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Declan marched Martin along the corridor, his hand grasping Martin’s jacket by the collar. Martin glanced to his left. The rooms now stored boxes, tubs, and crates. They were on the other side of the house and he caught the view through the front windows. In the near distance was the road on which the vans and lorries had arrived, and more farmlands with white-washed cottages dotted here and there. Further behind those, the grey-blue of a body of water ran to the horizon. If he recalled his Scottish geography correctly, it was the wider section of the Firth of Forth where it led out to sea. That area of Fife would be the way to go when he tried again.
More cover. More people to help him.
“Eyes front.” Declan shook him; Martin’s vision blurred. The throbbing in his eye continued.
They stopped before a familiar door and Declan knocked.
“Come,” Lloyd called from within the library.
Declan opened the door and pushed Martin in.
“Tried to escape, did we?” Lloyd grasped the book in front of him, his knuckles whitening.
Martin breathed in, nostrils flaring. He wasn’t going to answer. He glanced at the silent television that displayed footage of a crowd teeming through tear gas while the army in riot gear sprayed them with high-pressure hoses. Smoke surrounded the tall pillar of Nelson’s Column and people clambered over bronze lions.
“Yes. Troubles down south. And most other cities in this great United Kingdom, including my beloved Glasgow.” Lloyd rose from his seat and walked to stand in front of his desk. “In fact, most major cities of the world are experiencing the same unrest.”
Martin drew his eyes away from the flat screen television.
“Small businesses are folding,” Lloyd continued. “Some of the larger ones already have. Amazon, that giant, gone...” Lloyd flicked his fingers in a puff-of-smoke gesture. “Banks are reclaiming houses. Suddenly middleclass families are becoming street dwellers.” He leaned forward. “And what is the Government doing? Sending in the military to sort out the rabble. Wasting the taxpayer’s money shoring up the banks.”
Martin glanced back to the screen. Full rubbish bags sat around garbage bins lining a suburban street. Local government services halted as unpaid staff strike, the tickertape read at the bottom of the screen. Power outages expected to be more frequent.
“The world is changing. The old order is out. The New Order, in. Medieval times once more, my friend. I’m the laird and you’re the serf. No, not even that. The once high and mighty son-of-a-rich-man is now this poor bastard’s slave.” Lloyd pointed to himself. “Aye, my parents were druggies. I dragged myself up. Lived on the streets, became part of a gang.” He cocked his head. “Led the gang. Educated myself.” He thrust his index finger onto his desk. “Now I will live here in my fortification. People will come to me for what they need.”
“What?” Martin could barely get the question out.
“Hmm.” Lloyd tilted his head and frowned. “And I seem to be having difficulty getting in contact with Kieran Moffatt, electronics magnate.”
Panic flared in Martin’s mind. “What’re you going to do with me?”
“You’ll get your hands dirty rebuilding my wall. No more university, books and theoreticals for you. It’s practical work and being at my beck-and-call until your father pays up.”
“What if you can’t contact him? What if—?”
“Well, you’re mine for keeps then, slave.” Lloyd’s grin held no friendship as he waved him out.
Declan’s fist grabbed Martin’s collar and he shoved him along toward the kitchen. Shouts and the sounds of scuffles came down the corridor—a young woman’s voice amongst the hollering.
“Quieten down, now. What’s going on in here?” Declan’s voice bellowed past Martin’s ears, causing them to ring.
Young guy pushed a person into the pantry and slammed the door.
“Some ‘elpers for rich-boy.” Cockney was back. He’d driven the van in and out all day.
Declan thrust Martin aside, still holding his collar, and turned Martin to face him.
“We’ve found some fellow slaves to work with you. Play nice now.” Declan’s head inclined to the pantry door as young guy opened it.
“In!” He shoved.
Martin stumbled in and fell over someone’s extended legs. He turned. He’d recognise that hedgehog hairstyle anywhere—Davy!
