University of Leeds,
Main Campus.
The day of action had arrived. Staff and students alike had gathered in the centre of the main campus ready to start the tuition fee protest. Staniek listened with half an ear, amused at the similarity between this protest and those he had seen before. Protests about food, for bread, against conscription, for republics, for communism, against communism, for jobs, housing, social security. Progress, he told himself. Protests changing from a popular movement seeking the betterment of conditions for all, to complaining about paying for an education which would benefit a few.
Not that he necessarily disagreed with them. Some of the figures being touted sounded expensive, especially for those so young. Bound to fall to the parents to pay. One advantage to not being able to have children perhaps.
Certainly the cause had changed, but the methods, and content hadn't. The leaders were powerful orators, whipping up those assembled into a frenzy. The group would have idealists too, those who truly believed in the righteousness of the cause, not to mention the hangers-on, those who simply had nothing better to do, or saw it as a convenient excuse to skip lectures. You wouldn't do that if you had to pay for it, he thought to himself.
He turned to look at the young female next to him. She smiled warmly, punching the air with her placard. Lecturers and students say scrap the fees! Safeguard our futures!
He returned her smile. Unlike the last protest in which he was involved this, probably would not end in serious bloodshed. A few shouts and jeers, whistles blowing, minor skirmishes with police lining the streets and those who thought the protesters to be idle and over privileged, and who would relish the chance to "beat some sense into them." Then it would be back to the campus and let's hit the bar, to swap stories about how they bloodied the Government's nose, and thwarted the authorities and their lackeys.
The speakers whined as the last of the organisers took to the mic. "I might not have a chance to do this later, so I will do it now. A big thank you to everyone who has turned up to support us. By that I mean not just those students who may have to meet these fees but the staff as well. Fees will stop people coming to University. A drop in numbers will mean the closure of courses, then departments, and then schools. This will mean staff redundancies, lecturers being laid off and their families struggling. Fees fuck us all!"
A cheer of approval rose from the crowd. To Staniek's right a group picked up the statement and began chanting it over and over. "Fees fuck us all! Fees fuck us all!"
He could feel the shift in mood as the whole group of marchers picked it up in turn until the air was filled with the chant. What the hell, he thought, if you're going to play the part, and joined in.
The noise subsided as the speaker called for calm, before she outlined the route the march would take. Staniek switched off, and glanced to his left. Good, Schofield was taking part. He patted his right wrist, ensuring that the stiletto was secured in the sheath. Lose that and the whole thing would be botched. Very few got second chances in this business.
He flinched slightly as the girl next to him squeezed his hand.
"Have you lost something?" she asked.
"No, just making sure I have everything I need." He replied pulling a metal whistle from his pocket.
She smiled at him again. "No placard?"
"No placard. I'm here for, muscle I suppose. I'm here to help make sure that things don't get out of hand if some of the local wasters try and get involved. It's more of a protection capacity than anything else. I'm not looking for trouble, but you never know with those nutters. It only takes one. Besides, someone will drop a placard I'm sure. I'll take it over from them as the need arises."
A warm smile. "I'm glad someone is looking out for us all. Who are you anyway?"
"Ryszard. Ryszard Newar. Most people call me Richie. More of an English sounding name."
She giggled. "Ryszard doesn't sound very English, you're right."
"It's not. It's Polish. My parents came here in the 1960's escaping Communism. They hoped for a better life, including a decent education for my sister Dascha and I. She might not get that chance if these fees come in. Fees fuck us all."
"Nice name Dascha. Well Richie, perhaps you won't need to get involved but it's nice to know I have my own personal knight by my side."
He bowed, much to her delight. "Well 'tis only right that one such as I should know the name of the fair maiden, whom I am sworn to protect."
"Angela."
"Well Angela, I humbly pledge, should trouble come our way I will do my utmost to protect your regal person."
She reddened slightly. "Well Sir Knight, it seems we are to be on our way."
"So we are." He smiled at her again and then shouted, "Fees fuck us all!"
The march worked its way into the centre of the city without problems. For Staniek it brought back memories of the Grand Duchy war when he had marched under Napoleon's banner. Momentarily, whistles took the place of the drummer boy beating the pas de charge as old instincts kicked in. Columns and columns of people stretching as far as the eye could see. A magnificent yet fearful sight for all whom opposed it. Clearing the Russians away from Warsaw, safeguarding the future for the next generation, a parallel to what he was doing today. Different time, different cause, same principle. He gave his own whistle a firm blast, before grasping Angela by her hand. She responded to the gentle pressure, her delicate fingers intertwining with his, locking then releasing. A distraction Andrzej, he told himself, a distraction. Re-focus.
Schofield and a few others had dropped back from the front of the march, facing their fellow protestors, raising their battle cry to fever pitch as they had at the campus. Staniek allowed himself to drift towards the gathered party, through the massed humanity. As he neared the group, Schofield and companions turned to rejoin the marchers.
The distance provided the opportunity the small group of local thugs had been waiting for. Staniek saw them first, off to the right and reacted quickest. The law of the jungle in action, he thought. Like a pack of hyenas the yobs had targeted the isolated group. Showtime. He pocketed the whistle and rolled his shoulders to loosen them before flexing his fingers. The students saw the attackers coming and readied themselves, signs lowered like lances and halberds. Placards rose and fell as the two sides clashed.
