Dennis Wheatley - Black August

Her long lashes trembled towards the dark hollows beneath her eyes. It was only now coming home to her that she had failed completely. Kenyon, dear Kenyon, to whom she had so stupidly denied a declaration of her love, was dead; and Uncle Timothy, and Agatha, and Gregory, and Rudd, and that funny good humoured American and the gay, generous hearted Veronica too perhaps. It seemed that she had not a single person left to care for in the world. The tragedy was so complete that she hardly thought of her own position, once more at the mercy of this loathsome soldier whom she hated and despised.

'You'll go up before the beak as a reactionary o' course,' he broke in on her sombre thoughts, 'but don't cher worry abart that, I'm not their commander 'ere worse luck, though if I plays me cards right I soon may be, but I got influence all right, an' plenty of it. They got to consider Colonel Brisket in their little game, so you leave it to yours truly; 'cause I'll tell yer, even if you did biff me one, I got a bit of a pash fer you, big eyes.'

Slowly the full significance of her appalling plight filtered into her mind but it was too numbed to respond by flaming anger to his covert offer, only a sullen determination to kill herself rather than satisfy his cravings caused her to mutter: 'You can't blackmail me, or force me to do anything I don't want to.'

'I know that,' his single eye narrowed with sudden cunning. I want yer willin', understand? I've tried aht the other gime these lars' three weeks an' it ain't worth the candle, so I'm aht to treat you right from the beginnin', see?'

'Whatever you do it will make no difference,' she cried with sudden spirit.

'But I got influence,' he argued. 'I'll be the King pin in this ahtfit 'fore I'm much older, an' you can be the Queen bee if you be'ave decent, strite, I'm tellin' yer.'

I don't care what you've got,' she responded doggedly.

'Don't cher?' He leaned forward quickly, determination in every line of his strong coarse face. 'Then what abaht that red 'eaded feller you was sweet on, I saw yer googling at 'im when 'e wasn't looking that afternoon we was 'anging orf the Margate coast. If you'd be matey I could get 'im off as well as you.'

'Kenyon!' she swung round on him, 'is he still alive?'

'Yes o' course, if that's 'is nime! Shark's orders was ter land a party fer drivin' the cattle in, an' ter bring the orficers back fer trial and execution. She made the Orwell rhand abart midday an' sent the prisoners off in boats.'

'But, but,' she stammered, 'do you mean that the destroyer was sent from Ipswich?'

'Yus, we cruised around for a bit makin' the villages on the coast corf up enough fish fer us ter live on, but we was runnin' out of fuel so we brought 'er up the river far as we could an' threw in our lot wiv this new Soviet. I 'ate ships meself so they give me a job on the Committee but, knowin' abart all the cattle wot the General pinched orf the locals, they filled the Shark up wiv oil an' sent 'er rahnd ter tike it orf 'is Mightiness.'

The door was flung open and a grey haired man pushed his head inside. 'Court's sitting, Colonel, and they'll want that woman directly will you send her down?'

'I will.' Brisket rose slowly to his feet as the door closed again and thrust his chin forward peering into Ann's strained face. 'Na wot abart it?'

A hundred new thoughts and emotions were coursing wildly through her brain. They were not dead, but here in Ipswich, and this man had it in his power to save them. How could she let them die?

She closed her eyes to shut out the eager watchful stare with which he was regarding her.

'All of them?' she said after a moment. 'All of them?'

'No, the Court 'ud kick at that.'

'All of them,' she repeated thickly, 'or I won't do it.'

He was silent for a minute then he nodded. 'All right, there'll be a rumpus I expect but I'll fix it some'ow, though only postponement of the sentence mind, I'll keep 'em on the strings as guarantee you treat me fair.'

'I can't,' she wailed suddenly springing to her feet. 'I can't. How can you ask me to knowing that I detest you?'

'You'll get over that,' he laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, 'but you're going through it anyway, see? Just think it over when you get dahnstairs. I'll tell the orderly to wite in Court so as you can send 'im up ter me if you're prepared to tike it cheerful fer the sike of gettin' off yer pals. But ter night's the night, mind, any old 'ow fer you an' me.'

He struck a hand bell and placed her in charge of the orderly, who marshalled her through the press of people down the stairs and into the lofty chamber on the right of the entrance hall.

It was the Court room, empty now of the public and the Press. Only one man sat at the long lawyer's table, and on the magistrate's bench were two men and one woman, seated beneath the red flag which had replaced the royal arms of England.

In the dock stood Gregory, still in the uniform, now ragged and torn, of a brigadier, his face unusually pale, his head bandaged. Silas stood next to him, his enormous bulk seeming to dominate the group, then Veronica, her eyes half closed, her hand on Silas's arm. Beyond her Rudd, in a slouching attitude picking his uneven teeth with a scrap of paper, and lastly Kenyon, stooping slightly, his left arm still in a sling. About them stood the only other occupants of the Court, a little group of soldiers.

Ann gave a half articulate cry and ran towards them as they greeted her appearance with amazed ejaculations, but the orderly caught her shoulder and jerked her back: 'Steady you,' he growled.

The voice of the man who occupied the centre chair on the bench came, smooth, cold, and passionless: 'Is this the woman who came from Shingle Street early this morning?'

'Yes; this is her,' the orderly nodded.

'Put her with the others in the dock.'

Two men with rifles held slackly in their hands stepped aside and Ann was pushed past them next to Gregory. One of those rare bewitching smiles lit his bloodless face. 'Hello, Ann.'

'Hello, Gregory,' she murmured, but the greetings of the others were cut short by the President of the Tribunal.

'You will please be silent,' he said sharply.

As in some awful nightmare Ann stared at him. He was frail, elderly, grey haired, clad neatly in a worn dark suit. A straggly beard covered an undeveloped jaw but his forehead was broad and lofty, his eyes large, pale and almost hypnotic in their power of penetration. He leaned forward and addressed them.

'All of you, including this woman who has just been admitted to the Court, are proved enemies of the New Order. You have without warrant robbed defenceless people of their only means of sustaining life, and on many occasions committed acts of banditry. The Government is now the people, and all property theirs to distribute in the most equitable manner; but when called upon to surrender your stolen supplies to the people's representatives, you were guilty of armed resistance which caused loss of life: you men are therefore enemies of the State and the women have aided and abetted in your crimes. It is my duty to order your execution. Have any of you any reason to state why the sentence should not be carried out?'

'You are neither magistrate nor judge,' Gregory cried quickly. 'What right have you to sentence us?'

'I have been appointed by the Committee to dispense the New Justice in this area with full powers of life and death,' the bearded man answered slowly. 'I fear that is the only answer which I can give you.'

'We haven't even had a trial,' Gregory broke out. 'You'll swing for this before you're done.'

The Chief of the Tribunal shrugged. 'Such men as you are dangerous to the New Order. Your rank of General alone would justify me in condemning you.'

'New Order be damned!' The white scar which lifted Gregory's eyebrow stood out angrily. 'We've been trying to keep the peace, not break it; and what authority have your Committee got to order killings?'