Hand to Mouth
An Iron Age Media prompt - The Protege.
The pallid sun only just manages to break through the looming clouds that threaten rain. In the squalor that is New Haven, I, Edgar Bagwell, can feel a void where my insides are, the growl of my stomach confirming that indeed I haven’t yet consumed myself. Little Gordy Montgomery’s stomach grizzles as if in answer, and as I tutor him in the art of counterfeit, I do my best to concentrate on the business at hand.
Our situation is thus, bad crops have yielded little harvest, it is as though there is a sickness in the land. The people of New Haven are starving and look to the mayor, who hides in his manor estate on his farm, only sending his goons, the Mc Neilly boys, to hand out what little food that is scrounged from who knows where. What is given is never enough, and so we seek more than out lot with these fake food stamps.
Handing them out to the desperate, I can tell already that there are more bodies than what I have stamps and so some are left out. Mr Holwell, an unfortunate who has been passed over before, kicks up a fuss. “But I was left out last time, I’ll show you Edgar Bagwell, and your stooge as well.” It’s never easy denying someone a simple request such as food, but these are the times we’re in, families with children take priority. Mrs Griffith, who’s got more children than is sensible in this day and age, asks Gordy for news of one of her lot, Oliver, who it seems has done a runner and up and disappeared. She doesn’t seem too broken up about it, one less mouth I suppose.
The bell tolls thrice in the town square and people leave to the outdoors, where the Mc Neilly’s start handing out what pittance they have from the back of their cart.
“You rabble form a line. Present your stamps and then move on.”
The people do as they are told, one by one they are seen to, and when they walk away what little hope they had is wiped from their face.
The crowd starts to murmur and a mob is forming.
“So little, every time it’s less.”
“She got more than me, I have three kids.”
The Mc Neilly’s recognize the turn in attitudes. “Ungrateful swine, move on. Next.”
With our attention on the mob, Gordy points to the cart. It seems Mrs Griffith has been found out; my counterfeits have been exposed.
“Hey you, this ain’t real. What’s the game here.” The Mc Neilly’s aren’t gentle, and escort Mrs Griffith away.
More people join the mob and a riot ensues.
“Hoarders.”
“You’re holding out on us.”
“We need more, no one can live off this.”
One Mc Neilly fires off a rifle, trying to disperse the rabble. The rioters are incessant, many forcing their way onto the cart in desperation. Another rifle shot is fired this time killing a man.
“You lot are ingrates; the mayor gives what little he has to you people and gets this in return.”
“You’ve done it now, there will be no more food.”
Gloom washes over the desperate crowd and they pick themselves up and trudge home. The Mc Neilly’s pack up and trot off, leaving behind them a corpse and many empty stomachs.
“That mayor, I bet he’s living like a hog in the fat house, there in his mansion. Someone needs to relieve him of his hoard.” Gordy says.
Looking into Gordy’s eyes I see contempt, but mostly I see what’s on most people faces, fatigue. “What are ya saying boy?”
“I’m saying we should go to him. No more handouts, take the situation in our hands and feed the people.”
I think for a moment in silence. “We’d need a professional, one who has knowledge in stealth.”
“I know of such a person, once he knows of today, he’ll be glad to help.” Gordy says.
And before I can say anything else, the impetuous boy has run off down the street and disappeared.
I wait at the tavern and calm my nerves with some ale until night comes and the shadows are long. I sit nursing my fourth ale, and from the corner of my eye the candle light flickers and from the darkness walks in a man who I have never seen before, his footsteps are silent and he moves through the crowded tavern inconspicuously as though veiled from the sight of others and I know this is my man. He approaches my table and introduces himself.
“Ho’ Mr Bagwell. I am Chesterman a friend of yer boy Gordy. He tells me that you have use for someone such as me.”
I sit up in my seat and inspect Chesterman’s face. He has long, fair hair and Stony Grey eyes with a scar under his left, Solemn yet not haughty. Can I trust this man?
“People starve Chesterman, word is they hoard food on their property. This night we are to sneak onto the mayor’s manor on Mc Neilly farm and lighten their load some.”
“Then I am your man.” Chesterman says.
“No man works for free, what is your price?”
“Half.” Chesterman says, stone faced.
“Half? You realize we’re doing this for the people, this is no petty burglary we’re undertaking.”
“I have mouths to feed as well Bagwell, you have need of my skills, the price is half.”
My hands are tied, but if he can get us into the hoard, it’ll be worth it. “If Gordy has your confidence, then so do I, half it is.”
