, he was a bad man for sure, but kill him?’ She put both hands on the chair back and looked up. ‘Can’t you, I don’t know, keep Stanislav under control?’

‘You’re joking, right?’ He lowered his hand over the side. ‘Come on. Whatever happens next, we need to stay together.’

‘I don’t think I can climb, Dalip.’

‘Let me worry about that.’ He waved his fingers. ‘We have to hurry.’

She got her knees on to the chair, then one foot, then the other. Slowly, shakily, she stood, her arms out wide trying to hug the wall.

‘Reach up. Right up.’

She was shorter than both Luiza and Elena. They both stretched, and could just about touch.

‘Elena, hold my legs. Stop me going over.’

He leant right out, over the parapet with both hands, and with Elena gripping his knees, he was able to take hold of Mama’s wrists.

‘You ready?’

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘We’re not leaving without you,’ he said. He started to straighten up, taking all her weight through his arms and into his back. Her feet left the chair, knocking it over in the process.

It clattered to the pit floor, and she looked down at the sudden height. She started to wriggle in his grasp.

‘Don’t do that,’ he said.

‘It’s too far.’

He kept on pulling, and she was rising despite herself.

‘You want to get back home? You want to get back to your kids and grandkids?’ It hurt, from his elbows, through his shoulders to the small of his back. He was speaking through clenched teeth. ‘This is the only way.’

Luiza left her post at the door, leant herself over and took a handful of boilersuit at Mama’s side. She pulled as Dalip leant back, and that was enough to drag Mama up as far as the parapet, getting her on the wide stone wall and over the right side.

They lay together, in a heap.

‘You’re strong, Dalip,’ said Mama. ‘You’re a strong man now.’

‘Maybe.’ He didn’t feel strong at that moment: he was breathing hard, and everything felt over-stretched. But it seemed Stanislav had been right. He couldn’t have managed to pull any of them up, not even himself, before he came to Down. He heaved himself up and looked over the edge. The pit was empty, save for a table, tipped chair, and weakly burning lantern.

‘Where is he?’ asked Luiza, extricating herself from under Mama. ‘What better thing does he have to do than be here?’

‘I don’t know.’ He stared at the pit door, as if it’d make the man appear. ‘Stanislav? Stanislav!’

It was more a stage whisper than a shout, and even that seemed too loud.

‘What do we do, if he does not come?’