Authors: Bob Atkinson
“Or to pose the question afresh: One of the
gentlemen in this room has been granted the power of pit and gallows over the
other. Allow me to demonstrate…”
He nodded at his henchman, who brought another
crunching blow down on top of Sam’s head. This time the chair remained upright
only because the blow was absorbed by the American’s skull and vertebrae.
Sam was vaguely aware of Shawnee’s pleading
tones. “…Tell you anything you wanna know. Don’t hit him again.”
The officer moved beyond Sam’s field of vision.
“There are few scenes more touching than a
maiden’s tears shed for her loved one. Most touching indeed…” Leisurely he
paced the floor until his stroll brought him once again before Sam. “So then,
what facts have been set before us? We have a gentleman — or not as the case
may be — abroad with his good lady, in a country embarked in open rebellion
against its rightful monarch. ’Tis plain to see that neither you nor your lady
have been weaned in this barbarous climate, therefore what business have you
here? Had you survived some calamity at sea you would most assuredly have
presented yourselves to one of His Majesty’s garrisons. Instead you choose to
make your way into this nest of vermin, ’pon the very day chosen to stamp out
the spirit of rebellion in this valley.”
In the silence that followed, Sam could hear
sobs breaking from more than one female breast. He realised another prisoner
was being held with them.
The officer stood directly over the American, as
if he was about to exchange roles with his henchman. The redcoat backed away,
appalled at the prospect of occupying the same space as his master. The officer
studied his prisoner for a few moments before he began to pace the floor again.
“Let us consider the question of your garments.
When apprehended your attire consisted of these strange jerkins, the short
boots ’pon your feet, your underclothing. Clearly you have divested yourselves
of your outer garments. Given the cruel climate of these hills why would one do
such a thing? What would one hope to conceal by this act? Is it possible that
garments of an incriminating nature have been discarded? Garments such as the
uniform of an enemy state perhaps? And yet, I perceive no sense there either.
Clothed in French uniform, even to the point of taking up arms with these
rebels, you would be assured of fair and honourable treatment by His Majesty’s
forces. One can only assume you have sought to conceal something else by this
action… perhaps the involvement of a nation whose interest in this rebellion
has been hitherto unsuspected…?”
Sam snorted in derision. “…Stupid, ignorant
sonofabitch…”
For the first time the officer appeared ruffled.
“I warn you, sir, ’tis naught but my forbearance keeps your life’s blood in
your veins. Make no mistake of it; should I grow weary of this sport you will
most assuredly bid farewell to life this day.”
“What is it y’wanna hear?” cried Sam. “Would it
make any sense if I said that… that we sailed to Scotland on a ship from… from
France? Is that it? Is that what y’want us to say?”
The officer regarded him with wary interest. “If
that be the truth of it, then that is what I should hear, for I desire nothing
less.”
“The truth, huh? Right… Hell… How about this:
The… uh… the ship sailed from Paris and landed us on a beach on the west coast
of Scotland. Aah… the ship was carrying silver bullion, which was… ah buried
somewhere near the beach…”
“Silver bullion?” the officer remarked, a faint
spark of interest in his eyes. “And the purpose of this bullion?”
“To… ah… to pay the Scotch army…”
“The devil you say! And you would know the
location of this treasure?”
“Yeah, it’s buried on a beach near… ah… near
Edinbourgh. Our job was to… uh… to get the location of the bullion to these… these
Scotch soldiers fighting for… ah… for Robert Bruce…”
He thought he’d been doing reasonably well,
until he heard Shawnee groan: “Oh, Sam…”
The officer reappeared before him. “By God you
are insolent, sir! You think to take me for a damn fool…”
Angrily he nodded at his underling. With a growl
of pleasure the redcoat rained a flurry of blows upon the American. As Sam
struggled to understand his faux pas he felt his nose break with an agonising
crack, and tasted the brackish flavour of his own blood. He heard Shawnee
pleading on his behalf, but his torment only ended when chair and prisoner were
knocked to the ground. The soldier hauled both upright, eager to continue, but
his master stayed his hand.
