Jessamy Beech Ch. 11: Penzance

AUTHORS NOTE: Welcome to another chapter of Jessamy Beech. I hope I've managed to bring all the numerous threads of the story together over the months and that you've enjoyed reading it as much as I have writing it.

This is an edited version as one of my eagle eyed readers rightfully pointed out a small geographical error that I've since rectified.

And yes, Mpenzi really does mean 'lover' in Swahili.

*

Jessamy forced open her eyelids a tiny fraction and squinted, as warm golden sunlight flooded in through the high sash windows. It took her a few moments to focus. Where the hell was she?

She remembered Edinburgh. Being shot in the back by one of Keaton's militia thugs. Running, hiding. Their desperate flight from the savage blue painted things dwelling in the castle. She remembered coughing up blood. Hamnavoe close to death. Horses ...

She was lying in bed on crisp white cotton sheets, her head and shoulders supported by plump pillows. A transparent plastic bag on a stand dripped some clear liquid down a thin tube to a cannula inserted in her arm. Another bed sat empty across the bare, stone walled room, the bedclothes carelessly thrown back. The distant sounds of someone singing, seagulls and a dozen muffled conversations outside drifted in through the open window ...

Jessamy tried to turn her head but it seemed that every muscle in her body had stiffened up. She vaguely sensed there was someone else in the room and opened her mouth to speak.

But her mouth felt so dry that her tongue was stuck to the roof of it. She tried once more to turn her head. Slowly. Slowly ...

The sunlight gleamed on the thick red curls of the woman fast asleep in the lumpy old armchair beside the bed. Dressed unflatteringly in faded jeans and a man's padded work shirt and hoodie, she'd barely changed in the nineteen years since they'd last seen one another ...

Merida.

Jessamy tried to push herself up the bed, feeling a stabbing lance of pain across her back as her arms flailed. And in doing so knocked the drip stand against the metal bedframe with a jarring clang.

"Wh ..." Merida woke with a start and stared at Jessamy as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Then her face broke into a wide, beaming smile, "you're finally awake."

Then there was no longer any need for words as the two friends cried happy tears and hugged one another. Rather awkwardly, since Jessamy's wound was still far from healed and her arms had barely enough strength to lift themselves. But apart from that it felt as if the intervening years had fallen away and she was eighteen again.

"I don't believe it," Merida sobbed, clutching Jessamy's trembling shoulders, "you're actually here."

"I th-thought you were dead. When I heard your name I thought I must be dreaming," Jessamy croaked, "for nearly twenty years I've thought you were dead Meri."

"I'm very much alive Jess," Merida smiled warmly, "and so are you."

"Where ... exactly am I?"

Merida poured a glass of water from a jug and helped Jessamy drink, "Later. You're safe. That's all you need to know. I think we've got quite a bit of catching up to do. But first I'll call Mrs Taber and tell her you're finally awake. You'd lost a helluva lot of blood. We had to give you a transfusion. You're just lucky our patrol found you when they did. It's a miracle you made it through Edinburgh."

Jessamy suddenly clutched her friend's arm, "Please, there ... was a m-man with me. Hamnavoe. Is he ..."

Merida laughed, "If I know Hamnavoe he's probably down at the mess hall with Ross getting some breakfast."

Jessamy's heart quickened and her face lit up at the mention of her brother, but she let Merida continue uninterrupted as the redhead's expression sobered, "He's fine, really. He's barely left your side you know. He insisted we bring his bed in here so he could keep an eye on ..." the corner of Merida's mouth turned up, "are you and him ..."

"No," Jessamy blurted without hesitation. Then wondered why she had. Would it be such a bad thing to be in a relationship with the old Scot? She remembered what he'd said - delirious to be sure, but he'd told her he loved her, "how is he?"

"A course of antibiotics and one of Mrs Taber's maggot treatments ..."

"Maggot treatments?"

"... to clean out the necrotic tissue. He's lost some muscle in that arm and some movement, but he should make a full recovery. He's a good man. A bit rough around the edges ... but he's devoted to you."

Jessamy remembered something else from when they'd been found by the roadside, almost dead, and quickly changed the subject, "You have children. You and Ross ..."

Merida nodded proudly, "Tamsin, who's fourteen and John who's twenty. I was pregnant back in Threlkeld? We named him after Ross's ... I mean yours and Ross's dad. So you're an aunt. Aunt Jessamy."