“Where is yer boy anyway? Strange he aint here.”
“Strange indeed.”
We wait a couple of hours for Gordy to show and in that time, we discuss the Mc Neilly’s farm, trying to separate truth from tall tale of the whereabouts of the hoarded food. It is about midnight when something spooks Chesterman, we venture outside the tavern and he assails a cloaked figure, to my surprise it is Holwell, doing a piss poor job of shadowing us. Chesterman holds him down while we question him.
“Being a sneak isn’t your thing Holwell, what are you doing spying on us, SPEAK.”
Holwell is exasperated and fights to find the right words. “I didn’t, I wasn’t, you see…”
Chesterman brandishes a knife and holds it to Holwell’s pinky finger. “Should I take one of his finger Bagwell? Then maybe he’ll talk.”
“NO, no, please that isn’t necessary. You see, when you stiffed me earlier with the food stamps, I went to the Mc Neilly boys and tipped them off.” Holwell says, sweating.
“Then what are you doing here following us, where’s Gordy?”
“The Mc Neilly’s thought the counterfeit stamps were just the start and gave me food to find out more information. Please, not my fingers.” Holwell pleads.
“So, you sold us out to fill your stomach, what did you find out?”
By this time Holwell is in tears. “Nothing, I know nothing else, please, I know nothing of Gordy.”
“I think he’s telling the truth”, Chesterman says, “we should tie him up, give us time to do our business before he informs anybody.”
“Aye”, I say, and we tie Holwell up and leave him behind the tavern.
As it passes midnight, we can no longer wait for Gordy, so me and Chesterman acquire a horse and cart and Chesterman leads us to the Mc Neilly farm. We leave the cart at the borders of the farm and venture further in on foot, it’s pitch black and the only light is of the moon.
As we walk our eyes get used to the dark, and we stride a hill just yonder of two buildings. We stop and wait, surveying.
Chesterman points to one of the buildings. “That barn must be where they’re hoarding the food.”
We wait for any sign of movement from the Mc Neilly’s.
When it seems that no life can be seen, Chesterman volunteers to venture further in.
“I will penetrate the barn and when I have unlocked the hoard, I will signal you to come with the cart and horse.”
Chesterman disappears into the night. I see him by the barn and in a moment, he is through the doors. I wait for his signal.
Time passes and there’s no sign of Chesterman. Waiting I get nervous and wonder if I should see what is taking him? Have I been double crossed?
Before I make up my mind, I see what seems to be a child, walking from the house into the barn. Was that Gordy? What about Chesterman? I can be sure of nothing in the darkness. Before the situation can get the better of me, I sneak, nervously toward the barn.
Inside the barn I find rows of crates and inspecting them I find precious food. I should be happy, but where is Chesterman and the child? Searching further I find cellar doors, leading to the basement of the barn. I venture down cautiously and not far down the tunnel I hear moans and screams. Good sense tells me to turn back but I creep forth hugging the wall.
I regret this decision when I finally get sight of the source of the noise. A tall woman with Long black hair and a dress stained red with blood, is drinking the blood of a child, who in moments, she lets fall to the floor, lifeless. It’s Mrs Griffiths boys Oliver. While the townspeople starve, these foul creatures are gorging themselves on the blood of their children.
I am frozen with fear and pray to God to spare Gordy and myself of poor Oliver’s fate. Suddenly from behind I am hit with something hard and lose consciousness.
Coming to, I am kneeling before the tall woman with the red strained dress, Gordy is by her side. Surveying the room, I see the Mc Neilly’s with rifles, seemingly relaxed watching the horrific scene unfold. I see a cage of children, two alive, one dead, whose origin escape me, they can’t all be from our village, can they? Then they bring in Chesterman who is kicking and cursing. They kneel him before their mistress and without missing a beat, she slits his throat and watches with amusement on her face as he bleeds out.
“Please, please, spare me this unholy fate, spare Gordy.”
The blood-stained woman takes a dagger and slits her arm, making poor Gordy drink her blood.
Gordy, my protégé, the closest I have to kin, I prey you live to see another day.
When Gordy has had his fill, the Woman signals to Gordy and I am sure that my fate will be the same as Chesterman’s, Gordy approaches me with the dagger and without pause or regret, slashing mercilessly at my throat. I fall to the ground fighting to breathe, but the last thing I hear on this earth is my throat whistling and that woman’s soulless laughter.
The fate of the people of New Haven can be found in another piece of flash fiction called ‘Silent Night’.
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