The Penal Colony (35 page)

“Wait! Martinson’s plannin’ to hit the
Village! Could be any day.”

“On his own, I suppose.”

“No. He’s anglin’ to scrag Nackett and
Houlihan. When he’s done that he wants to join the town and the
light. He can do it, Franks. He’s the cleverest bloke outside. He
knows we all want the ’copter.”

“And Martinson himself? What does he
want?”

“He wants you. He hates you, Franks. Says
he’s going to crucify you. Really do it. Really goin’ to nail you
up. Told me yesterday. I always knew he was barmy. I always knew he
had it in for you. But yesterday he told me for sure. He’s out of
his head. That’s why I got to get off the island. That’s why I’m
here. When he’s boss it’ll make now look like the good old days.
Only reason you’ve been safe so far is Houlihan. Houlihan won’t
risk fightin’ the Village. He’s nearly as clever as Jim, but not
clever enough. You got to take me with you. Me and my mate. We’ll
give you all the dope.”

“Why shouldn’t we just go out and kill Mr
Martinson?”

“’Cause it’s bigger than him now. ’Cause he’s
into the brain gang. The idea’s out. If you get rid of Jim one of
the others’ll take over. Do it my way and you get the S.P. on all
his moves. Do it my way and I’ll tell you how to block them.”

“In return for a hypothetical place on our
hypothetical boat. And one for your hypothetical mate.”

“Your boat ain’t hypothetical. I know. If
you’re worried about me and my mate, we’ll do our bit when we get
out there.”

“Out where?”

“To the lightship.”

Obie saw Appleton shoot a strange glance at
Franks, whose expression remained impassive. For a second Obie did
not twig what the glance meant. Then he did. “You ain’t goin’ to no
lightship. You’re goin’ all the way. Right?”

“It’s a shame about you, Obie. A shame you
picked the wrong side. We could have used you in the Village.”

“When’s it going?”

“When’s what going?”

“Me and my mate, we don’t want gettin’ left
behind.”

“You know what you’ve done, don’t you,
Walker?”

“What?”

“You’ve placed me in an impossible position.
If I agree to your proposal that’s as good as admitting that we
have a boat. If I don’t and let you go, you could still spread a
rumour that we have one. It looks very much as if we’re going to
have to kill you after all.” He paused. “On the other hand, I am
interested in what you have to say concerning Martinson. I would
like to know more. If we kill you that will be difficult. What do
you suggest?”

“I ain’t pressin’ on the boat. One hand
washes the other, right?”

“What if your information isn’t
reliable?”

“What if you go without me? I mean, us.”

“You forget, Obie. In the Village we tell no
lies.”

“You’ll take us, then?”

Appleton was evincing signs of alarm, which
Franks ignored. “If, as a result of your help, Martinson is
thwarted in his attempt to attack the Village and take control of
the island, I will be favourably disposed towards you. How that
favour will be manifested I cannot yet say.”

“Not good enough.”

“It’s that or a knife in the guts.
Choose.”

Obie felt his advantage go. He had lost.
Somehow, he had lost. He would have no guarantees. But he could not
go back. He had already blown the whistle on Jim. This way, at
least he would escape from the Village with his life. Had Franks
not held up his hand just now, Obie knew he would already be dead.
There was no doubt in his mind about that.

Franks went on talking. “And if you spread
the word about our hypothetical boat, and if the other outsiders
come to take it from us, your prospects of getting a place from
them will be exactly zero. I feel I should remind you of that.
Furthermore, if we lose the boat because of you, you will also have
earned my extreme displeasure. The consequences of that you are
familiar with from the past. So. Take your pick.”

Franks had left him nothing to choose. If
Obie failed to keep his part of the bargain, Franks would get word
to Martinson about this meeting. All that remained was to settle
the details of the betrayal, to arrange a clandestine rendezvous
where messages could be conveyed. All that remained was to hope and
pray and get down on his knees and beg that Martinson didn’t find
out.

Yes. Obie had been right. Coming here had
been a mistake, the worst in the entire blighted span of his
miserable, rancid, twenty-eight years of poxy life.