Sam was dimly aware of Shawnee trying to
intercede with her version of the bullion story, but the officer would have
none of it. He realised then, battered and semi-conscious though he was, that
he’d become a challenge to this man; that his subjugation was now an issue in
itself.
Sam could hear the soldier cackling as he threw
water over him. He could barely see out of his left eye. Blood was streaming
from his broken nose, and from the battered lump of meat that was his mouth.
The officer was addressing him again: “You will
have listened, as I have, to the discharge of muskets in the valley beyond.
’Tis a sound that pains me doubly. My men were under strict instructions to
proceed from one end of this rebel nest to the other, dealing with them as
befits such vermin, but without issuing the least noise. Well, you may judge
for yourself what has become of that scheme. However, what further perplexes me
are reports of strangely clad troops wielding what I am assured are devilish
weapons against the King’s forces.”
The officer waited for some response. After a
lengthy silence he continued: “No matter. We shall know soon enough who they were.
The silence you now hear says more to me than any runner with a message. But
what to make of it all… Two strange fish, in the same pool, ’pon the same day.
Happenstance, perhaps? I think not. Now come. You will be so good as to furnish
me with the truth of your presence in this valley, ’pon this day of all days…”
“The truth…?” Sam repeated, through bloated
lips. “…Y’wanna hear the truth…? Here’s the honest t’God truth… I left the city
of angels ’n flew ’cross the ocean… ’cause the woman I love wanted… to walk in
the sun… in the land of her father. Only… the sun went out… World came to an
end ’n the freakin sun went out…” His voice fell away in bitter laughter, which
collapsed into a fit of coughing.
The woman was now weeping uncontrollably. The
officer could see that something in this gibberish had struck a lover’s chord.
He dismissed the face of his henchman and leaned over his prisoner.
“This city of angels; tell me more. Where does
it lie? France, perhaps, or Spain…?”
The prisoner’s eyes glared defiantly back at him
out of a broken face. The officer shook his head in frustration. He was about
to allow his bull mastiff off its lead once again when his question was
unexpectedly answered.
“America… The city of Los Angeles is in
America…” said the prisoner’s woman, her voice trembling with emotion as she
sought to intercede once more on his behalf.
“America…?” the officer repeated. “The city of
Los Angeles in America…” He turned the words around in his mouth, as though
savouring their flavour. “I am not altogether unfamiliar with the Spanish
tongue… Los Angeles: The Angels… ergo, the city of angels.”
He looked at his female prisoner.
“…I think, perhaps, somewhere here lies the key
to this mystery. I think, moreover, the key may now be inserted into another
lock altogether.”
The officer’s path had taken him out of Sam’s
sight. Desperately he tried to regain his attention:
“…Hey, fella, I’m the one y’want… I’ll tell yuh
what… y’wanna know. Leave the lady alone, y’hear?”
“Sir, you think me capable of mistreating a
lady?” The voice carried genuine offence. “The whores and whelps of Jacobite
rebels I would despatch without compunction, but a lady? By my oath, sir, may I
be damned if I have ever mistreated a lady!”
He issued a sharp command at his underling and
immediately Sam’s chair was spun round, so that he might observe the officer’s
conduct.
Shawnee was seated at an old wooden table, as though
waiting for a meal to be served. Beside her sat the young woman they’d seen
earlier. She was barefoot and clothed in a red tartan shawl and saffron dress.
Although similar to Shawnee in colour of hair and freshness of complexion, the
Highland girl was much more earthy and robust than the American. Both were
bedraggled and tear-stained. Strewn on the table before them lay Sam and
Shawnee’s backpacks; they seemed to have been discarded as uninteresting after a
cursory inspection.
“Hi there.” Sam managed a mangled grin. “Last
time we come… to this restaurant… huh?”
“Oh, Sam…” The tears began to course down
Shawnee’s cheeks once again.