So Ross had told Merida that he was actually Jessamy's brother. She wondered how Merida had taken the news that for months she'd been sharing her bed with a sister and her amnesiac brother. She smirked, "And what about this 'Queen Merida' thing?"

Merida looked embarrassed, "It's a joke. When we'd finally won their trust, the locals here gave us nicknames. And you know how nicknames stick."

"How is Ross?"

"You'll be pleased to know most of his memory's returned. He's, uh ... mostly fine. After breakfast he'll probably be out walking your dog, doing his rounds along the town walls. Myrtle, is it?"

Jessamy nodded. Was there something Merida wasn't telling her?

"She had some nasty cuts on her paws," Merida continued, "but they're healed now."

Jessamy frowned, "Healed? How can they be healed already? How long have I been here Meri?"

Merida took hold of Jessamy's scarred, calloused hands in her own soft, delicate ones and looked into her eyes, "You've been out of it for two weeks Jess."

Two weeks! An entire fortnight during which Trevithick could be anywhere. He might even be in Gloucester already, about to sabotage the bunker.

EVERYONE WILL DIE.

Jessamy pushed Merida's hands away and urgently threw back the bedclothes, stiffly trying to swing her legs over the side of the bed. She realised she was naked but for panties and an enormous dressing that covered much of her torso.

Merida placed cool hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly pushed her back down, "Take it easy. You'll burst your stitches. I know what you're in a panic about Jess. Hamnavoe told us all about Trevithick and the bunker. Ross has sent out patrols looking for him. If we find him you'll be first to know. So ... I'll call Mrs Taber to tell her you're awake then go find Ross and Hamnavoe for you. How about that?"

Jessamy slumped back against the soft pillows.

Merida stopped halfway to the door, "it's so good to see you again Jess."

Jessamy grinned, "Likewise."

But inside, every fibre of her being wanted to be back out on the road, hunting Trevithick ...

. . .

Berwick Upon Tweed had once been England's most northerly town, nestled on the windswept coast of Northumberland next to the wide River Tweed just a few miles south of the Scottish border. It had had a turbulent history of invasion over the centuries and had suffered constant raids by Border Reivers. It had changed hands between Scotland and England so many times over the centuries that it had understandably suffered something of an identity crisis.

The town also had the best preserved example of town defences anywhere in Britain making it a veritable fortress - if the need ever arose. In 1560, it was concluded that it would be impractical to repair the original 14th century walls, and a new set of town fortifications were constructed instead. An innovative Italian design, combining ditches and high walls backed by earthworks designed to defend against an artillery attack. The walls enclosed two thirds of the entire town, including artillery emplacements and five large stone bastions.

It was along the top of the eastern wall that Jessamy was, reluctantly, being pushed the following day in a borrowed wheelchair, "I love what you've done with the place."

"When we first arrived they were already pretty well organised," Ross Beech answered, "few hundred people, becoming more and more self sufficient. Horses for transport, a hospital, growing food. But they assumed that living behind these fucking big walls was the only defence they'd ever need."

"The town was attacked?" Jessamy self consciously tugged her tartan blanket up higher over her lap. Her vulnerability was making her feel old.

"Yeah. Those ... those subhuman things you met in Edinburgh? We call them 'Reekies' - they attacked in force, must be what ... fifteen, sixteen years ago? The locals here were totally unprepared."

Jessamy couldn't look at Ross while he was pushing her, so she admired the view instead. To the south across the mouth of the Tweed, the surf lapped at the debris littered length of Spittal beach and miles farther away and barely visible on the horizon, Lindisfarne and the Farne Islands, "So what happened?"

"Merida led the women and children to safety while I organised the town's defence. We lost a lot of people, including Berwick's original leader, but we eventually fought the Reekies off somehow. So the townsfolk - the silly sods - went and put us in charge as a thankyou."

"King Ross and Queen Merida," Jessamy intoned solemnly.

"They're just nicknames Jess. Look, shall we go back inside? It's freezing out here today and you're still not a hundred percent."

"I'm fine Ross. How many more times?" she argued. True, it was bitterly cold but Jessamy was relieved to be out in the fresh air, feeling the salt laden sea breeze on her face after being cooped up inside the old hospital building.

"Mrs Taber says you still need rest ... MYRTLE, NO!" Ross Beech yelled as Jessamy and Hamnavoe's adopted collie shambled over to the edge of the wall and peered inquisitively over the edge. Twenty five feet below, in the wide strip of cleared land between the inner and outer walls, workers tending their vegetable plots looked up and waved.

