1644
DAY ELEVEN: WEDNESDAY
Oh how fresh and new a day feels when you walk out of some old woman’s house, carrying some of her property! Yes, I know how bad that sounds, but - no, wait, it is as bad as it sounds.
Look, she’s bed bound, no family to speak of, and all she desires as she lies there dying, is to be administered to by a holy man. The bit she doesn't need to know is my pilfering of her things while I’m there. Yes, well, your moral line is way behind mine. By some considerable distance.
Look, the way I see it is this stuff gets turned over to the town to disperse as they see fit upon her - surrendering to the burden of - uhm - breathing? I don't know why I can’t just say when she’s dead. Must be the guilt. Anyway, I tend to her, and no one else does, so if she knew it was happening, then she would probably be fine with it, but as she doesn't have to know, then sod her. I mean I only take a bit here and there, not like wholesale house clearance or anything. Though I do have to admit her living room is bereft of all but floorboards. I will be taking them, of course, on another trip, when I can get a cart up here unnoticed. Look, what did you expect when you started reading this? I think we already established that I’m a crook, some time ago? Besides, in ten days, whatever happens happens, and that doesn't usually happen to innocent people, now does it? It does? You sure? Oh, right -
Now, just look at that commotion over there? A group of men smashing that place up! Wait a minute - that’s Old Mawson’s Pawn Shop! Most of my stuff’s in there - kind of. Well, the stuff I pawned is in there, and so it’s technically mine - as far as I’m concerned! That’s my fireguard - that I pilfered from the Old Woman! This is not right! I need to do something - hey! That’s my Ballgown!
Right, that’s it! It’s got personal now. I need to go get the Clubmen. Although, they might still be smarting from the debacle of the New Model Army invasion, where, if you remember, they were distinctly absent? Of course I don’t blame them. If the roles were reversed, I would've been hiding under my bed until it all went away, probably like most of the Clubmen did. But it’s still worth bringing up, just to see their reaction, and the excuses they make.
Okay, I’m here now. Clubman Headquarters - or the old Theatre, Tinkerleys, as it used to be called. Everything’s something else nowadays, isn't it? Now, to find Edward Mobbs, and hope he is still convinced of my excuse for his being punched the other day.
“Senior Clubman Mobbs?”
“No, I’m Ted. Mobbs is in his office over there.” Idiot. Oh, right, I see him, in his - office? It just looks like a tower of books and stuff as a makeshift wall to me, but I suppose each to his own? Whatever that means.
“May I have a word?”
“Only if that word would be goodbye.” Oh, such wit! Such dazzling wit! At least look at me while you’re witting me!
“There are some men, deserters probably, smashing up and looting Old Mawson’s Pawn Shop. I think you need to get some Clubmen there.”
“Really? I need to, do I? You know I’m still not entirely convinced by your explanation of my unconsciousness the other day - that a bird fell on my head, from a stray shot from the battlefield.” Well that’s buggered that one, hasn't it? One of my best, too.
“Well, who knows - oh, I wanted to talk to a Clubman yesterday, but I seemed unable to find a single one? You know, when the New Model Army ran roughshod over the town?”
“You know, Rector, sometimes we cannot be in all places at once. We are limited by number, and that day we all happened to be in training -“
“Training? Of course.”
“Rector, if you really need some men to deal with this - incident - then I suggest you go to Cockley Street, where a squad is currently dealing with some troublesome refugees.” What was that? Did he just dismiss me with a wave? Well - alright, I’ve not got the time right now. I’ll mark this for a later encounter, Mr Mobbs. Hopefully before my time’s up.
Where did he say? Oh, Cockley Street, right. That’s a rough area. It’s not that far from where I found Flit in a gutter. And sometimes I wish I’d left him there, rather than employing him. Or that I had just hit him with a big rock. Or - oh, I’ve lost the energy for insults right now. I think Cockley Street is just down here -
“Come out of there, you scum!”
“Look you! No, we won’t I tell you!”
“Bloody scum! Do as Friggle says! Get out!”
“I won’t, isn't it!”
“Yard, Bilk, Sorrow, Repp - Repp! Leave that alone!”
