Free The Village King by Eddie McGarrity Page A

here’s
something else everyone’s too afraid to ask.”
    Stephen looked Charlie right in
the eye when he said that. They had been discussing Morgan. Loose tongues, due
to whisky, had confided in Charlie late at night. Some soldiers had told him
the unit had kept their discipline through Morgan but were long ago cut off
from any chain of command. Charlie shared this with Stephen.
    Stephen stood at a makeshift
paddock the soldiers had created next to the manse. Two horses, previously
owned by the dead soldiers, had trotted over to see them. Stephen had promised
the horses to Alana and Karen, hoping they would not have to be slaughtered for
food. Alana showed Karen how to feed the first horse with an apple. Dressed in
her new clothes, and pair of just too big trainers, Karen followed her
movements and the second horse snaffled the apple out her hand to the girl’s
obvious delight. The sun was shining, probably the last of the autumn warmth.
    “So what’s this thing, people are
too afraid to ask?” Stephen spoke gently but directly.
    Charlie cleared his throat. “We
need, we need another constable.” He tried a nervous smile. “I’m glad Paul’s
gone.” Charlie glanced at three fresh graves in the church yard.
    Stephen glanced at Alana. She
gave a short noncommittal shake of her head, unseen by Charlie. Stephen said to
the man, “You want the job?”
    “Not at all,” Charlie said
squarely. “I want on the council.”
    “Good luck on the vote,” said
Stephen, then he sighed. “I’ll think about it. Until then...”
    Charlie nodded. He knew what
Stephen meant. Until there was a constable, Stephen would be the law and order.
Charlie waved them goodbye. He ruffled Karen’s hair. She pulled back,
disgusted, and Stephen thought Alana was going to hit him.
    When he had gone, Stephen turned
his attention to the horses, but spoke to Alana. “You don’t fancy it?
Constable?”
    She laughed. “Chief Constable,
maybe.”
    He smiled. They had spent the
night together again and he had enjoyed every minute. She looked him in the
eye, a wicked glint shone out.
    From on top of his junkyard gate,
Gareth started ringing his bell.

26
     
    M organ’s
Unit of ten rode
into the village. Morgan sat up on his horse like he had a steel rod in his
back. The others looked exhausted. Chin straps had already been unclipped. Two
of the men walked, pulling their horses, each with a deer strapped over the
saddle. Every one of them was grubby, in contrast to their normal well turned
out selves.
    Morgan stepped down from his
horse and handed the reins to Lieutenant Baxter. Weaver held back and stayed on
his horse outside the cattle-grid, as if sniffing the air, which still had the
stale smell of charred wood from the ruined hall. He was looking around as the
rest of the unit lifted themselves off the horses and threw down their helmets.
A few fell onto the grass and lay back in the sunlight. Gareth quietly climbed
down from on top of the gate.
    Weaver shouted out towards the
manse, “Pilrig. Jones.” No response from the soldiers they had left behind.
Weaver seemed troubled. He caught sight of three fresh graves in the cemetery.
“Colonel Morgan?” he called out, alarm in his voice.
    Morgan turned. He was on the path
to the manse. Silver pistols shone in the sunlight. A few of the men sat up at
Weaver’s tone. Morgan’s eyes blazed. There was a massive crack. Morgan’s head
exploded and his teal beret flew into the air. He dropped to his knees.
Soldiers dived for their weapons.
    “Cease fire! Cease fire!”
    Weaver’s horse spun round. He had
a pistol out and was trying to see, yelling, “Who gave that order?”
    Stephen emerged from his hiding
place within the gate. “Cease fire!” he shouted. He had the shotgun in his
right hand. He grabbed the horse’s bridle with his left and jammed the shotgun
into Weaver’s neck. As Weaver aimed at Stephen, the shotgun was fired. Weaver
fell back and Stephen let go of the horse. Shots