"MYRTLE!"

Myrtle sheepishly turned away and slunk back to Jessamy and Ross, limping only slightly on her recently healed paws.

"Sorry," said Jessamy, "she's just excited. New surroundings."

"Well, it's hard enough pushing a bloody invalid sister in a wheelchair without stopping a nosy dog from trying to kill herself too ... especially with this," Ross lifted the stump of his right arm, amputated just above the elbow.

"I still feel responsible," said Jessamy, feeling tearful, "if I hadn't left Threlkeld when I did, I could've helped fight off the Reivers. And you might still have your arm."

Ross crouched down in front of the wheelchair and tenderly took hold of Jessamy's hand, "Nobody knew the Reivers were going to attack that night Jess. It's all in the past and it's not your fault. Merida and our kids are all alive and safe. You and Hamnavoe are alive and safe. That's all that matters," he stood up and looked down at her, squinting, "... can't believe you got a big Celtic tattoo on your face though. And dreadlocks?"

Jessamy laughed.

"My sister, the bounty hunter."

"Had to pay my way somehow."

"We've heard ... rumours, over the years. About this legendary warrior, bounty hunter, hero of the battle of Truro, the scourge of Snowdonia. We never imagined for one second it was you Jess."

Jessamy stared long and hard into her brother's eyes, "I'm not the same girl you both knew back in Threlkeld. I've changed."

Ross squeezed her fingertips, "We all have Jess. We all have."

He pushed the wheelchair onward once more, the weak sunlight glinting on the grey North Sea off to their left, "Now. Tell me all about Dad and my two nieces you've left back in Cornwall, and this friend of yours ... Loopy?"

"Lupita. Lupita Mpenzi."

"And ... she's been looking after your daughters all this time? You trust her?"

Jessamy nodded seriously, "With my life."

CHAPTER ELEVEN: PENZANCE

Nineteen years earlier ...

PART ONE: KERNOW BYS VYKEN

Jessamy and Mpenzi forced a damaged fire exit door on the Boots pharmacy in Saltash's Fore Street. It had been scarcely ten or fifteen minutes since their escape into Cornwall across the Tamar Bridge, but rather than put as much distance as possible between themselves and the HMS Poseidon, the two woman had decided to go shopping.

Jessamy's wounded foot was still bleeding heavily. Every step was driving the piece of wine bottle glass embedded in it deeper.

"Wait here. If you see anyone coming across the bridge, whistle," Mpenzi crept into the abandoned shop, in the hope that there might still be bandages, dressings or antiseptic wipes somehow missed by eleven years' worth of looters.

Outside, the surface of the A38, the main artery in and out of Cornwall looked as if it had been literally torn up, making walking difficult in the darkness and persistent rain. It was as if something monstrously heavy had passed that way, damaging tarmac, pavements and even tearing apart a few rusting vehicles parked at the kerb. The town itself seemed deserted - which in itself wasn't surprising - anyone with any sense who knew what was going on in Devonport would be long gone.

Holes from small arm's fire pockmarked the shop facades in the main street revealing that Saltash hadn't always been this quiet however. Entire buildings had been reduced to rubble, but whether from meteorite strikes or something else, Jessamy had no way of knowing. The destruction seemed calculated, not indiscriminate, in the way that some houses had been blown apart but both neighbouring buildings remained wholly intact.

Jessamy slumped in the doorway, her teeth chattering from the cold and softly groaning in pain. Her borrowed navy overalls were soaked and her long blonde hair was plastered wetly to her face. She was back in Cornwall. She was almost home. But it wasn't quite the cheerful homecoming she'd dreamt of.

Mpenzi squatted next to her, "Found a gauze dressing and a bandage. A few painkillers. That glass is going to have to come out but it'll have to wait until daylight so I can see what the fuck I'm doing. I'll redress it, but I'm sorry to say we can't stay here. We're going to have to move on Jess. Skinner could be right on our tails."

"Fucking ... hurts, Lupita," Jessamy moaned.

"I know. And I wish to hell there was more I could do," Mpenzi eased off Jessamy's oversized boot and tenderly peeled off the blood sodden pillowcase bound around her foot, "hey, you know what a battlefield promotion is?"

Jessamy shook her head, wincing as the glass inside her foot shifted slightly.