As soon as Stamper had brought the news about
the arrival of the outsider, Routledge had been sent from the
bungalow. He had gone to the carpentry shop where, having
calculated the required width of the rangefinder, he had sat
checking and rechecking the cutting-lists. His pleasure and
disbelief in his meteoric rise in status, in the realization that
the Father had taken to addressing him simply as “Routledge”, had
been completely overshadowed by the awareness that news of the
escape project had gone beyond the border hedge.

It was at the carpentry shop, half an hour
later, that Routledge saw Stamper next.

“Mr Routledge,” he said, beckoning from the
doorway.

Routledge rose from his seat at the
plan-table. Betteridge was standing by one bench, Chapman and
Ojukwo by another. They returned Stamper’s greetings and went on
with their work.

Outside, in the thin, cold, February
sunshine, Stamper rapidly drew Routledge away from the open door of
the shop and into the middle of the woodyard, moving him towards
the bungalow. “The Father wants to see you, Routledge.”

Not only was Routledge now addressed
informally by the Father: he had in consequence been admitted to
informal terms with Stamper also.

“Is it about that outsider?”

“Yes. The Council’s in emergency
session.”

On entering the laboratory, Routledge saw
that two trestle tables had been put together to make one large
table in the centre of the room. Franks was at the head, facing the
main door; on his right sat Appleton. Then came Foster, Sibley,
Thaine, Godwin, a vacant chair, and Mitchell. The vacant chair was
Stamper’s.

“Thank you for coming, Routledge,” Franks
said. “Take a seat.”

Routledge pulled a chair from a stack by the
wall. Thaine and Godwin moved apart to create a space.

The Council normally met once a week, on
Friday. Its decisions owed little to collective thought. They were
usually those of the Father, merely informed and refined by the
contribution of his advisers. But to serve on the Council at all
was to tread one of the most rarefied regions of the Father’s
favour, and Routledge, sitting down between two of its most
prominent members, could not for the moment absorb the knowledge
that he had been invited to join, however briefly and peripherally,
in the proceedings.

No direct sunshine reached the laboratory at
this hour and at this time of year. The light in the room seemed
unreal, derived at second or third hand from the normal, solid
world beyond the glass. Together with the arrangement of the
seating round the trestles, it put Routledge in mind of some sacred
medieval painting, freezing in time the gestures and attitudes,
each in turn, of the apostles. But there were only seven, not
twelve; and the repast consisted not of bread and wine but the
ruthless, unsymbolic substance of an agenda for survival.

When Routledge was settled, Franks nodded at
Appleton.

Appleton turned to Routledge. “Everything
spoken here must remain in the strictest confidence,” he said. “As
must the fact that the Village has received a visit from an
outsider. You are one of the few men to know.”

“I understand.”

“We have asked you here because you’ve been
inside Martinson’s hut. We need to know the layout.”

Routledge wondered how all this concerned
Martinson, what the Village intended to do to him, and why; but
knew better than to ask.

During his interview with Appleton on the
morning after his acceptance into the Village, Routledge had been
“debriefed” – that was the word Appleton had used – on his
experiences outside. Appleton had been mainly interested in any
names Routledge had been able to remember. He had not asked then
for detailed information about Martinson’s hut.

Routledge was given a pencil and paper and to
the best of his recollection drew the floor-plan. “That’s where he
usually sleeps,” he said. “This other room’s the store where he
keeps his weapons. The big room is the kitchen. The outer door is
kept barred at night.”

Foster said, “Could we force the latch
without making any noise?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about the walls? They look pretty
sturdy from the outside.”

“They’re worse inside. I couldn’t break out
of them. I had to make a hole in the roof.”

“How easy was it?”

“Quite easy. But he’d hear.”

“Now, Routledge,” Franks said. “I want your
opinion. Do you think it would be possible for us to get in at
night, kill Martinson, and remain undetected by the rest of the
towners?”

Routledge took a moment for reflection and
then said, “No, Father, I do not.”

Franks glanced at Foster. “I agree with him.
We can’t risk it. Much as I’d like to.”

“You’re saying we ought to let Walker go?”
Foster said.

“Yes,” Franks said. “That was my first
conclusion. Anybody got any further thoughts on that?”

No one spoke.