“Aww! But she look so purty!”
“Hey you! Leave my bird alone! Isn't it!”
“Well, get out then!”
“Uhm -“
“What you want, Rector?”
“I’ve got a problem, up at Old Mawson’s Pawn Shop. Looting -“
“Can you not see what we’re doing here?” Yes, I know exactly what you’re doing here. You’re intimidating some harmless individuals out of their house, because, I don’t know, because you’re all complete bastards?
“Okay, but it was a direct order from Mobbs -“ Ah, that’s brought on a change of attitude.
“Right. Repp? Stay here. And keep your hands off her.”
“Can’t promise nuffin’.” That poor girl? Still, I think that Repp will get his comeuppance, but like I said before, no spoilers, remember?
This feels odd, you know? Leading these bods to the scene of a crime? Almost feels powerful. I could get used to this, you know? Maybe in another life - the one I invent after this one is done - I’ll be a Clubman. Well, a leader of Clubmen. Don’t think I could take commands from someone stupider than I am. I have a problem with authority, you know. In case that hasn't become blindingly obvious over the brief time we’ve had together? Here we are. And the looters are still here? Wow. They really are as stupid as they look.
“Is that them?” Hold on. There’s a new contender for the stupidity crown. Clubman Friggle. And they’re off.
I think the term heavy-handed could be applied to this scene, don’t you think? Ow! That has to hurt! Ow! See, now this is the problem with the Clubmen. Organised hooligans, the lot of them. I mean, just look at some of them? Broken teeth, broken jaws and broken noses. In fact there’s not much about them that isn't broken. It’s been a way to rise from the gutter of late, it seems. Another thing this war has to answer for. I’ll add it to the list, shall I? I don’t like to generalise, but - okay, I love to generalise. Anyway, my contention is that these Clubmen are criminals with a name. The only difference is the white ribbon they tie about their arm. I mean, look? That’s one of the Clubmen pocketing a snuff box. It just isn't right, is it? Hey, I can take the moral high ground if I want! At least the deserters are arrested now. I’ll follow them back to the Theatre. I want another word with their boss. Is that a mace that Clubman has hidden up his jacket? He’ll do himself a mischief carrying it like that.
Right, and with unseen rapidity, we’re back at the Theatre. And guess what? There’s Senior Clubman Edward Mobbs on the doorstep. Now that’s a stroke of luck!
“Mobbs, I definitely need a word right now.”
“Alright, Rector. If you hurry. And I have a title, you know.” I know. And I have a name. My name isn't Rector, you know. It’s - erm - Wilfred Posster, of course! Isn't it? I’m pretty sure it is - whatever.
“I hope you’re aware of the endemic problem within your Clubmen?”
“Problem? I see no problem?” That’s because you’ve got your head up your arse.
“You have a criminal element within your Clubmen.”
“You don’t say. Rector, I don’t mean to be rude,” Yes, you know whenever someone says that, almost immediately they are immensely rude. Wait for it, “But your place is the spiritual propensity of the people of Upper Vaxham. Mine is the criminal propensity of the self same. I don’t pretend to tell you how to minister to the spiritually needy, do I?”
“So, what you’re saying is -“
“Mind your own business. Yes. The men under my charge do exactly as much or as little as I allow them to do. That is all. Dismissed.” Wait, who does he think I am? A bloody recruit? What an arse.
“Alright, I get the point, but I would very much like to accompany your men back to the refugee problem. You know, for spiritual assistance?”
“Fine. Just keep out of the way, Rector.” Oh, give me a kiss you grumpy old shit! Right, they’re already moving. Better follow.
Well, that didn't take long. We’re back at the refugee house. The expediency of prose, eh? Anyway, we walked, in silence, through quiet streets, to this location. What did you want me to do? Describe the different levels of crap on the floor, according to viscosity, size and composition? Strange people -
“Back, I see?”
“Yes, Mr - Jones. Where’s our colleague?” Yeah. Where did that weasel go?
