Alistair Raven and the Stormtrooper in Stilettos (Book 1)

Part 2 - Chatter 25

"No one comes down here, but if they should, we will tell them you moved that way," she guaranteed.

Waving goodbye, they left the urchins be and marched across to the Tennant Line crosslink.

"You're too generous," Rocket moaned, miffed Flash had taken his ration bars. "I'm famished now!" Flash raised his fist and promised to bop him one but Julian chastised Rocket nonetheless.

"You're a git," Julian sniped as they moved in to the newer tunnel. "It's quite a walk home, try and keep quiet or so help me, I'll do you myself and roll you up in one of those rather fetching yellow bags!"

For the rest of the way home, they remained silent. Eventually Julian's holographic sentinels detected them and waving his pass card, Julian deactivated the security and they completed their trek a hop, skip and a jump down the line at Fielding Street Station.

"All off, all change!" Julian declared.

"I'm beat!" Chelsea groaned.

"You're lucky to be alive," Rocket nodded.

"Everyone," Julian clicked. "To the showers! If anyone makes a mess, they'll answer to me, capeche?" They were all too tired to argue.

**********************

Down in the infirmary, counting the cost, Alistair dry-retched as Nightengale smeared a soothing balm on his stung right hand. He had been scrubbed clean and as a precaution given a booster shot against the Hack. Nightengale covered his hands and feet with warming pads warding away the onset effects of hypothermia whilst he heaved into a basin bowl. Rocket and Flash pinned a semi-hysterical Chelsea to an infirmary bed whilst Delilah sedated her, wrapping her in a warming blanket whereby Chelsea eventually relaxed and fell asleep. The soldiers stepped back relieved as Nightengale inserted an IV drip.

Julian sat in a shadowy corner and tried to concoct an explanation. His quick wits were dulled by the day's events and Capt Baker barged through the doorway. Angry, the sky-pilot prepared to do more than bruise Julian's ego.

"Hello, I must be going," Julian hastened and Capt Baker grabbed his arm, wrenching him back. Balderick was caught in the kerfuffle, flapping himself out of the way as the two men scrapped like brothers arguing over the last remaining lime Opal Fruit in the packet.

"What in the world were you thinking?" Capt Baker fumed, ripping off his hat and tossing it aside. "Oh wait...YOU WEREN'T THINKING!!!" He clutched Julian by the collar, dragging him to his feet. Julian felt the heat of his friend's wrath and remained mute.

"C'mom! It's not like you to be short of a quip or two?" Capt Baker hollered, roughly unhanding his friend and storming over to Chelsea's bed, brushing aside Rocket and Flash. Looking at her shivering body, Chelsea's bluish tinged face was twisted with a blissful smile. Elvis entered the infirmary, scrunching on an apple, appearing tired and jaded.

"Youse owright?" he asked.

"Not now," Capt Baker bristled. "Alistair, explain!?"

Peeping over his eyelids, Alistair kept quiet.

"We've done everything in our power to protect you...and you...you go trailing across New London like some day tourist. Far out...you've spoilt the party and you've put us all at peril. I hope you have a bloody good apology for all of this," Capt Baker demanded and Delilah stood beside the man, her own arms folded across her chest. All the adults stared at him – you could hear a pin drop – and awaited his justifying account of events.

"It's my fault," Julian admitted.

"Shut up Julian," Capt Baker spat, shooting a warning finger at Julian without shifting his glare from Alistair. Nausea hampered Alistair and he plunged his head back in the sick bowl, vomiting.

"No, it's my fault," he whimpered.

"Damn straight," Captain Baker seethed without sympathy. "Do you know what a mess you've created? Sheer idiocy. Let that rifle-shock be a lesson to you the next time you want to go out, all guns blazing!"

"Tone it down, guv," Elvis suggested. Unclenching his jaw, Capt Baker stormed out of the infirmary.

"You're irresponsible Alistair," Delilah said with a hoity-toity air, taking up the slack. "You never learn. And you've ruined Christmas!"

"Delilah..." Julian interjected. "They weren't trying to be idiots, they just didn't know any better.

"Mr. Essex, youshould know better and if I wished for your opinion, I would address you directly."

"Don't be curt with me, my dear," Julian responded coolly. "It's been an exhausting day. I was merely going to suggest you lecture Alistair later, once we've all cooled down a touch. I can see from your agitated state that now is not the moment to be delivering sermons."

"I don't get agitated," Delilah stressed.

"Riiiight," Julian drawled. "So this is you in nurture mode?"

Delilah bridled, losing her train of thought, her cogs jarring at Julian's impertinent opinion on child rearing. Detached, she selected her words carefully.

"Alistair Raven...you must promise to never let me down again."

Alistair vomited.

"Oh very well, we shall discuss this later," Delilah conceded.

After supper, Nightengale discharged the boy and Alistair was escorted to his bed. Delilah silently whisked away his wet and dirty clothes. Her eyes were empty, regretful, disappointed, peeved. Alistair rubbed his hands as a tingling sensation began returning to his toes and fingertips. Sipping a mug of tea that Julian had kindly brought him along with a hardened, leftover scone, his nerves were still jangling.

Placing his head in his hands, he was dog-tired. Overhearing surviving soldiers discuss matters at hand, Alistair feared everyone was in jeopardy and that it was his fault. They'd limped home after skirmishes with prowling Guard patrols and they were on edge. Loyalist numbers had being cut to an eighth a mere three days before Christmas and their well-crafted plans had gone to awry. Alistair silently lamented that their hope to curry favour from the adults had been a Kitchener-esque exercise in failure.

"Get to bed," Delilah instructed, taking Balderick with her. Switching off the light and leaving him to his thoughts, Alistair was wracked with guilt. Feeling abysmal, he reflected upon recent events and duly concurred: if it wasn't for him, Archie would never have been arrested. And now... The what-if's continued to plague him.

Alistair lay on his back, looking at the seam of hallway light coming through the unclosed door. Out in the hall, Delilah tore strips off Julian before Capt Baker and Elvis and Rocket joined the squabble and Julian copped it from all sides. There was a sudden crash, cursing and Julian remonstrated with all of them. Yet, not once did Julian blame Alistair or Chelsea; he squared the blame on his shoulders.

Punches were thrown and ugly barbs hurled in all directions. Alistair cowered under his sheets as he heard Julian storm off, banging doors. This was followed by muted discussion as the adults walked away leaving him all on his own.

He closed his eyes. Quite unexpectedly, the sting of Robert's betrayal hit home and he replayed everything through his mind's eye. Eventually, Alistair closed his drowsy eyes; fighting his exhaustion, he rolled up in to the covers and fell asleep, hoping things would be better in the morning.

However, up in the mess hall, the adults and the soldiers flung caustic recriminations at each other, all equally afraid for their collective fate. So much for a Merry Christmas for all.