“All right,” Franks said. “Obie can leave the
Village.” He nodded at Stamper, who rose and left the room.

Routledge had the feeling that he himself was
just about to be dismissed. “Forgive me, Father,” he said, mentally
preparing to depart. “Did you say ‘Obie’?”

“Do you know him?”

“Yes. If it’s the same Obie, he was one of
the three who caught me.”

“Martinson being another,” Appleton said.

“Yes,” Routledge said. Looking back, he
discovered that, despite Obie’s part in his abduction, he had
rather liked him, just as he had developed a grudging respect for
Martinson.

Franks said, “Perhaps we should let Routledge
sit in for a while. He might be able to contribute something. Mr
Appleton, tell him what’s at stake.”

Appleton gave Routledge a concise summary of
the implications of Obie’s visit. As Routledge already knew, Obie
had somehow found out about the boat. He wanted a place on board.
In return he would provide details of a plot by Martinson to murder
the two outsider chieftains and unite Old Town and the lighthouse
settlement in common cause to attack the Village, kill the Father,
and take over the whole island. Such a contingency had long ago
been foreseen by the Father, but he had not yet decided how to deal
with the immediate problem Obie had posed.

There had been two alternatives, Appleton
said. The first, just rejected, had been to kill Obie right away to
prevent him spreading the story any further, and for a squad to go
in tonight to kill Martinson. Obie, however, claimed that he had an
accomplice. He also claimed that the plot had already got as far as
Houlihan’s brain gang, who, living as they did inside the
lighthouse, could not be disposed of so simply.

The better alternative was to let him go and
to make use of whatever information he provided, unreliable as it
might be. Advance warning of Martinson’s plans would be of enormous
value in defending the Village, if such a defence were considered
practicable.

“And the ketch?” Routledge said. “May I ask
what’s to happen to that?”

“The Father wants to postpone the launch,”
Appleton said. “We’re trying to persuade him otherwise.”

Routledge saw why the Father would take such
an attitude. Equally he saw why, just for once, he should not be
allowed to have his way.

“We come down,” Franks said, when Stamper had
returned, “to a choice of tactics. Straightforward defence we have
already discussed. The alternatives to that are simple. One: we
could give the outsiders their share of the helicopter drops. That
would remove their main source of grievance. Unfortunately it would
not be enough. They would want the entire drop. Then they would
want everything in the Village. Finally, the Village would be
destroyed anyway. Two: shall we follow the advice of Mr Foster and
certain other hard-liners? Is it now the time for a cull? My
objections to this, as always, have little to do with moral or
philosophical considerations. From the strictly practical point of
view, a cull would be worse than useless, because it would arouse
and mobilize even stronger feelings against the Village than
already exist and make an invasion not merely likely, but certain.
Until now we have remained unmolested for two main reasons. Archie
Houlihan will not risk a confrontation; and we have offered no
violence to the outsiders.” Franks removed his glasses, placed them
on the table, and rubbed his eyes. “Three. Since Houlihan is all
that stands between Martinson and us, shall we warn him that his
life is in danger? What will happen if we do? The brain gang will
learn that we know of the plot and in all likelihood Obie will be
identified as the informer, losing us the only advantage we have.
Four: shall we set Houlihan against Nackett and vice versa in an
attempt to make the outsiders reduce their own numbers? Well, if we
do that we shall only be playing into Martinson’s hands, since he
wants in any case to be rid of Nackett and Houlihan.” Franks
replaced his glasses and sat back. “Further suggestions, please,
gentlemen. Mr Sibley?”

Sibley shrugged. “You’ve covered it, Father.
That’s it.”

“Anyone? Anyone at all?”

When none of the others spoke, Routledge
shifted uneasily in his seat.

“Routledge?”

“There is something else we could do,
Father.”

“What’s that?”

“Poison them. Poison their water. Most of the
drums that get washed up seem to be marked with a skull and
crossbones. We keep all kinds of industrial chemicals in store.
We’d need something colourless and tasteless and highly toxic. Then
we go in at night and contaminate the wells. We might kill fifty
per cent, maybe more. Even if we didn’t, they’d never be certain it
was us. Each camp would blame the other, or they might put it down
to disease.”