“Martin? What happened to your eye?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I was mugged. They threw me in the van...with her.” Davy pointed to a young woman squatting against the boxes on the opposite wall. Her dark hair hung over her makeup smeared face. Her trousers and orange top were lower-end High Street. Dark-brown eyes bore into his.
“What’s going on?” Her rough Wester Hailes’ accent rang out.
“Ah...we are here to work.” Martin wasn’t going to tell the whole story. His pals at work were unaware of who his father was.
“We were abducted to work?” The young woman’s brows rose. “Against our will? That’s ridiculous!” She stood and stepped past Martin to the door which she then pounded with both fists. “Let us out! This is kidnap!”
The door burst open. Stepping back, the young woman tripped over Martin and landed heavily on the hard stone floor.
“Ooh!” Davy grabbed for her, failing in his attempt to break her fall.
“Oy! Rich kid,” Cockney stabbed Martin with his glare. “Keep ya fellow slaves in line. Okay?”
Martin glared back, biting down the vitriol threatening to spew out. The door slammed shut.
“Are you okay?” Davy patted the young woman’s arm. She flicked him away, got up and returned to the opposite wall.
Davy rubbed his hands. Then looked at Martin. “Rich kid?”
Martin swallowed. What did it matter now?
“I don’t really know why you guys are here, but I’m being held for ransom.”
Davy screwed up his face. “No.” He shook his head and his stomach vibrated with silent laughter. Then he opened his mouth and let it out.
“It’s not funny.” Martin couldn’t keep the annoyance out of his tone. “I’m dead serious.”
Davy’s laughter continued.
A fist banged on the door. “Shut it!”
Davy put his hands over his mouth and gradually suppressed his laughter.
“Who’s ya father?” The brown eyes in the far corner hit him with a direct stare.
“My father is Kieran Moffatt.”
“Who’s he when he’s about?”
“Moffatt Electronics?” Davy’s eyes were wide. “He’s your father? You’re his son?”
“That’s usually how it goes, Einstein.” The young woman had crouched low against the wall.
“How did you get mugged? I thought you were pretty street wise, Davy.” Martin flicked a glance at the woman opposite, not wanting to voice his opinion of her street cred.
“Martin, it’s really bad out there.” Davy grabbed Martin’s arm. “People are rioting and...the place is a mess. I was on my way back from work and got caught up in a demonstration. Darren’s had to close. I helped him board up the shop. They’ve been looting the Royal Mile!” Davy’s voice rose a pitch.
The woman coughed. Martin turned to her. “What’s your name?”
“Shona. And I’ve nae body who could pay a ransom for me.” Her mouth was a thin line. “But I’ll get out o’ here. I’m no’ stayin’.”
“You’ll never get past those guys,” Davy whispered. He looked at Martin’s face then glanced down at his dusty trousers. “What work have you been doing?”
“Manual labour. Derrick Lloyd wants to fix—”
“Who’s he?” Shona asked.
“The boss. Thinks he’s the laird of the mansion,” Martin scoffed.
“What’s all this stuff then?” Shona tapped the box next to her. “Someone’s been busy looting.”
“Part of Lloyd’s plan. He’s going to sell it.”
“People’ll want it,” Davy observed. “The shops are empty. The storehouses are getting that way too. Some factories have shut down...temporarily, or so they say.”
“Setting up his own wee empire.” Shona opened the box next to her.
“Don’t do that.” Martin held out his hand, palm down.
Shona continued to open it. Martin stepped over. “Stop. They’re not nice guys. They won’t like it.”
“Well, I’m hungry,” she said as she rummaged. “Jars of spaghetti sauce. Do they feed you here?”
“Aye, but I think dinner’s over.”
Shona opened another box. This time she found cheese sticks. “That’s more like it.”
She handed some to Davy who hesitated, but then took three and ate them. Shona held out some to Martin. He shook his head.
“I’ve eaten.” Martin settled his back against the wall.
Visions of Declan’s dour face snarling at him came to him in his dreams throughout the night.