“Oh, him? Dunno, mate. Must’ve gone home, isn't it?” I don't like that grin on Mr Jones’s face. Actually I don't like anything of Mr Jones’s face. He’s got one of those faces. One of those faces you just, I don't know, you just want to hit, to stop it being like it is. Reminds me of those long haired pillocks, the ones who usually come for the Solstice? Strange that I haven't seen them as yet. They're usually here same time every year. That is, I imagine, if they can stop chanting to the sun, dancing round naked in the moonlight and eating those dodgy looking mushrooms. And trust me, if any of them were even marginally good looking, it would be worth going out at night. But they aren’t. They’re smelly, strange and wear incredibly baggy clothes, even on incredibly thin frames. Apparently, most of them don't eat meat. Can you believe it? I mean, meat? I’d eat it raw if I could. But Flit boils it beyond recognition in his stews, so it becomes something else, some kind of viscous fluid-like bag of greyness. Still, it all comes out the same way, eh? Just usually with the way Flit cooks meat, it comes out much faster than it really should.
“Repp? Repp! Bugger it. Yard! Get out the hooks!”
“Uhm - what are you going to do with -“
“Rector, keep out of it, okay?” Or what? I’d hate to think.
“Heledd, love? Stay up there, alright? Keep the kids safe, eh?”
“Whatever you say, Dewydd!” This is not right.
Is it?
Oh, God. I think I may have a conscience! Right, so everything's now gone to Hell in a hand basket -
“You have one more chance, Mr Jones, before I send in the boys -“
“That may not be a good idea.” Where on God’s slightly off-green Earth did Flit come from? And why isn't he home, washing the stains out of my breeches?
“Who the Hell are you?” I think the question usually, when confronted by Flit is - what the Hell are you?
“I’m one of them that’s taken yer friend, the handsy Mr Repp. Thing is he don’t have them hands no more. Here you go.” Yep, that’s two hands of a man alright. Detached from the rest of the arm, of course. I’d throw up, you know, but around here, who’d notice the difference?
“Yeah? What you gonna do about it? You’re one man - two, ten, twenty - oh shit!” Oh shit. Never were two words more accurately uttered. In fact I was about to say it, but he beat me to it. Yup, I think that may be just about every immigrant, refugee, home-grown poor from town, including their kith and kin - wow. I didn't know there were that many people this deep into Upper Vaxham! Just shows you what you don't know when you live on the richer side of town. And the Church and pub are hardly rich - but compared with this lot, they're very much an opulent dream. But Flit? Well, now I think about it, I suppose he belongs to somewhere? And that somewhere seems to be here.
Oh, you can hear the complaints of the Clubmen, how they're being man-handled, but no one’s going to really miss them. And if they do, well, what can I say? Sorry? But you have to look at it this way, these people have nothing, and when someone comes along and tries to take even that, frankly I don't blame them taking action, do you? They brought it upon themselves, the Clubmen. Maybe now, the rest of them might just heed the warning, that law and order only exists as long as both sides trust each other to abide by the edict of that law and order. Listen to me? I sound like a right politician, don't I? I might have found a new calling.
Well, maybe not. Too much paper work. And you’re always under scrutiny. Still, there’s plenty of opportunity for extorting money legally. And if it isn't legal at the time you perpetrate it, just make it a law and it soon will be legal.
But with the long days and nights - when would I get the chance to spend that money? And beat Flit around his soft, sentimental bloody head? The Roundabouts are bastards, certainly. but at least they understand the concept of respecting the people. They only go after those who deserve it. Those Clubmen went after them who didn’t, and this is the consequence. Bugger, now I’m reminded about the Roundabouts. Thanks?
But there goes the beautiful people of Upper Vaxham, back into the cracks, the holes, the slums and the darkness. And bye bye the White Ribbons. It’s all over, I suppose, bar the inevitable quip by the hairy insect, Flit. Just listen to these few, soft and gentle words, from the pit of darkness under Flit’s nose he laughingly calls a mouth, issuing forth an ancient and hidden terror, “Wanna know what happens to ‘em?”
“No, Flit. I feel bad enough that I've done something for the greater good as it is. Any more and I’ll have to take to my bed with fever.”
“Righto. Still want stew tonight?”
