CHAPTER THIRTEEN

NEW RECRUITS

 

 

“THEN IT WAS all for nothing,” said Edward Leer when Evelyn War and Dorothy Barker reported back to him on their return from the visit to the Warschauer Pack.

“Ezra Pound, him did nothing,” said Evelyn. “But the tale-teller, him sent his pup to find me. Him talked to me. Him brought Oswald Sickert to me. Him tried to reach out to his leader. We must talk to Walter Sickert if him is a Hearer. If him can tell us more.”

“Evelyn and me, we can go back,” said Dorothy Barker. “Tougher and tough.”

Edward Leer looked from one dam to the other and sighed.

“Not alone,” he said. “Two, you are not enough to get whet.”

“My mate, him makes three,” said Dorothy Barker.

“No,” said Evelyn.

The two dams were glaring at each other. Leer looked from one to the other.

“Three, you are still not enough to get whet,” said Edward Leer.

“My mate, him is Robert Browning,” said Dorothy. “Tougher and tough. Him worth two scrappers. Him worth two Aux.”

“Robert Browning, him not coming to Warschauer,” said Evelyn. “Him not coming to find Walter Sickert. Him...” She trailed off.

“Him my mate,” said Dorothy.

The stand-off seemed unshakeable.

“You meet with him,” said Dorothy finally, turning to Edward Leer. “Tale-teller, you choose.” Then she turned back to Evelyn and glared at her once more.

“And Ben Gun,” said Evelyn. “Me, I want to take Ben Gun.”

“The pup?” asked the tale-teller. “You can’t take a pup.”

“Ben Gun, him loyal,” said Evelyn. She didn’t know why she’d blurted out his name, and he was only a pup, untried as a scrapper, but she had seen his prowess with the sling. He was a loner, like her, and he had been following her around ever since their encounter on the platform.

He was fast, too, skittle-scuttle fast, and he was quiet. He’d been there wherever she was, and she’d never heard him coming. Besides, she was sure he could outrun anything he couldn’t outfight.

The Aux dams left the tale-teller without another word, each to find her recruit.

Evelyn left Edward Leer’s cell and trotted the length of the narrow service tunnel where it was located. She blinked hard against the glare off the reflective black walls, and dodged the small fires. She hated that tunnel.

She thought she saw Ben Gun’s shadow where the service tunnel joined Track Two, but when she got there he was gone. She called his name, and her voice echoed down the track, but he did not answer.

She dropped down onto the track and jogged for a hundred metres or so east. Then she turned and jogged about the same distance west, calling for him. Still he did not answer. Finally, Evelyn returned to the platform and hoisted herself up to sit on the edge of the platform, her legs swinging above the tracks.

She took the slingshot she had confiscated from Ben out of her waistband and a stone out of her cuff, where she had taken to storing them.

She idly placed the stone in the sling. She took aim at the opposite curving wall, where a runnel of water was wending its way down the uneven surface. The missile hit with a crack, and a droplet of water fell to the ground, landing with a familiar ping.

She placed another stone in the slingshot and looked along the wall for another likely stream of water before running her eyes left and right down the tunnel.

There was something in the shadows to her right.

She picked out her target, whipped her arm and propelled the stone at the wall. Another crack, and another ping.

And again.

The shadow to her right had got closer. It had ducked under the lip of the platform and was only a few metres away, crouching among the stones. Evelyn wondered, not for the first time, how he had moved without her hearing. Loose stones were abundant between and around the tracks; it was impossible to walk on them without disturbing them, without making them grate or skip or slide. Ben Gun seemed able to do it.

The third stone did not raise a ping.

“Missed,” said a voice.

“You, show me,” said Evelyn, not moving from her seat on the edge of the platform.

Ben Gun stood up. He was too short to hoist himself onto the platform the way that Evelyn had, so he faced it and clambered onto his knees before turning to sit next to her, about a metre away.

He put a handful of stones on the platform between them, ten or a dozen in all, and took out the new slingshot he had made for himself. All the while, he instructed her in the proper use of the weapon.

Evelyn and Ben spent the next half an hour shooting stones at the tunnel wall, hitting drops of water, clumps of moss, stains, scratches, anything they could identify as a target. Ben Gun missed nothing. Evelyn missed maybe one shot in half a dozen.

“You, watch this,” said Ben Gun. “You, put a stone in the air.”

Evelyn whipped her loaded sling, and a stone flew high into the apex of the tunnel. As it began to fall, there was a crack, and it was smacked off its trajectory by the stone from Ben’s slingshot.

Evelyn squealed with laughter and clapped in delight.

“Ben, you want to be a warrior?” she asked him after the echoes of her laughter had died away. “A scrapper?”

“Me, I will be a scrapper,” said Ben. “Me, I’ll be a lieutenant one day, tougher and tough.”

“Ben Gun could be a scrapper tomorrow,” said Evelyn War.

Ben looked at Evelyn wide-eyed.

“Me, I have not been called,” said Ben. “Me, I have not been chosen. Others, them are bigger and stronger. Me, I am fast and I have this” – he twirled his slingshot through the air on the end of one finger – “but some pups are bigger and stronger. The lieutenants, them are fools for not calling me. You, can you make them call me?”

“Me,” said Evelyn. “I am calling you.”

Ben’s face fell.

“You are not a lieutenant,” said Ben.

“The times, them change,” said Evelyn. “This, it is a secret war band.”

“You are not a lieutenant,” said Ben, again, not looking at her. “You cannot call me.”

“Then Edward Leer, him will call you,” said Evelyn dropping down onto the tracks and taking a step towards the pup.

“Him the tale-teller,” said Ben, lifting his head to look into Evelyn’s face.

He had not looked at her eye-to-eye since their first meeting on the track. He had known she was always serious, but he had never seen her like this and never so close, except for that first time. He had heard about her. He had followed her. He was curious. Now he could see that she was more serious than any Aux.

“The tale-teller, him not a lieutenant,” he finally said.

“This war band, it is more important than anything,” said Evelyn. “And him more powerful than a lieutenant. Him more powerful than anyone.”

“Except Ezra Pound,” said Ben Gun.

“Pfftt,” said Evelyn War.

Ben Gun’s eyes opened wide and his mouth opened wider, and the tunnel of Track Two filled with the echoes of Evelyn War’s laughter for several seconds.

“If me, I’m going to make the tale-teller, him call you,” she said, “you will have to understand many things.”

“What things?” asked Ben Gun, deadly serious.

“The first thing you will have to understand,” she said, “is that there are many things – many, many things – them more powerful than Ezra Pound.”