Chapter 9:
Night Grows Darker
"Patrol!"
The single word echoed through Baile Saoirse. For a moment, everyone inside the castle froze, then a flurry of activity began. The newly installed electric lights inside the tower were turned off, lest any of the light leak through the blackout curtains on the windows. The courtyard and keep were cleared of any items that had been stupidly left out in the open. The occupants raced to the cover afforded by the tower, hiding themselves from the helicopter that passed overhead.
As the sound of the chopper grew louder, silence descended within the castle. The dull clacking seemed to bore into their brains, threatening discovery, arrest and death. The very sound seemed to shake the ancient ruins, causing the curtains to billow as the occupants hastily pinned them down. Every person envisioned the same image: the black insect-like body with its blades spinning above it, manned by faceless black-clad Thought Police ready to pounce on anything out of the ordinary. As one, the inhabitants held their breath, then the sound faded, and they exhaled.
"It's gone?" said Constance through the darkness inside the tower.
Thomas nodded, even though she could barely see him, then ran up the spiral stairs to the top of the tower. He waited for the helicopter to disappear completely.
"All clear!" he called.
The tension immediately defused. Andrew turned the lights back on to reveal Renee and Constance sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall and Thomas coming down the stairs.
"And that concludes our daily patrol," he said. "When's supper?"
"Aren't you cooking, Mr. Ministry Chef?" asked Constance.
"Only according to you."
"But you agreed to do the cooking."
"I wasn't part of those negotiations. Renee?"
Renee, who had found herself drifting off, returned to earth.
"What?" was her articulate reply.
"Who's cooking?" demanded Thomas, as Constance said something much to the same effect.
"I thought you were," said Renee, referring to Thomas.
"Ha!" A triumphant Constance chivvied Thomas out toward the makeshift kitchen. Andrew smiled as he watched them go.
"She'll end up helping him anyway," he commented dryly.
"I know."
Renee sighed and leaned back against the wall. She had felt so tired all week, ever since they had arrived at Baile Saoirse. The constant arrival of household items had kept her active and worried, even though Andrew had assured her that they were safe here. In addition, her arm had been increasingly painful for three days.
"All right there?" asked Andrew.
"Just tired."
Andrew grinned and sat down beside her.
"It's been a hell of a week," he said.
"It's been a hell of a month!"
"Year, really."
"Less than that."
"Really?"
"Nine months, actually."
"Huh. Feels like it's been a lifetime."
Renee leaned over and lay her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts, as Constance and Thomas happily bickered over food preparation in the kitchen.
The next morning, Renee woke covered in sweat, yet freezing under her blankets, with her arm burning around her wound. As she sat up, her head started spinning, so she decided to lay back down.
"Renee?" Constance, who had been dressing across the room, knelt beside Renee's tangle of blankets and pillows. "Are you all right?"
"No." Renee could barely manage the single syllable, let alone the sarcastic response that had run through her head.
Constance laid a hand on Renee's forehead, and a quick intake of breath told Renee that she had a high fever.
"Where does it hurt?" asked Constance.
"Arm," whispered Renee.
Constance pulled off the sweater Renee had worn to bed and unwrapped the dressings on her arm. The wound was now red and swollen, and the bandages were painfully stuck to it with a sickly yellow fluid. Renee groaned as Constance pulled the cloth from her arm.
"Don't move," said Constance.
She raced down the staircase to the kitchen, where Thomas was making breakfast.
"You helped Renee change her bandages yesterday, didn't you?" she demanded.
"Yeah," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Her wound, was it red and swollen yesterday?"
"It was a little red, but -"
He was cut off by Constance swearing.
"Tell Andrew to get some penicillin for Renee immediately," she ordered.
"What's this all about?"
"Her arm's infected."
With that, Constance ran back to Renee. A few minutes later, as she was bandaging the wound with new dressings, Andrew appeared at the doorway.
"Did Thomas tell you?" asked Constance.
"Yes. Connie, I can't get penicillin for her."
"Why not?"
"We can't afford it. Medicine's expensive, you know that. We don't have enough money for it."
"We can get more money."
"From where?"
"I don't know! You're the one who knows how to get things!"
"We've barely been able to eat, and that's been thanks to charity and theft. We've spent our savings -"
"We can steal the penicillin." Constance was suddenly smiling.
"From where? The Party? The black market is the only place you can get medicine, and we can't make an enemy of them."
Constance's face fell as she looked from her lover to her best friend.
"She could die, Drew. I've seen it happen, and I won't let it. Not to her."
"You don't know she will -"
"It's too serious, Drew. She's already out of it. We have to get her treated now!"
"Connie, the best I can do is have a medic come here and help her."
"Do it."
For a moment, the two stared at one another, testing the other's resolve, although neither knew why. Andrew looked away first.
"All right. It should take about two days."
Constance nodded, and Andrew took off down the stairs.
Over the next two days, Renee's condition worsened. On the second day, she spent most of her time asleep, occasionally exclaiming a nonsensical syllable. Constance kept her vigil, refusing to leave her captain's side. As the interminable hours stretched on, she applied every scrap of medical knowledge she had ever learned, desperate to save Renee. Twice the Thought Police patrols passed over Baile Saoirse, but the tension and worry within the castle was saved all for the intrepid commander of the COR.
Author's Note:
Much thanks to Silky, DL and Vickie for their help with my ignorant medical questions. This chapter is dedicated to them.
Disclaimer:
Children of the Revolution is by Marc Bolan.
Nineteen Eighty-Four is by George Orwell.