“Hey, c’mon… s’gonna be all right…”
“As you may judge for yourself, sir, no harm has
befallen your good lady. As for her newfound friend: Mademoiselle, I urge you,
do not concern yourself with this creature. She looks upon you as a stray puppy
looks upon a kindly face. ’Tis no more than that. I am familiar with the vermin
who infest these hills. They are a breed incapable of higher thinking. Few of
them possess the wit even to understand common English.”
He turned his stern gaze upon the woman, who
shrank before him like a whipped cur.
“But, to business. You speak of this city of
angels that lies within the Spanish colonies. ’Tis a long voyage from the new
world to the old. Does King Philip think he can thus remain unnoticed while he
meddles in His Majesty’s affairs? By God, such treachery would be no great
surprise. ’Tis but the span of one generation since Spanish forces landed on
these shores to ferment the last rebellion. Much as any Englishman despises the
French they at least are honest in their support for the Pretender.”
This drew no response from his audience. On the
contrary, the prisoner and his woman had taken to gazing into each other’s eyes
like lovelorn fools. He resolved to try a subtler route.
“Though modesty forbids that I should take pride
in it, I must confess I am a gentleman of considerable learning. Yet you have
me at a disadvantage, for nowhere have I learnt of a city of angels in the
Spanish colonies. I have heard men speak of an El Dorado; a land of gold. But a
city of angels… tell me, where lies this Los Angeles?”
Shawnee looked helplessly at Sam, clearly with
no idea how to turn the situation to their advantage.
“ ’Bout four hundred miles… south of San
Francisco,” Sam mumbled.
“San Francisco…?”
“S’right… Lies a hundred miles… west of
Sacramento…”
“Sacramento…?”
“…State capital of California…”
Sam’s pain and anger had got the better of him,
and he’d given into the perverse pleasure of feeding his enemy’s confusion.
“California? What stuff and nonsense is this…?”
“California’s one of the fifty… states of the Union,
pal.” Sam’s bloated lips spat out their staccato vengeance. “All part of the
United States… of America. See, you don’t know it yet… but you gotta whole
mess… a trouble heading your way… in ’bout thirty years from now… you’re gonna
get… your Limey asses kicked… all the way from Concord… to Yorktown.”
“Enough!” the officer barked, his face red with
anger. “You think to play me like a damned fool with this… this… poppycock!” He
pulled the flintlock pistol from his waistband and pointed it directly at Sam’s
head.
“No! Please,” cried Shawnee, “he doesn’t know
what he’s saying…”
“Don’t beg him,” said Sam. “He may be dumb… but
he’s not stupid… He knows he won’t kill me.”
“You think not, by God…?”
“S’right. Without me you’re gonna learn
nothing…”
“I have the woman. She will tell me all I need
to know.”
“Yeah, y’could try that,” Sam replied with a
coolness he did not feel, “But what do women know of the world? Huh? D’you
wanna take the chance…?”
The officer lowered the pistol, then stood in
silent contemplation for a moment, before levelling the weapon once again at
the American’s head.
“I think I may shoot you anyway, sir, for the
pure pleasure of it…”
At that a slow smile spread across his face. Sam
watched the smile die as it met the ice of his eyes, and suddenly, like a
sleepwalker who has awoken on the edge of a cliff, he saw his own extinction
yawning before him.
“…Lieutenant Giles Longholme was the, ah, the
second in command of the garrison of… of Fort William.” He heard Shawnee’s
voice in the background. “The garrison consisted of six hundred men, drawn from
three different regiments. Lieutenant Longholme was instrumental in the
successful defense of the fort during the Jacobite siege. After the siege had
been lifted he led a force of one hundred and twenty men into Glen Laragain,
with orders to carry fire and sword from one end of the glen to the other…”
The officer continued to point the pistol at
Sam’s head, but his attention was focused on the soft tones of the woman. She
continued to quote from the book she held in her hands.