Rosewar

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The pub was packed, dry and welcoming, but with a damp odour of beer and wet clothes. Their new companion was called Les and spoke to the landlord as soon as they got to the bar. Mary and Martin managed to order drinks, shouting above the hubbub.

The landlord rang the bell and shouted, “There’s a couple of people here from Rosehaven trying to get a take on what’s happening and asking if anyone has noticed anything odd going on lately.” 

Mary stepped forward and said in as loud a voice as she could manage, “We’re from Unity Accord and we’ll be here for about 20 minutes and are willing talk to anyone who has any ideas about what’s happening. Gossip is OK, but this is too important to mess about. You can speak to either me, Mary, or Martin here.” 

It soon became clear that opinions were not scarce. 

“What the fuck are they playing at joining the factions together?” said one. 

“If you ask me, it’s all got to do with these immigrants. They just look after their own,” said another. 

“That’s not true, and you know it,” said someone behind them. “I’ve been on the council here for years.” 

Mary looked around. “Is that you Simon? I haven’t seen you for ages. How’re you doing?” 

“Battling on, Mary,” giving her a quick hug. 

Mary poked Martin in the ribs and shouted over the racket. 

“I’m just going for a word outside with Simon. I’ll be back in a minute.” 

“What? Oh, right,” sneered Martin, taking a gulp of his pint. 

Outside with the smokers, Mary leaned close to Simon and said in a low voice, “We haven’t talked to that many people so far, but two of them have mentioned groups of immigrants and a sign sprayed on the walls around here. You know anything about that?” 

“It’s really serious stuff. Dangerous even. I don’t really want to get involved because I don’t want anything to happen to my family.” 

“You risked your life to come to this country, Simon. Tell me. I won’t say where it came from.” 

Simon kept looking over his shoulder, his eyes flitting everywhere. There are a lot of them who really like it in this country and aren’t really up for causing trouble, but they’re being forced into it by these ring leaders. They’re not too happy.” 

“OK. I also heard you say you’re on the council. Can we meet with any of the leaders? I know it’s a long shot.”  

“You’re too late. They had a meeting after the planes this morning. They’ve all left. It’s a disgrace,” he spat. 

“You’re a diamond, Simon; I’ll let you get away. I need to get back inside to my partner and see what he’s found out. I don’t really know him that well, so I need to keep an eye out.” 

A wave of tiredness crashed over her as she went back into the pub. It was about eleven, and she‘d been wound up all day. Martin was still at the bar. 

She poked him again. 

“You found out anything useful?” 

He rubbed his thumb and index finger together as if he were feeling the quality of cloth. “Not really, a few people complaining about youngsters just leaving at the first sign of trouble, and others about the immigrant situation here. Apart from that, it’s just been faction shite. You?” 

“Maybe,” Mary said, then repeated most of what Simon had said. She left out that some of them were reluctant. She’d wait and see how things played out. 

“What about the graffiti?” 

“Damn! I completely forgot. Agh. Give me a sec and I’ll see if he’s still out there.” 

A few moments later she returned, shaking her head. 

“Well done, Mary.” Martin winked. “Anyway, I think we’re done here. Let’s move on. I say we walk to Seaton. It’s not that far and the rain’s stopped, hasn’t it?” 

“Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go.” 

Outside, they took a second to get their bearings, then turned left to go to Seaton.  

“Hang on a minute,” Martin said. “I need to go back to the pub. You stay here. I won’t be a sec.”  

Mary was looking at her watch when she heard a low whistle. 

“Oi,” came a voice from the shadows. “Over here.” 

Trying to look as if she weren’t in some second-rate spy movie, she casually moved towards the voice coming from the butcher shop doorway. 

“You might be interested in this.” The man in the shadows pushed a sizeable piece of paper into her hand, then rushed off into the dark wet night. The paper smelled of oil, which Mary thought was at odds with the aroma of meat coming from the shop. 

Gone. 

Mary took out her dim little torch and shone it on the crumpled piece of heavy, high-quality paper. It was some kind of electronic schematic, some of it smudged.  

Martin returned and looked at the paper over her shoulder.  

Still peering at the details, Mary said, “There’s something there at the top. It’s a guidance something, but the rest of it’s been torn off. Can you see it?” 

Martin rubbed his fingers, thinking. “It’s got the same sign that we’ve seen sprayed on these walls.” 

“We’re on to something; we’re on the right track. Come on,” she said, putting the paper in her pocket. “Let’s go.” 

They were both quite glad it was a short walk to Seaton. So much had happened so far that evening; they were both feeling exhausted when the heavens opened again, and it poured with rain. They weren’t too tired to miss the sign sprayed by the road, though. 

These days, Seaton was a commuter dormitory town for Rosehaven, and as with Mooredge, the first sign of life was a brief whiff of sweet-smelling smoke in the rain, which made them notice the gang of teenage bikers hanging around across the road.  