Night Grows Darker
"Patrol!"
The single word echoed through Baile Saoirse. For a moment, everyone inside the castle froze, then a flurry of activity began. The newly installed electric lights inside the tower were turned off, lest any of the light leak through the blackout curtains on the windows. The courtyard and keep were cleared of any items that had been stupidly left out in the open. The occupants raced to the cover afforded by the tower, hiding themselves from the helicopter that passed overhead.
As the sound of the chopper grew louder, silence descended within the castle. The dull clacking seemed to bore into their brains, threatening discovery, arrest and death. The very sound seemed to shake the ancient ruins, causing the curtains to billow as the occupants hastily pinned them down. Every person envisioned the same image: the black insect-like body with its blades spinning above it, manned by faceless black-clad Thought Police ready to pounce on anything out of the ordinary. As one, the inhabitants held their breath, then the sound faded, and they exhaled.
"It's gone?" said Constance through the darkness inside the tower.
Thomas nodded, even though she could barely see him, then ran up the spiral stairs to the top of the tower. He waited for the helicopter to disappear completely.
"All clear!" he called.
The tension immediately defused. Andrew turned the lights back on to reveal Renee and Constance sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall and Thomas coming down the stairs.
"And that concludes our daily patrol," he said. "When's supper?"
"Aren't you cooking, Mr. Ministry Chef?" asked Constance.
"Only according to you."
"But you agreed to do the cooking."
"I wasn't part of those negotiations. Renee?"
Renee, who had found herself drifting off, returned to earth.
"What?" was her articulate reply.
"Who's cooking?" demanded Thomas, as Constance said something much to the same effect.
"I thought you were," said Renee, referring to Thomas.
"Ha!" A triumphant Constance chivvied Thomas out toward the makeshift kitchen. Andrew smiled as he watched them go.
"She'll end up helping him anyway," he commented dryly.
"I know."
Renee sighed and leaned back against the wall. She had felt so tired all week, ever since they had arrived at Baile Saoirse. The constant arrival of household items had kept her active and worried, even though Andrew had assured her that they were safe here. In addition, her arm had been increasingly painful for three days.
"All right there?" asked Andrew.
"Just tired."
Andrew grinned and sat down beside her.
"It's been a hell of a week," he said.
"It's been a hell of a month!"
"Year, really."
"Less than that."
"Really?"
"Nine months, actually."
"Huh. Feels like it's been a lifetime."
Renee leaned over and lay her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for a long time, each lost in their own thoughts, as Constance and Thomas happily bickered over food preparation in the kitchen.
The next morning, Renee woke covered in sweat, yet freezing under her blankets, with her arm burning around her wound. As she sat up, her head started spinning, so she decided to lay back down.
"Renee?" Constance, who had been dressing across the room, knelt beside Renee's tangle of blankets and pillows. "Are you all right?"
"No." Renee could barely manage the single syllable, let alone the sarcastic response that had run through her head.
Constance laid a hand on Renee's forehead, and a quick intake of breath told Renee that she had a high fever.
"Where does it hurt?" asked Constance.
"Arm," whispered Renee.
Constance pulled off the sweater Renee had worn to bed and unwrapped the dressings on her arm. The wound was now red and swollen, and the bandages were painfully stuck to it with a sickly yellow fluid. Renee groaned as Constance pulled the cloth from her arm.
"Don't move," said Constance.
She raced down the staircase to the kitchen, where Thomas was making breakfast.
"You helped Renee change her bandages yesterday, didn't you?" she demanded.
"Yeah," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Her wound, was it red and swollen yesterday?"
"It was a little red, but -"
He was cut off by Constance swearing.
"Tell Andrew to get some penicillin for Renee immediately," she ordered.
"What's this all about?"
"Her arm's infected."
With that, Constance ran back to Renee. A few minutes later, as she was bandaging the wound with new dressings, Andrew appeared at the doorway.
"Did Thomas tell you?" asked Constance.
"Yes. Connie, I can't get penicillin for her."
"Why not?"
"We can't afford it. Medicine's expensive, you know that. We don't have enough money for it."
"We can get more money."
"From where?"
"I don't know! You're the one who knows how to get things!"
"We've barely been able to eat, and that's been thanks to charity and theft. We've spent our savings -"
"We can steal the penicillin." Constance was suddenly smiling.
"From where? The Party? The black market is the only place you can get medicine, and we can't make an enemy of them."
Constance's face fell as she looked from her lover to her best friend.
"She could die, Drew. I've seen it happen, and I won't let it. Not to her."
"You don't know she will -"
"It's too serious, Drew. She's already out of it. We have to get her treated now!"
"Connie, the best I can do is have a medic come here and help her."
"Do it."
For a moment, the two stared at one another, testing the other's resolve, although neither knew why. Andrew looked away first.
"All right. It should take about two days."
Constance nodded, and Andrew took off down the stairs.
Over the next two days, Renee's condition worsened. On the second day, she spent most of her time asleep, occasionally exclaiming a nonsensical syllable. Constance kept her vigil, refusing to leave her captain's side. As the interminable hours stretched on, she applied every scrap of medical knowledge she had ever learned, desperate to save Renee. Twice the Thought Police patrols passed over Baile Saoirse, but the tension and worry within the castle was saved all for the intrepid commander of the COR.
Author's Note:
Much thanks to Silky, DL and Vickie for their help with my ignorant medical questions. This chapter is dedicated to them.
Disclaimer:
Children of the Revolution is by Marc Bolan.
Nineteen Eighty-Four is by George Orwell.