The Texts Of Festival (12 page)

‘I wouldn’t try shootin’ me, Valentine; it’d probably cause a revolt.’

Valentine lowered the gun and stared poisonously at Starkweather.

‘You better have a good reason for comin’ here like this. I could call the guards.’

‘I hardly think your guards are gonna try arrestin’ me.’ An edge of panic crept into Valentine’s voice.

‘You’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you? I heard them shouting for you today. You’re plotting to become lord.’ Valentine raised the gun again.

‘I’ve sussed you out. Honest Joe Starkweather, eighth lord of Festival, or will it be another stinkin’ commune? I’ll kill you first, Starkweather. You and the mob won’t run me out of Festival.’

Starkweather’s voice cut through Valentine’s hysteria. ‘Shut up an’ put that gun down. I don’t want your pathetic title.’

Almost as a reflex, Valentine lowered his gun again.

‘Good, now keep quiet an’ listen.’

‘How dare you …’

‘Valentine, shut up! I’ve come here to tell you that you’re in more trouble than you can imagine.’

‘All right, talk. I’ll send the girl outside.’

Starkweather glanced at the girl.

‘Let her stay. What I’ve got to say will be no secret.’

Valentine sank back into bed looking sullen.

‘Do what you like.’

Starkweather’s lips tightened.

‘You’re a fool, Valentine. This city is gonna be overrun by outlaws, while you screw obliviously.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you aware that a caravan has been wiped out not three days away from here? That one third of the patrol you sent out has been killed by outlaws with rapid-fire guns only one day’s ride from town? Do you wonder the mob yells horsepiss when you talk about the peace of Festival?’

‘These are just rumours, you don’t expect …’

Grimly Starkweather went on, ignoring the now frightened lord.

‘They may be just rumours but rumours of outlaws massing in the hills, particularly if they’re backed up by reports of a caravan raid an’ a shootout, need to be checked out in some way. You can’t just hope the trouble will go away.’

‘I sent out a patrol didn’t I? What else do you expect?’

‘It’s not just a patrol. The military are so untogether that Festival is an undefended city. Over the last few years we have relied solely on past reputation to scare off trouble. We can’t live like that forever an’ the people know it.’

‘The people? What does that superstitious rabble know about Festival?’

‘They are Festival, you fool, an’ it’s they who will defend it when necessary. It is your responsibility to organise that defence now, before it’s too late.’

‘Don’t talk to me about responsibilities, Starkweather. A lord of Festival is responsible to no one but himself.’

‘You are a fool, Valentine, your father was a fool before you …’

‘You insolent mutha, you dare to insult the sacred memory of the sixth …’

‘I knew your father, remember? He was more of a mincing libertine than you. He undermined the army, he let the merchants take over the administration of the city. Culture decayed, women were reduced to objects again. It was during his time that all the worst injustices of before the disaster were reintroduced to the city. His memory isn’t sacred, in fact he’s best forgotten. You maybe have one chance to undo some of his criminal stupidity.’

‘I don’t have to listen to this …’

‘Oh yes you do, sonny boy, you have to listen, unless you want either the city to fall or your own people to drag you out an’ hang you. If an invasion doesn’t come, you can be sure revolution will.’

Valentine was white and silent; the hostile crowd at Celebration provided a solid reinforcement to Starkweather’s words.

‘What can we do? We could hire more mercenaries …’

‘Mercenaries won’t help you. Five hundred mercenaries could take over the city. The merchant retainers an’ the guards must be put under a single command and an armed militia must be raised from the people …’

Valentine started.

‘Arm the people! But you said they hate me, they might turn on me.’

Starkweather chuckled.

‘Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.’

He became serious again.

‘You are gonna put out some sort of order, putting the city under some sort of popular control, a food-sharing system an’ co-ordinated labour. If you don’t, no defence can work.’

Valentine’s paranoia flooded back.

‘I knew it, you
are
trying to seize power.’

Before he could continue there was a loud knocking.

Starkweather turned.

‘Come in, it’s open.’

Luther and another guard came in nervously.

‘My lord … Joe. This man, he … rode in with news … he said …’

Valentine swung his feet onto the floor.

‘Where is this man?’

‘He’s dead, my lord.’

‘Dead?’

‘Yes my lord; he rode in wounded, he died soon after. My lord, he brought news. I …’

Starkweather interrupted.

