Eritopia

Goodwill to All Men

'Shush, who knows who might be patrolling out here.'

'There's no one, Dad,' Martin said. 'Let's get it over with.'

Yet there was someone, watching. A tall man, leaning over a gate at the far side of the patch. He was invisible in the dark, and held an unlit ciglet held between his teeth. After a while he turned and walked away, down the slope, heading toward the river. He lit his ciglet. Here the allotments were more strung out, and the land got stony and difficult to work. Yet there was life here, and the tall man negotiated a labyrinth of walls and fences to reach his shack. In the darkness the only light came from the red glow at the end of his ciglet. It flared as he puffed on it. He had no need of directions here, or light - he knew the area well.

He stopped at the wooden door, unlocked it and went in, first checking nothing had been disturbed. You couldn't be too careful. Inside he felt on a shelf and lit an oil lamp. Diffused light reached into the corners of the tiny shack. He took it with him and sat on the end of his bed, drew on his ciglet, then reached down to pick up the corner of a blanket. He drew it over him, stubbed the ciglet out on the wooden bed frame and blew the oil lamp out.

Things were going to plan.

***

'Peace on earth, and goodwill to all men.'

'Hush, said Megan. The men had returned, fresh from their work, breath steaming in the lamplight.

'It ain't Christmas yet. What's got into you?'

She took their coats and hung them on hooks by the kitchen door.

'Jus' celebrating a job well done,' Beetle slapped his son on the back as they took seats at the rough wood table.

Martin scowled. His mother put a bowl of hot stew and a wedge of coarse bread in front of him.

'No butter?'

'Run out. I'll see Marley before breakfast, see if I can get some more. Got no barter I take it?'

'There's a few in a bag outside the door.' Beetle said. 'The rest have already gone.'

'I'll see what I can do,' Megan breathed. 'Well this is a fine thing, my two men groaning and snorting together after hard graft. P'rhaps it's like Christmas after all. Who'd have thought it,' and she went off into the scullery, singing to herself.

'Don't,' Martin began as Beetle opened his mouth.

'I was goin' to say thanks,' Beetle said.

'Well don't. Like I said, I did it for her sake.'

'Whatever. It's back-breaking work, and you helped me.'

'Helped the jug handlers you mean.'

'I'll get my cut.'

'Yes, unless the Guardia come before it's done.'

'You do know most of 'em are in on it.'

'There's a new breed around, I hear talk of. Who aren't interested in the back-handers and bungs. And the King is restless — something is afoot. You'd best be careful.'

'I am. But where do you get all this news? The taverns aren't full of it.'

'Well it's around. Talk of change and strange winds blowing across from the Forest. And the Great Green River due big tides, and worse.'

'That's not so bad. The land could do with flooding.' He got up, poured a glass of beer from the barrel at the end of the kitchen counter.

'Join me?'

Martin shook his head. Beetle returned to the table and began to drink.

'Thirsty work as ever.' He smacked his lips.

Martin thought about what he had heard. While Beetle spent his spare time in the tavern Martin preferred to hang out with people his own age. His peers talked about change and how to accelerate it. What to do with the King and the old ways, and things coming from across the Cold.

'Beetle was muttering something. "...blood thicker than beer.'

'What?'

'Jus' saying, it feels like we're a proper family.'

Martin got up and pushed his empty plate to the middle of the table. 'Well we're not.'

Beetle looked at him. 'You'll not get anywhere with that empty talk. We're a family and that's it. We're all you've got.' He raised his glass.

Martin didn't answer. He got up and walked out of the room, past his mother who was sitting knitting in a chair by the fire. She didn't look up. He went down the tiny corridor to his room. Because the house was on one level, and held together with bolts and canvas, there was little privacy. But his room was a haven, a refuge when the misery of his family got too much. He pulled the curtain over what passed for a door and sagged onto his bed. It rocked and creaked, and he flipped on his side and faced the wall.

'Bloody family,' he shouted.

A cry followed him from the kitchen, 'And if you think you're going to avoid the washing up, think again.'

Martin closed his eyes and pressed his face into the pillow.