The bikers exchanged uneasy glances and threw away their smokes as they approached, but Martin explained who they were and why they were there.  

The lanky one hesitated, glancing around as if checking for anyone listening. “Look… it’s not really our place to tell…” 

One of the shorter kids nudged him. “Mate, we’ve got to trust somebody. Don’t make it worse.” 

The lanky one swallowed hard. “Okay, fine… guns. Lots of guns. Locked up somewhere. It’s dangerous as fuck.” 

Martin nodded slowly, keeping his voice calm. “Right. Can you show us? We need to know where they are.” 

The youths exchanged another nervous glance, then one shrugged. “Alright. We’ll take you on the bikes. Hop on, but stay quiet.” Thankfully, the rain was easing off.

No spare crash helmets here. Soon after passing under a disused railway arch, they stopped at an old railway storage tunnel with its door smashed open. 

“It was fine this afternoon, wasn’t it?” The boy said, looking at his mates.

They all nodded. 

Martin took charge. 

“Shine your headlights inside.” 

It was like an arched brick storage space. Like half a tunnel, but maybe only 20 metres long. Water was dripping from the roof in places; a strange oily smell hung in the air. 

Mary couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was being watched. There was nothing she could do about it, but these kids could be anyone. 

There were large, empty, metal-edged plywood crates strewn around. The mysterious sign stamped on their sides. 

Mary and Martin had no way of answering the group’s questions that were coming thick and fast.  

Martin ran his finger along a smear of oil in one of the boxes and put it to his nose.  

“Gun oil.”  

Mary’s head spun, the gorgeous smell of bread replaced by gun oil. What’s happening to me? 

Martin just nodded and rolled his hands as if to say to Mary, “Let’s go.” 

He paused. “Any of you heard anything about groups of immigrants?” 

“Nothing about them here. They say they come in at Havencastle. The beach is ideal there.” 

“Yeah, and nobody’ll talk about it. It’s like they’re afraid of something, even more than the factions.” 

Martin held up some cash. “This can be yours if you’ll take us to Havencastle now. You up for it?  

After 10 minutes of freezing on the back of the motorbikes, they were left wet and shivering on Havencastle village green, with no feeling in their fingers.  

“God, my sister… used to give me hell… for never dressing for the weather.” Martin stuttered, folding his arms around himself for any possible extra warmth.

“She was right.”

Only the hotel was open. They went in. The warmth grabbed them like a long-lost friend.

A receptionist laughing at her book barely glanced up. “Can I help you?” 

They both flashed their ID.  

Martin didn’t mince his words. “We need to speak to someone about immigrant landings at the beach.” 

She stood, straightened herself up, and said, “Why don’t you let me contact the owner, although it’s a bit late. Come, you can wait in the dining room.” 

Soon, the girl brought a pot of tea with a couple of towels to dry themselves with, and said the owner should be about 20 minutes. 

A little dryer, they checked they were alone and brought out the schematic, examining it more closely on a table under the lights. 

“You’re right, Mary. I’m sorry. This does look important, and it looks like it’s military-grade.” 

Mary took another sip of hot tea. “It has the sign; it’s obviously foreign going by the writing. It could be Arabic or something.” 

Martin nodded. “And it says ‘Guidance’ something, so we’ve got to assume it’s something to do with the bombers. Maybe some kind of beacon? What do you think?” 

“Who can say? But anyway,” Mary said, “I keep meaning to ask. Did you get any more info when you went back to the pub?” 

“Nah, but…” 

“Oh well,” she interrupted, “anyway. Right now, we need to work out what we need to ask this owner before he gets here.” 

No matter what Martin said, Mary still felt that he was holding something back. She still didn’t trust him. 

As they were talking, a tall, thin, dark-haired man with a big black beard appeared at the dining-room door and, speaking in halting English, said. “I see many guns today. I do not want here my family danger same as home.”  

Mary shot back, “At Seaton?” 

“No, here, beach.” and then he was gone. 

Mary dashed after him, but he was gone. The only sign he’d been there was a slightly pungent, spicy scent hanging in the air.

“Damn! He might’ve known something about that sign.” 

Her eyes darted about the place as if trying to tie the guy at the door with the guns. Tie the hotel and the guns? It would be somewhere to keep them, she supposed. 

Had the immigrants come to kidnap young graduates? That was too far-fetched, but then this whole thing was mental. 

 Maybe these kids had run away. The thing is, if they had, Heritage Front or New Tomorrow would have them by now, and fuck knows what they would do with them. 

All the conversations, admissions, and discoveries were whirling round her head. Signs, guns, pubs, bikes…… 

And, as Martin would say, this fuckin’ device schematic. What was that all about? 

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