Oh, so eloquent speaks the creature from the hole in the ground -
Oh how fresh and new a day feels when you walk out of some old woman’s house, carrying some of her property! Yes, I know how bad that sounds, but - no, wait, it is as bad as it sounds.
Look, she’s bed bound, no family to speak of, and all she desires as she lies there dying, is to be administered to by a holy man. The bit she doesn't need to know is my pilfering of her things while I’m there. Yes, well, your moral line is way behind mine. By some considerable distance.
Look, the way I see it is this stuff gets turned over to the town to disperse as they see fit upon her - surrendering to the burden of - uhm - breathing? I don't know why I can’t just say when she’s dead. Must be the guilt. Anyway, I tend to her, and no one else does, so if she knew it was happening, then she would probably be fine with it, but as she doesn't have to know, then sod her. I mean I only take a bit here and there, not like wholesale house clearance or anything. Though I do have to admit her living room is bereft of all but floorboards. I will be taking them, of course, on another trip, when I can get a cart up here unnoticed. Look, what did you expect when you started reading this? I think we already established that I’m a crook, some time ago? Besides, in ten days, whatever happens happens, and that doesn't usually happen to innocent people, now does it? It does? You sure? Oh, right -
Now, just look at that commotion over there? A group of men smashing that place up! Wait a minute - that’s Old Mawson’s Pawn Shop! Most of my stuff’s in there - kind of. Well, the stuff I pawned is in there, and so it’s technically mine - as far as I’m concerned! That’s my fireguard - that I pilfered from the Old Woman! This is not right! I need to do something - hey! That’s my Ballgown!
Right, that’s it! It’s got personal now. I need to go get the Clubmen. Although, they might still be smarting from the debacle of the New Model Army invasion, where, if you remember, they were distinctly absent? Of course I don’t blame them. If the roles were reversed, I would've been hiding under my bed until it all went away, probably like most of the Clubmen did. But it’s still worth bringing up, just to see their reaction, and the excuses they make.
Okay, I’m here now. Clubman Headquarters - or the old Theatre, Tinkerleys, as it used to be called. Everything’s something else nowadays, isn't it? Now, to find Edward Mobbs, and hope he is still convinced of my excuse for his being punched the other day.
“Senior Clubman Mobbs?”
“No, I’m Ted. Mobbs is in his office over there.” Idiot. Oh, right, I see him, in his - office? It just looks like a tower of books and stuff as a makeshift wall to me, but I suppose each to his own? Whatever that means.
“May I have a word?”
“Only if that word would be goodbye.” Oh, such wit! Such dazzling wit! At least look at me while you’re witting me!
“There are some men, deserters probably, smashing up and looting Old Mawson’s Pawn Shop. I think you need to get some Clubmen there.”
“Really? I need to, do I? You know I’m still not entirely convinced by your explanation of my unconsciousness the other day - that a bird fell on my head, from a stray shot from the battlefield.” Well that’s buggered that one, hasn't it? One of my best, too.
“Well, who knows - oh, I wanted to talk to a Clubman yesterday, but I seemed unable to find a single one? You know, when the New Model Army ran roughshod over the town?”
“You know, Rector, sometimes we cannot be in all places at once. We are limited by number, and that day we all happened to be in training -“
“Training? Of course.”
“Rector, if you really need some men to deal with this - incident - then I suggest you go to Cockley Street, where a squad is currently dealing with some troublesome refugees.” What was that? Did he just dismiss me with a wave? Well - alright, I’ve not got the time right now. I’ll mark this for a later encounter, Mr Mobbs. Hopefully before my time’s up.
Where did he say? Oh, Cockley Street, right. That’s a rough area. It’s not that far from where I found Flit in a gutter. And sometimes I wish I’d left him there, rather than employing him. Or that I had just hit him with a big rock. Or - oh, I’ve lost the energy for insults right now. I think Cockley Street is just down here -
“Come out of there, you scum!”
“Look you! No, we won’t I tell you!”
“Bloody scum! Do as Friggle says! Get out!”
“I won’t, isn't it!”
“Yard, Bilk, Sorrow, Repp - Repp! Leave that alone!”