‘Get yourself together, Luther, tell us what the man said.’

‘Okay Joe, like … he told us that Afghan Promise had been attacked by outlaws. The town, Joe, it’s fallen. Afghan Promise is in the hands of an outlaw army.’

The silence of shock distorted the room. Starkweather slowly turned to the half-naked lord sitting on the side of the bed, whose face was white with shock.

‘I’m sorry for you, Valentine. I fear it’s already too late.’

‘Any fuggin’ outlaw trying to break in here gonna get his.’

Wimp, standing shakily on a chair that seemed too fragile to support his ample figure, waved his shotgun as the crowd of revelers yelled and cheered.

‘Ri’ on, Wimp!’

‘Ri’ on!’

‘You show dem fuggin’ outlaws.’

Wimp raised his hand for silence and the shouting subsided a little.

‘I tell you one thing, bruvvers an’ sisters: we got to mobee-lise.’

Before he could go any further he lost his footing and toppled into the arms of the crowd.

Frankie Lee grinned.

The news of the fall of Afghan Promise had reached the revellers, the survivors of Celebration night, and they had received it with drunken enthusiasm. An army of outlaws was nothing to the fearless men of the Last Chance.

Wimp regained his position on the chair, amidst cheering, and carried on with his harangue as though nothing had happened.

‘Mo-bee-lise, tha’s what we gotta do. We gotta de-fend ourselfs.’

A man at the back of the crowd yelled:

‘Fuggin’ Valentine aint gonna defend us, an da’s a fact.’

‘Ri’ on, bruvver, we gotta look out f’ourselfs.’

Wimp peered round drunkenly.

‘We gonna need guns.’

‘Ri!’

‘We gonna need ammunition.’

‘Ri!’

‘We could turn this bar into a fuggin’ fort.’

The crowd cheered, all except Harry Krishna who pushed to the front and demanded:

‘How’m I gonna take care o’ business if the place is set up like a fort?’

‘If the fuggin’ outlaws come, you ain’t gonna have no business.’

‘Yeah’

Harry Krishna shrugged and retreated behind the bar. Wimp returned his attention to the crowd.

‘Lissen, we want guns, ri’?’

‘Ri!’

‘So who’s got guns?’

About ten men waved their guns in the air.

‘So we gonna need mo’.’

‘Ri’ on.’

‘An where we get ’em?’

Wimp paused and the crowd looked confused.

‘I tell you! Off the fuggin’ merchants.’

‘Ri’ on!’

The crowd cheered and a man yelled:

‘What’re we waiting for?’

The cry was taken up.

‘Yeah, what’re we waiting for?’

Wimp waved his shotgun in the general direction of the door and jumped from the chair. The crowd boiled out of the bar room and into the drag.

Frankie Lee followed on the outside of the crowd as they marched, still shouting, towards the merchants’ Quarter.

A large brazier gave out a red glow that illuminated the south entrance to the Quarter. The big double gates were shut and two retainers, one armed with a shotgun, the other with a pike, lounged against the wall. As the crowd from the Last Chance milled towards them they straightened up. The crowd halted, bunched up, about ten paces from the gate.

Wimp stepped forward.

‘Open the gates, we wanna see Aaron the gunmaker.’

The retainer with the pike took one pace towards Wimp.

‘You’re drunk, go home before there’s trouble.’

‘Open the fuggin’ gate, an’ don’t argue. Aint you heard there’s gonna be a war?’

Frankie Lee moved to the front of the crowd to see what was happening. The retainer was facing Wimp.

‘I aint gonna warn yous again, move on!’ He made a lunge at Wimp with the butt end of the pike but Wimp grabbed it and spun him round. The crowd roared with laughter but the retainer quickly recovered and swung at Wimp whose shotgun went flying as the pike butt caught him in the chest and he sat down heavily.

Wimp dived for his shotgun but as he brought it up the second retainer fired and Wimp sprawled sideways into the dust in front of the gun.

Then the pistol he had won from the rube was in Frankie Lee’s hand and the retainer was lying in the dust beside Wimp. His partner dropped his pike and froze as the other men who had guns moved to the front of the crowd.

The crowd halted when a voice cut through the shouting.

‘Disperse, or I’ll order my men to open fire!’

Guns appeared through the embrasures at the top of the wooden stockade wall.