Staniek strode purposefully towards the meleé readying himself to strike, picking his target carefully. This needed to be over as quickly as possible. He could not risk a right handed attack for fear of losing the stiletto. He moved into position behind the nearest attacker and kicked him behind the knee crumpling him to the ground. Schofield's group of students were too preoccupied to notice as the gang pressed in from all sides. Staniek didn't care. This was where he came alive. He gave the fallen lad a stiff kick in the ribs and turned to elbow another in the neck. The blow stunned the assailant who stumbled away from the fight. Two down and Staniek looked for another target. They had all moved out of range of his attacks. The shift in momentum was palpable. This was no easy picking group of spoiled rich kids. The protesters now had the upper hand and a flurry of fists and kicks sent the last of the attackers slinking away.
Seeing Staniek, Schofield motioned towards him.
"Nicely done my friend. Appreciate your help back there."
"No problem, they're probably the same scum who've nicked no end of bikes from God knows how many of us over the years. It feels good to strike back at them."
Schofield assented. "Amazing isn't it what a little violence can do for the mood."
He was right Staniek noted. Brief as the skirmish had been, it had affected the protest. There was a renewed energy and anger about the marchers; suddenly they'd all been fired up by the head-breakers assault. We saw your thugs and fought them off. Is that all you've got?
Schofield shouted to get Staniek's attention. "Come on friend let's do this together. Fees fuck us all!"
Staniek blew his whistle in time with the chant.
"That's the spirit son!" called Schofield, punching the air with his sign. He draped his right arm about Staniek's shoulders, pulling him close, chanting all the while. Staniek in turn slipped his left arm about Schofield's waist, maintaining close contact. Schofield turned his head and smiled at him. "No lower mind."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Staniek grinned.
"Good lad. That trouble aside it gone fairly well, I'm pleased to say."
"Indeed, but bloody hot work too." Staniek replied.
He pulled his arm from Schofield and unshouldered his bag. He unzipped a side pocket and pulled out a small bottle of water. Removing the cap he pretended to sip from it before offering it to the lecturer.
Schofield gratefully accepted the offer and took a swig, frowning at the slightly bitter taste of the sparkling water. It reminded him of aspirin. He took another pull. Definitely tasted like aspirin. Trying to put a name to the face of his companion, he looked sideways at the student who gave him a goofy grin. "It's Richie Newar isn't it? My mature student? Good to see you here even though you have to pay."
"That's right Dr. Schofield. I'm here to help in case of trouble as you saw, and of course on a point of principle."
"Principles are what mark us out as men Richie, the marsh of men." He offered the bottle back to Staniek who shook his head, already noting the mistake in Schofield's speech.
"You finish that one. I've got more."
"I thought you would say that!" Schofield took another long swig, draining the bottle before looking at Staniek. The student's face swam in and out of focus. "This is some kind of firewater isn't it" he slurred. At the back of his mind a voice shrieked that he had been spiked, but it was drowned in the foggy haze.
"Only the best. Fire in the belly and fire in the blood." Staniek smiled again, but his eyes did not. The barbiturates were taking effect as he had hoped. He had got the cocktail of amobarbital and aspirin correct. Time to go home.
As Schofield stumbled, Staniek reached out and grabbed him, slipping an arm around his waist for support.
"Perhaps a bit too strong for my taste?" Schofield mumbled and draped his arm over Staniek's shoulders again. Staniek said nothing but quickly glanced around as he reached around the lecturer to unhook the stiletto and slipped it into his right hand.
"Perhaps?! But us Poles are raised on it from birth. We suckle it from our mothers."
Schofield laughed and lurched forward again. "Oops. Good thing you're here to support me." He went to say as Staniek pulled him in close and drove the stiletto into the right-hand side of his chest, underneath the outstretched arm. The lecturer's smile turned to a look of surprise as the cold Damascus steel slipped into his body. Staniek whipped the blade out again and pushed it back up his sleeve.
No pain, and no noise. Schofield would not feel a thing as the cocktail of drugs would cause him to bleed to death internally. "Krannix." He whispered seeing the horrified realisation cross the lecturer's face. It vanished as quickly as it arrived as a wave of nausea rose up in the stricken man. Staniek grabbed another marcher and placed the lecturer's left arm over his shoulders. "Here, take him. He's overdone it!"
The other student, already drunk, did so and laughed aloud as the lecturer tried to say something.
Releasing his grip, Staniek took the placard from Schofield's unresisting fingers, and began drifting his way back through the crowd. Schofield however, did not fall, much to Staniek's surprise. Instead he was borne along, held upright by the pressure of the marchers around him. Quickly Staniek let the blade slip from his hand as he passed by a drain. He wiped his hand against another marcher's tee shirt, cleaning his hand of the few spots of Schofield's blood. A clean hit, in a public place, and he was going to get away with it!
Angela stood ahead of him, and he worked through the crowd to her side. "Hi. You found a placard then?"
"Yeah. Someone got tired so I took over. There are a few lying in the road behind us as people let them go. No commitment."
She laughed, and to Staniek, his senses heightened by the adrenaline buzz from the hit it was the sweetest sound. A distraction she may be, but a pleasurable one at that.