Joseph D'Lacey - Meat

The hand that reached into the cell and pulled him up was full of warmth and strength and its touch was enough to assure him he was safe. The hand belonged to John Collins.

‘Let’s get you cleaned up. Can’t have your daughters seeing their father in this condition.’

‘You’ve found the twins. Are they…?’

‘You can see for yourself as soon as we get this filth off you. Come on.’

Without power, the pressure washer was no worse than a hosepipe. With Collins holding the jet on him, Shanti stripped and washed himself with brisk, vigorous strokes.

‘Put these on,’ said Collins. ‘They’re not exactly you but they’ll do for now.’

He handed Shanti the clothes and boots of a fallen guard. Knowing there was no choice, Shanti hardly hesitated before slipping into the clothes. With the black coat over it all and his beard and long hair, he looked exactly like one of Magnus’s men.

‘Did you find my wife?’

Shanti could see that there was more Collins wanted to say or at least that he wanted to say something other than the truth. In the end his words were simple.

‘She died, Richard. I’m sorry.’

Shanti placed his right palm over his mouth, as if making some kind of judgement.

‘They buried her outside. I can show you the place if you want but we’ll have to be quick.’

Shanti looked up.

‘No,’ he said. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

Collins led him out of the basement and up to the ground floor. Hema and Harsha were waiting in Magnus’s living room. When they saw him, they ran straight to him. He knelt and gathered them in, kissing their heads and stroking their hair. He couldn’t find a way to ask them what Magnus had done. When he was able to speak he said, ‘Did he hurt you?’

They shook their heads and his tears began afresh. Collins placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘I’m sorry, Richard. We have to go. All of us. When the townsfolk realise there’s no Meat Baron, they’ll panic. They’ll go and kill the Chosen themselves. There’ll be chaos. The Parsons won’t be able to stop them and there are far too many for us to deal with. If we’re going to do this, it has to be now.’

Shanti nodded and stood up.

‘We’re all going on a long walk,’ he said to the girls. ‘Mr. Collins and I are going to go ahead because we’re faster.’ He gestured to the followers who had been sitting with the girls. ‘You’ll be safe with them until you catch us up. Do exactly as they say. Understand?’

‘We want to come with you, Papa,’ said Hema.

‘I know, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting for you. I promise.’

He leaned down, kissed them both again then turned away. He couldn’t let them see the heartbreak in his eyes. To regain them like this and then let go again; it was almost more than he could bear.

In the hall he said to Collins, ‘Surely there’s a truck left with some gas in it.’

Collins shook his head.

‘They’ve used it all up. There may be some stashed somewhere but we’d be wasting time looking for it. If the townsfolk got here before we found it… well…’

He slit his throat with his index finger.

‘You’re right. Let’s go now. Run with me.’

Together they sprinted for the main door. Shanti stopped when he saw Magnus, still trying to free himself from the railings that had impaled his legs. His weight had snapped him at the knees and now he hung not at an angle but straight down. He wept manic, disbelieving tears. Shanti walked over and stood beside him. He had worked in an environment of pain all his life and had a keen sense for it. He could feel the waves of suffering emanating from the hanging giant next to him. He looked down and caught the man’s inverted eyes. Streaks of tears and blood ran from his face to his forehead and into his hair. The whites of his eyes were yellow and cracked with broken capillaries. There was insanity there.

‘Have pity, Ice Pick. You’re a man of compassion. I understand that now. Release me from the spikes, I beg you. Lay me down on the ground here to die quietly. Do the right thing, Mr. Shanti, please. Help me down.’ The big man snivelled and shook, more tears coming from a place that he could not resist. ‘Down, down, down,’ he said. And then. ‘Forgive me, Ice Pick. Please forgive me.’

Shanti looked into Magnus’s mad eyes for a few seconds longer. Magnus saw the hesitation and hope sparked behind his staring pupils.

‘I do,’ said Shanti.

He turned away.

He and Collins ran down the gravel driveway. Twenty followers fell into step behind them. The rest left the mansion at a fast walk to escort the twins. Inside, the remainder of Magnus’s men and the maids were locked in the basement. Both Collins and Shanti knew they’d find a way to get out eventually but by then it wouldn’t matter.

At the entrance to the mansion they turned right onto the main road out of Abyrne. When the sound of boots, some running, others walking on the cracked tarmac faded, the town seemed very still. But something ugly was rising up behind them and each of them knew it.

The Grand Bishop sat behind his desk and appraised the three Parsons standing on the other side of it. They seemed no different than three schoolboys in a headmaster’s study. There was apprehension. And something else.

Fear.

Not fear of a caning. Not fear of losing their jobs. Not even, and it would have been a most appropriate emotion at that moment, the fear of God. He knew, therefore, that it wasn’t merely the breaking of the news to him that had them so stirred up.

Parson Atwell had led their scouting mission and the Grand Bishop addressed his questions to him.

‘What did you find?’

‘Nothing, Your Grace.’

‘Nothing?’

‘Not exactly nothing but certainly no enforcement party. What we found were their gowns and their weapons. That’s all.’

‘But where Atwell? In what condition?’

‘Forgive me, your grace, I still don’t understand it myself. We found their garments littered as though they’d fallen in battle but there were no bodies. Not one.’

‘What do you think happened?’

‘They may have been overcome and taken prisoner, their gowns arranged over the ground as… some kind of message. Or they were thoroughly bested and their bodies taken away – again with the clothing left as a sign.’

‘A hundred of our best Parsons captured or killed by thirty tunnel-dwelling starvelings? I don’t believe it.’

He’d meant the outburst as a challenge, to get Atwell to speak up. It had the opposite effect. Atwell looked down, clamping back an angry response. Nor would the other two Parsons meet the Grand Bishop’s eyes. He softened his tone.

‘All right, Atwell. I wasn’t there and I didn’t see it for myself. You can imagine how it must sound to my ears, though.’

Some of the tension went out of Atwell’s jaw.

‘Of course, Your Grace.’

‘I want your assessment. What do you think happened out there?’

Atwell hesitated, glanced at his two companions and then appeared to realise it was no use looking for answers there. He faced the Grand Bishop.

‘I think they’re dead. All of them. I believe Collins and his followers are far stronger than we’ve given them credit for. I also think they plan to take over the town.’

‘Do you?’ said the Grand Bishop. ‘Do you really?’

He was angry but not with his scouts. In his heart he believed exactly the same thing. How could he have let all this happen right under his nose?

‘Where in God’s name did they acquire this strength?’

‘I can’t answer that, Your Grace.’

‘I know, Atwell. I’m sorry. Just thinking out loud. What else have you discovered?’

‘We’re fairly sure Magnus was tipped off about Collins’s whereabouts because we watched seventy of his men returning from the tunnels. They were tired but looked unhurt. I don’t think they found him.’