“Aww! But she look so purty!”
“Hey you! Leave my bird alone! Isn't it!”
“Well, get out then!”
“Uhm -“
“What you want, Rector?”
“I’ve got a problem, up at Old Mawson’s Pawn Shop. Looting -“
“Can you not see what we’re doing here?” Yes, I know exactly what you’re doing here. You’re intimidating some harmless individuals out of their house, because, I don’t know, because you’re all complete bastards?
“Okay, but it was a direct order from Mobbs -“ Ah, that’s brought on a change of attitude.
“Right. Repp? Stay here. And keep your hands off her.”
“Can’t promise nuffin’.” That poor girl? Still, I think that Repp will get his comeuppance, but like I said before, no spoilers, remember?
This feels odd, you know? Leading these bods to the scene of a crime? Almost feels powerful. I could get used to this, you know? Maybe in another life - the one I invent after this one is done - I’ll be a Clubman. Well, a leader of Clubmen. Don’t think I could take commands from someone stupider than I am. I have a problem with authority, you know. In case that hasn't become blindingly obvious over the brief time we’ve had together? Here we are. And the looters are still here? Wow. They really are as stupid as they look.
“Is that them?” Hold on. There’s a new contender for the stupidity crown. Clubman Friggle. And they’re off.
I think the term heavy-handed could be applied to this scene, don’t you think? Ow! That has to hurt! Ow! See, now this is the problem with the Clubmen. Organised hooligans, the lot of them. I mean, just look at some of them? Broken teeth, broken jaws and broken noses. In fact there’s not much about them that isn't broken. It’s been a way to rise from the gutter of late, it seems. Another thing this war has to answer for. I’ll add it to the list, shall I? I don’t like to generalise, but - okay, I love to generalise. Anyway, my contention is that these Clubmen are criminals with a name. The only difference is the white ribbon they tie about their arm. I mean, look? That’s one of the Clubmen pocketing a snuff box. It just isn't right, is it? Hey, I can take the moral high ground if I want! At least the deserters are arrested now. I’ll follow them back to the Theatre. I want another word with their boss. Is that a mace that Clubman has hidden up his jacket? He’ll do himself a mischief carrying it like that.
Right, and with unseen rapidity, we’re back at the Theatre. And guess what? There’s Senior Clubman Edward Mobbs on the doorstep. Now that’s a stroke of luck!
“Mobbs, I definitely need a word right now.”
“Alright, Rector. If you hurry. And I have a title, you know.” I know. And I have a name. My name isn't Rector, you know. It’s - erm - Wilfred Posster, of course! Isn't it? I’m pretty sure it is - whatever.
“I hope you’re aware of the endemic problem within your Clubmen?”
“Problem? I see no problem?” That’s because you’ve got your head up your arse.
“You have a criminal element within your Clubmen.”
“You don’t say. Rector, I don’t mean to be rude,” Yes, you know whenever someone says that, almost immediately they are immensely rude. Wait for it, “But your place is the spiritual propensity of the people of Upper Vaxham. Mine is the criminal propensity of the self same. I don’t pretend to tell you how to minister to the spiritually needy, do I?”
“So, what you’re saying is -“
“Mind your own business. Yes. The men under my charge do exactly as much or as little as I allow them to do. That is all. Dismissed.” Wait, who does he think I am? A bloody recruit? What an arse.
“Alright, I get the point, but I would very much like to accompany your men back to the refugee problem. You know, for spiritual assistance?”
“Fine. Just keep out of the way, Rector.” Oh, give me a kiss you grumpy old shit! Right, they’re already moving. Better follow.
Well, that didn't take long. We’re back at the refugee house. The expediency of prose, eh? Anyway, we walked, in silence, through quiet streets, to this location. What did you want me to do? Describe the different levels of crap on the floor, according to viscosity, size and composition? Strange people -
“Back, I see?”
“Yes, Mr - Jones. Where’s our colleague?” Yeah. Where did that weasel go?
