Chapter 15. Tell it to your king
Physically, the wagon returning the workers to their homes that night was a man lighter than the one that carried them to the mine that morning. Emotionally however, the wagon’s chassis seemed to sag under the weight of the heavy grief and sadness that replaced Andrea Fuentes.
The bumps in the road coated the men in a thick, but fleeting cloud of dust that for a second masked the sombre reality of the day’s events. A small rock, unearthed by the moving vehicle had somehow found its way airborne and struck Lionel on the left cheek, leaving a dust riddled scrage on the surface of his skin. Lionel’s gaze, void of any real point of focus, was not interrupted. He stared into the approaching distance and felt neither physical nor emotional sensation. Classic stage-one grieving. Classic Lionel.
The beach that had been the scene of manic celebrations the night before now lay silent and eerie. A lone couple of figures in the distance held silent forum out of earshot. Lionel recognised them as Lucas and Daniella, but they may as well have been anyone for all he cared. The two prospective lovebirds heard the familiar rattle of the wagon as it passed, turning to wave enthusiastically, the way all Ducians greeted the home-coming of the breadwinners. When nobody returned their salute, Lucas and Daniella stared perplexed at the moving vehicle. They turned to each other and exchanged confused dialogue, before turning back to the sea and their conversation. The wagon rattled on towards the King’s Estate.
- You ok buddy?
Vasco knew how pathetic his question sounded, but pathetic seemed the lesser of the two evils; the other being the crippling silence that the men had shared for the journey up until now.
- I’m good. I just can’t shake the image of him disappearing over that embankment. He didn’t make a sound, man. He was just….gone.
- It wasn’t your fault Lionel. He should have been on his guard. He was trying to run too many shows at once. He was doing what he thought was right, but at the end of the day, it cost him. But hey, that’s Andrea!
- That was Andrea… He’s gone now! One bump of a bulldozer and there ends a life
- Buddy, it wasn’t your fault and you know it. You might have been at the wheel, but he should have been directing you, instead of sticking his unwanted finger into everyone else’s pies.
- And his punishment for that is death. Justice done, right?
- Come on man! I didn’t say that.
Lionel returned to the comfortable solace of his silent trance. He knew Vasco was trying to offer comfort, but this brief exchange of words had done nothing but exhaust him. If he felt like this after a few hours, then how would he deal with a lifetime of watching this mental video of Andrea falling backwards into the tailings pond? Over and over. The shortest, scariest movie of all time stuck on a never ending loop, playing on the cruelest TV set in the world, with no ‘off’ switch. Taunting him…forever!
Lionel’s mind interrupted itself, now offering him thoughts of Andrea’s wife. Jennifer Martinez had overlooked years of Andrea’s antics, including one instance of physical violence, which left her with a broken jaw, courtesy of Andrea’s alcohol propelled fist. Still, she adored the man and willingly played the doting housemaid role with poise and elegance. Andrea and Jennifer spoke openly and regularly about their eagerness to start a family whenever the next Right to Birth Vacancy opened up. A running joke amongst their friends was that Jennifer would actually consider murder in order to dispatch of one of the island’s current 61 residents to make way for their future bambino. This led to their guests joking that the food that Jennifer dutifully served them with was filled with poison. It wasn’t! She just loved people. None more so than Andrea.
This tragic news of her husband’s death would break her world into unfathomable little pieces.
The wagon seemed to become a different, more luxurious vehicle as it left the bumpy, uneven terrain that was typical of most of the island’s roads and drifted smoothly along the silky tarmac of the driveway of the King’s Estate. Lionel sat bolt upright at the sudden change in scenery. This felt real now! He’d never been to the King’s Estate for anything that wasn’t routine island business. Now here he was, approaching the dwellings of his Highness to report the death of his closest friend. The first opening of a Right to Birth vacancy since…well, since anyone could remember.
Mobile phones and such methods of remote communication did not exist in Ducie. Well…that is, they did not exist as far as Ducie’s residents were concerned. In reality, it would have just been too risky to allow Ducians access to an electronic version of the outside world in the palms of their hands. Far too risky! Because of the lack of communication devices, King Eduardo had had no prior warning of either Andrea’s death or the visitors now approaching his Estate. The first he knew of it was when the low chug of the wagon reached his ears, as he sat amongst an endless pile of paperwork in his carpeted study. Rising to answer the door, King Eduardo groaned as his ageing body protested against the unexpected exercise being inflicted on it after hours sat at a desk. There were no locks to disengage in opening the door; why would there be? Eduardo simply nudged the door open, letting in a rush of warm sea air and a chorus of cuckoo song. He was visibly surprised when he was greeted by this somber looking entourage that had crossed Ducie in an open-back wagon to see him. Even on an island this small you could still be surprised at who you find standing at your door sometimes. Shift Leader Hugo Valerendez took a step towards King Eduardo.
- Sir!
This simple word was how King Eduardo was addressed by Ducians. Not ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘Your Highness’, just ‘Sir’.
Eduardo’s eyes were still squinting as they struggled to adjust to the wealth of daylight that he hadn’t seen for the long hours he’d been indoors.
- Sir! I am sorry if we woke you, but unfortunately, we had no choice.
- Of course you didn’t wake me. It’s only….
Eduardo looked at a wrist at a watch that wasn’t there. He looked as confused and disheveled an old man as he was beginning to feel.
- What time is it exactly Hugo?
- It’s 7:30 in the evening Sir.
- Ok, ok. So what brings everyone here at this hour? I have nothing scheduled do I?
King Eduardo knew he was in far from prime condition at the moment and was more than capable of forgetting an appointment or an event he’d planned. The stress of running Ducie had reduced him to less than a quarter of the intelligent, driven man that he was when he accepted his role in all of this.
