ORK (Part Four) by Richard Wells

(See 21/7, 8/9, and 8/12 for the first three parts of ‘Ork’)

At least they feed him. A hungry worker is a poor worker they tell him. Their tract is the work of traitors. Although Ork could never put his name to such a document he has no choice but to use the press that will bring their tract to life. The machine has not been well treated and he curses at the frequent breakdowns. But his skills and his dextrous fingers come to his aid. He works all day and well into the evening.

His captors are pleased with his progress and tell him of their future plans, how together they will make a forceful team. At last he is allowed to sleep, but without further food. He dreams of Digger by his side. Woken by cold and hunger, he rises in the darkness and feels his way around the room. He edges towards the single doorway which he finds locked and barred.

Did he imagine a ceiling hatch or was it really there? He moves carefully through the darkness to where his memory – or his imagination – tells him the hatch should be. The ceiling is almost twice the height of a man. He removes paper stacks from the table and drags it into position, making noises he is sure will awaken someone. But all is quiet. Standing on the table he is able to reach and hope. The rough wooden panel greets him and he pushes upwards. His arms, strong from years of labour, haul him up into the space beneath the roof, slipped slates revealing pinpricks of what must be moonlight. He feels his way carefully across the joists, crosses the top of a rubble filled wall and continues. He concludes he must now be over a different room and searches for a second hatch. His luck holds. The board is tight-fitting and Ork struggles to prise it open, paying the price of broken nails and grazed fingers. Only as he’s dropping to the floor below, does he see the dim outline of a sleeping figure and curses his sudden change in fortune.

The figure stirs and to prevent any cry of alarm, Ork moves swiftly to clap his large hand around the mouth of his captive. There is just enough light from a tiny window above the door, for Ork to recognise that the man he is silencing is Jonas. Whispered greetings are followed by whispered explanations of capture and forced labour. Ork removes the bonds from his friend’s hands and legs. Jonas leads them to a recess. He knows there are tools stored there and he selects a long metal bar which he uses to lever open the bolted door. At the sound of the timber jamb splintering, they freeze. But there are no sounds of footsteps. They enter a wooden lean-to and Ork smells Victor before he sees him.

Saddled and reined, they lead the horse through the unlocked gate into the night air. At the end of the street, they both mount Victor and pass through the silent town.

The ride is long and hard. On the moonlit riverbank, they talk of the precautions to be taken, should their captors come visiting again, whilst Victor drinks and grazes. By the time they eventually descend the hill behind Ork’s house, they are all exhausted. Ork is just alert enough to glimpse the weak candlelight flickering through the kitchen window. They dismount and he signals for Jonas to move to the front door, to block any escape, whilst he moves cautiously to the back door. He finds the entrance bolted. Peering through the window he sees the vague, shadowy outline of a woman. Whoever her few muffled words are addressed to, is out of sight.

When he sees Jonas enter the room, he shouts to warn him of the danger. As she hears Ork’s voice, the woman turns to face the window. She smiles at her husband. Her previously hidden listener bounds into view, barking, tail wagging furiously.