“Oh, him? Dunno, mate. Must’ve gone home, isn't it?” I don't like that grin on Mr Jones’s face. Actually I don't like anything of Mr Jones’s face. He’s got one of those faces. One of those faces you just, I don't know, you just want to hit, to stop it being like it is. Reminds me of those long haired pillocks, the ones who usually come for the Solstice? Strange that I haven't seen them as yet. They're usually here same time every year. That is, I imagine, if they can stop chanting to the sun, dancing round naked in the moonlight and eating those dodgy looking mushrooms. And trust me, if any of them were even marginally good looking, it would be worth going out at night. But they aren’t. They’re smelly, strange and wear incredibly baggy clothes, even on incredibly thin frames. Apparently, most of them don't eat meat. Can you believe it? I mean, meat? I’d eat it raw if I could. But Flit boils it beyond recognition in his stews, so it becomes something else, some kind of viscous fluid-like bag of greyness. Still, it all comes out the same way, eh? Just usually with the way Flit cooks meat, it comes out much faster than it really should.
“Repp? Repp! Bugger it. Yard! Get out the hooks!”
“Uhm - what are you going to do with -“
“Rector, keep out of it, okay?” Or what? I’d hate to think.
“Heledd, love? Stay up there, alright? Keep the kids safe, eh?”
“Whatever you say, Dewydd!” This is not right.
Is it?
Oh, God. I think I may have a conscience! Right, so everything's now gone to Hell in a hand basket -
“You have one more chance, Mr Jones, before I send in the boys -“
“That may not be a good idea.” Where on God’s slightly off-green Earth did Flit come from? And why isn't he home, washing the stains out of my breeches?
“Who the Hell are you?” I think the question usually, when confronted by Flit is - what the Hell are you?
“I’m one of them that’s taken yer friend, the handsy Mr Repp. Thing is he don’t have them hands no more. Here you go.” Yep, that’s two hands of a man alright. Detached from the rest of the arm, of course. I’d throw up, you know, but around here, who’d notice the difference?
“Yeah? What you gonna do about it? You’re one man - two, ten, twenty - oh shit!” Oh shit. Never were two words more accurately uttered. In fact I was about to say it, but he beat me to it. Yup, I think that may be just about every immigrant, refugee, home-grown poor from town, including their kith and kin - wow. I didn't know there were that many people this deep into Upper Vaxham! Just shows you what you don't know when you live on the richer side of town. And the Church and pub are hardly rich - but compared with this lot, they're very much an opulent dream. But Flit? Well, now I think about it, I suppose he belongs to somewhere? And that somewhere seems to be here.
Oh, you can hear the complaints of the Clubmen, how they're being man-handled, but no one’s going to really miss them. And if they do, well, what can I say? Sorry? But you have to look at it this way, these people have nothing, and when someone comes along and tries to take even that, frankly I don't blame them taking action, do you? They brought it upon themselves, the Clubmen. Maybe now, the rest of them might just heed the warning, that law and order only exists as long as both sides trust each other to abide by the edict of that law and order. Listen to me? I sound like a right politician, don't I? I might have found a new calling.
Well, maybe not. Too much paper work. And you’re always under scrutiny. Still, there’s plenty of opportunity for extorting money legally. And if it isn't legal at the time you perpetrate it, just make it a law and it soon will be legal.
But with the long days and nights - when would I get the chance to spend that money? And beat Flit around his soft, sentimental bloody head? The Roundabouts are bastards, certainly. but at least they understand the concept of respecting the people. They only go after those who deserve it. Those Clubmen went after them who didn’t, and this is the consequence. Bugger, now I’m reminded about the Roundabouts. Thanks?
But there goes the beautiful people of Upper Vaxham, back into the cracks, the holes, the slums and the darkness. And bye bye the White Ribbons. It’s all over, I suppose, bar the inevitable quip by the hairy insect, Flit. Just listen to these few, soft and gentle words, from the pit of darkness under Flit’s nose he laughingly calls a mouth, issuing forth an ancient and hidden terror, “Wanna know what happens to ‘em?”
“No, Flit. I feel bad enough that I've done something for the greater good as it is. Any more and I’ll have to take to my bed with fever.”
“Righto. Still want stew tonight?”
Oh, so eloquent speaks the creature from the hole in the ground -
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