Ork (Part 2) by Richard Wells

(See July 21^st blog for Part One)

Ork walks around the printing room slowly and takes in the mess of papers on the long trestle table and the unfamiliar boot marks on the flagstone that never dries. The cupboard is still locked and he breathes a sigh of relief.

There’s a knock at the door. He’s surprised to find a customer who wants to pay him. As he prepares the press for the day’s work, Ork thinks of the provisions he’ll be able to buy. An image of a foaming pewter tankard floats in front of him. All in good time he thinks.

When he finally takes out his pocket watch, he can’t believe the day has gone. His hunger hits him suddenly. He wipes his ink-stained fingers on an already-blackened cloth and walks to the door, Digger at his heels. The Oak provides a welcome refuge. He spreads the newspaper on the table, drinks from the tankard and chews the mutton slowly. He reads about the latest Treason Trial. The Government is running scared, Habeus Corpus suspended.

The last mouthful gone, he pushes back his chair, crosses his legs and lights his pipe. Its smoke curls towards the log-filled hearth and is lost in the flames. Ork feels almost contented. Jonas joins him silently and picks up the newspaper, studying it intently. He tells Ork the cart is ready.

Under cover of darkness, they retreat to the print room. They work in the dim candlelight, beneath the shuttered windows, the regular rhythm of the machine almost hypnotic. Ork scans the first of the printed tracts looking for mistakes that he knows aren’t there. It reads well enough. Thomas Paine himself would be pleased. The pamphlets are wrapped carefully, each bundle tied tightly with twine. Jonas opens the connecting door to the stable and harnesses Victor who stands patiently between the shafts of the cart. Once the bundles have been loaded, Ork secures them under the tarpaulin. The two men shake hands. Ork opens the stable doors and watches as horse, cart and man disappear into the night.

The walk home is long and cold, the knapsack heavy. As he nears his house, he hears the sound of footsteps. Dropping to his knees and restraining the dog, he watches and listens. He sees a figure moving towards the stable, a shape dangling from his hand. A word from Ork sets Digger off towards his victim.

The dead crow drops to the ground as the intruder falls forward. Ork drags the man inside the stable, binds his wrists and tethers him loosely to the stall. Only when he lights the lamp does he realise it’s his apprentice – his former apprentice, still a lad in all but height.

Ork’s sleep is undisturbed. In the daylight he notices the envelope wedged under a stone by the back door. Bacon and egg, coffee and bread. What it is to have some money. Breakfast completed, he stares for a while at the unmarked envelope propped against the candlestick, before slitting it carefully and pulling out a single thin sheet of paper. He recognises his wife’s hand immediately and wonders how she has managed to get the letter to him. A shout from the stable reminds him of his own prisoner and his relief that the crow warnings were nothing more sinister than youthful revenge.

As he crosses the yard, a movement on the hillside catches his eye. For a moment he thinks it might be Jonas returning, but there are two of them and he can see their muskets glinting in the early morning sunlight.