- We are here reporting an incident Sir.
- An incident?
At that moment, a piercing, high pitched sound echoed somewhere inside the estate and as it did, Eduardo let out a pained groan, grasping his temples as if trying to stop his head tumbling from his shoulders. Hugo and Lionel stepped forward to steady a shoulder each of the King.
- I’m ok, I’m ok. Just tell me about this incident.
- Sir, there’s no point me drawing this out for longer than I need to. We lost a man at the pit today.
- Lost? You mean dead lost?
- Dead lost, perished lost Sir. Andrea Fuentes. During the execution of an A.1 prevention exercise, Andrea fell into the tailings pond.
- A.1? What? How?
The King’s eyes darted left to right as if he were watching a tennis rally in double time, furiously scanning Hugo’s face for some clue that might reveal answers quicker than Hugo could spit them out.
- A fracture in the dyke perimeter, which I am happy to say is no longer a risk to Ducie, thanks to these men standing behind me… and thanks in some way to Andrea himself Sir.
- So your efforts to rescue Andrea were…
- Fruitless, Sir! I made the decision not to risk further loss in any futile efforts to save him.
- What? You mean you didn’t even try? You just left him to…
- Sir, with the greatest of respect, that pond is full of liquid far more sinister than water. Andrea vanished below the surface
instantly and any attempt to retrieve him would have put more of my men at risk. Not to mention that the fracture was still growing at that point. Ducie itself was at risk Sir.
- I understand Hugo. I just can’t… I just… Hugo, you made the right call. Everyone involved will be recognised for this. Please, come in and help me file the papers to make this official. The rest of you, go home to your beds! The mine will remain closed tomorrow. Spend time with your thoughts. Spend time with your loved ones. We are 60 for now, but we stand together and we will stand firm.
Hugo turned to his troops and nodded an unspoken validation of the King’s instructions. The men trudged obediently back to the wagon.
Hugo followed King Eduardo across the Sisal rug on the stone floor of the hallway and into the study, closing the door behind them. As the door closed, Hugo noticed Eduardo seemed to shed his weathered look of fatigue and take on a more nervous, fumbling version of himself. The King stopped dead in the middle of the study, as if he’d forgotten what they’d come in there for. He shook his head vigorously as if dismissing a crazy idea he’d just had. It was as if he had never given a thought to what would happen if a Ducian ever died. He was in uncharted waters. He spoke as his well-trained fingers spun a swift combination into the dial of the safe on his study wall.
- So...A Right to Birth Vacancy. I never thought I’d see the day! I just presumed it’d be me kicking the bucket to make way for the next Ducian before anyone else did.
- Sir, you’re in good shape for a man your age.
Hugo wondered how convincing he’d made that sound.
- Ahh, good shape, bad shape. It’s all irrelevant in the end, old boy! We’re all just here waiting for the holy one to say the word and then, zuupp….!
Eduardo made an upwards gesture with his hand that was presumably meant to represent someone being beamed up to the sky, or heaven, or somewhere.
- You’re a wise man Sir. But with many years of wisdom ahead of you still. It was Andrea’s turn to go today. He’s in a good place now. I know he is!
- Where his spirit is, nobody knows. What matters here for you and I, Hugo, is that his body lies at the bottom of that pond. That’s the real stuff! That’s why this Right to Birth Vacancy opened up. This is the business we must attend to.
The following couple of hours saw King Eduardo and Hugo Valerendez sink deeper and deeper into a sea of necessary paperwork and dull administrative tedium, as they persisted to document the loss of a close friend into a neat little package, suitable for filing away in a cupboard as part of Ducie’s short, but eventful history.
If the truth be known, well…some of it at least, King Eduardo was making up most of this process as he went along. The protocol for registering Andrea’s death didn’t even exist. At least not the process for registering the death in Ducie. The news would create enormous ripples elsewhere in the world however.
And with that, almost an hour after Hugo had left the estate and returned to his bed, the piercing, high-pitched sound echoed around the building once more, as the only telephone on the island of Ducie demanded the King’s attention. As Eduardo dragged his frail body in the direction of the hallway telephone, fighting to override the lethargic protests of every muscle in his body, he already knew who was on the other end of the line. Eduardo wasn’t psychic, nor did his telephone have a caller ID function. The reason he knew the identity of the caller, before he even lifted the handset was because the telephone in Eduardo’s hallway was not linked to any normal kind of telephony network. Rather, it was one half of a two-way designated line, linking Ducie Island to number 10 Downing Street, London. As he lifted the receiver, Steve Towerbridge skipped all the usual niceties and introductions common to normal phone calls and got straight to the bone.
- Pass code please…
Eduardo responded without a pause for thought.
- Whiskey, Victor, Alpha, Uniform, Papa, Three, Seven, Oscar, Victor, Alpha.
There was a brief pause on the other end of line, presumably as the password was verified by somebody; perhaps by Steve himself.
- Thank you Eduardo. Steve here. Can you confirm that the e-mail we received regarding the death of Andrea Fuentes, timed at 2103 hours Ducie time, 0503 hours UK time was sent by you?
- Yes Sir, I can confirm I sent it.
Eduardo was familiar with the security protocol he had to endure every time this telephone rang.
- And can you confirm Eduardo, that you are currently alone at the estate, you are speaking of your own free will and are not being forced to answer under false pretences in any situation similar to, but not limited to a hostage situation?
- Yes Sir, I can confirm I am alone.
Eduardo’s crippling headache was there again, but now the nervous adrenaline numbed it to the level of a minor irritation buried somewhere under the layers of his subconscious.
And from this Ducie evening and London morning onwards, a complicated, yet tightly bound secret began its sinister and deadly unravelling.