Nobody moved and both sides faced each other. Then heads turned as, to the crowd’s right, the Arena Gate in the great Stage wall swung open and three horsemen galloped towards them.

Some of the men swung round and started to raise their weapons but then a cry went up. One of the riders was wearing the familiar leather coat.

‘Hold it! It’s Joe, it’s Joe Starkweather!’

Starkweather pulled his horse to a stop in front of the crowd, beside the bodies of Wimp and the retainer.

‘What the fug is goin’ on here?’

Everyone began to shout at once. Joe raised his hands.

‘Shut up, shut up! If you all start yellin’ we ain’t gonna get nowhere. Hey there, Frankie Lee, come over here.’

Frankie Lee holstered his gun and walked over. Starkweather sat on his horse and stared down at him; a lock of white hair fell over his eyes and he brushed it back with a weary gesture.

‘Okay Frankie, how did this mess come about?’

‘It was in the Chance, like. When we heard about Afghan Promise the boys started to get worked up an’ wanted to cop some guns. So we all came up here an’ these creeps stopped us. Wimp was pretty fired up an’ when this guy took a swing at him,’ he indicated the retainer who was backed up against the gates, ‘Wimp reached for his gun an’ the other dude shot him. Tha’s what happened.’

‘Who shot the retainer?’

Frankie Lee studied the ground at his feet.

‘Wimp had a lot of friends, Mistuh Starkweather.’

Joe studied the faces of the crowd.

‘You better go on home, the merchants are gonna make trouble about this.’

Frankie Lee looked up.

‘Beggin’ your pardon, Mistuh Starkweather, but the merchants can go fug themselves. If the outlaws come them an’ the lords are safe behind their walls. They got guns an’ guards but out on the Drag we ain’t got nothin’. Outlaws’ll make mincemeat of us an’ nothin’ we can do. We gonna need guns.’

Starkweather regarded them grimly.

‘You don’t think the army’ll protect you?’

A bar girl pushed to the front of the crowd and stood beside Frankie Lee.

‘Lissen here, Mistuh Starkweather, us girls turn tricks for them solja boys ev’ry day. They treat us like dirt. If trouble comes they’s gonna be up behind the walls defendin’ the lords an’ the merchants. Us folks on the Drag gonna be left to take our chances. We gotta have guns an’ if’n we go home now we gonna come back an’ no solja boys gonna stop us.’

A murmur of agreement ran through the crowd and another woman stepped forward.

‘I came up from Afghan Promise for Festival; we was s’posed to be under the lord’s protection there. Outlaws still got the town an’ me ole man’s most likely dead. Didn’t get no protection there an’ no reason why we should get any here.’

The crowd started to grow noisy again and Starkweather had to shout to make himself heard.

‘Shut up an’ listen! There’s two men dead already. You ain’t gonna get guns by stormin’ the gates. You’ll just get yourselves killed. Go back to the Last Chance an’ wait till morning. I’ll guarantee you’ll get the weapons you need.’

The crowd murmured but Frankie Lee and a few others began to walk back towards the Drag and the rest followed.

Joe Starkweather sighed and turned his horse towards the Arena Gate.

‘… and under no circumstances will I arm the mob.’

Dawn light was filtering through the windows, and the audience room of the palace was filled with grim-faced men, representatives of the merchants, the guards, retainer captains. Valentine presided over the meeting from his carved throne. In the middle of the group Joe Starkweather stood facing him; his chin was covered in grey stubble and he looked exhausted.

‘An’ that’s your final word?’

Valentine nodded. Starkweather shook his head and faced the merchants.

‘An’ how about you, are you gonna hide behind your walls an’ pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist?’

The merchants shuffled uneasily, avoiding his eyes. None of them spoke. Joe swung round to where Luther stood among the guard captains.

‘Luther, will you tell your lord exactly how long his precious army would last against a major force of outlaws? Are you afraid to let a little reality into this room?’

Luther looked guilty and uncomfortable.

‘Joe, I …’

‘Okay, okay. It seems you’re all gonna follow that damn fool in his fancy throne, an’ prop up his fantasy till the city’s burned around you. There’s nothing I can do here. I’m going out to the Drag to organise what defence I can.’

Starkweather took two paces towards the door but at a signal from Valentine the guards stopped him. The lord’s voice cut coldly through the room.