"Well Private Beech, it seems I'm short of one corporal," Mpenzi carefully applied the fresh dressing, "and as you've proven yourself to be brave, resourceful and just a little bit stupid and reckless ... by the power vested in me as your sergeant, I hereby dub thee ... Corporal Jessamy Beech."

Jessamy grimaced, "Th-thanks sarge. I don't know wh-what to say ..."

"You might want to bite down on something. This next bit is going to hurt."

. . .

The next morning dawned foggy and cold. A thin mizzle kept their spirits low as they trudged on, keeping to the A38 for the most part but paralleling the main road along footpaths or B roads whenever they could. Neither of them had slept. Against the odds, Mpenzi had found Jessamy a crutch in an upstairs storeroom of the pharmacy. It helped Jessamy's mobility somewhat but did nothing to alleviate the pain or stop the bleeding.

As they approached the town of Liskeard much later that day, Mpenzi halted and grabbed Jessamy's arm, "Look."

A line of fenceposts had been set across the entire width of the road ahead. Perhaps twenty in total. They'd been hammered into the shattered road surface and each one topped with what looked like a British Army kevlar helmet. Several had bullet holes or jagged splits, and much of the MTP fabric covering on them had rotted away, so it appeared as if the posts weren't a recent addition.

"A warning?" Jessamy suggested.

Mpenzi nodded, "Like farmers used to hang dead crows on their fences," she looked down at herself, dressed in full British Army uniform, then removed her own headgear and tossed it into the dead bushes alongside the road, "Just in case. Wouldn't do to upset the locals."

"Whoever put these here doesn't like the army much," said Jessamy. She winced as she leaned on her crutch, taking the opportunity to have a few moment's rest.

"Let's carry on. But keep your eyes peeled. Soon's we find a place to stop I'll see to your foot."

PTOO - PTANG - PTOING!

Bullets suddenly slammed into the road beside them, ricochetting, sending gravel and chips of tarmac jumping into the air. Jessamy and Mpenzi spun around to look back the way they'd come ...

A white Toyota pickup with a roof mounted machine gun was bearing down on them, barely two hundred yards away - the gunner unable to fix them in his sights as the vehicle jounced and rattled on the uneven road.

"Fuck! It's O'Brian's men. They've found us!" Mpenzi dragged Jessamy down behind the gutted remains of a St Austell Brewery lorry. Jessamy shrieked as she stumbled and for an instant put her full weight on her injured foot.

"How did they find us?" Jessamy yelled.

"Don't know. But we're not going down that easily, fuckers!" Mpenzi yelled and aimed her stolen SA80 at the pickup ...

CLICK.

"What the ..."

Mpenzi tried again. And again. But it was no use. The assault rifle was well and truly jammed. Given a few more seconds she might have been able to fix the problem ...

But they didn't have a few more seconds. More tightly spaced shots tore through the decaying metalwork in front of them, as the pickup closed, forcing them both to duck.

"FUCK OFF BACK UPCOUNTRY! KERNOW BYS VYKEN!"

"Who the ..." Jessamy peered out of their cover, just in time to see a huge, dark clad figure emerge from rubble on the road's hard shoulder and throw something flaming at the pickup as it passed.

The glass bottle shattered across the vehicle's windscreen and the cab was instantly engulfed in orange flames. More figures emerged from hiding places along the road and began blasting away at it with assault rifles and shotguns.

The pickup careened out of control, flipped on its side into a roadside ditch and promptly exploded in a dazzling fireball. It was all over in seconds.

"Fuck me!" breathed Mpenzi. She shielded her eyes from the explosion, not quite believing what she'd just witnessed, "who the hell ARE they?"

A quiet sound, of booted feet on gritty road surface made them both freeze.

"Not quite the cavalry you were expectin' my lovely," said a woman's cheerful voice close behind them, "drop yer weapons."

Mpenzi dropped her rifle. Jessamy did the same with Del Skinner's Glock. Lying awkwardly on the ground with it across her back, her bow would have to wait. Not that she was in any state to use it.

A middle aged woman dressed in grubby outdoor clothing, with her greying brown hair tucked into a black Cornish Pirates RFC beanie levelled a shotgun at them both, "Why are Jack Aubrey's men firin' at you? Who are you?"

The woman's companions, perhaps a dozen in number, watched the pickup burning, cursing the fact that there would be nothing left to salvage once the flames were out.

"I'm Lupita Mpenzi. This is Jessamy Beech," Mpenzi deliberately omitted their army ranks Jessamy noted.

The woman peered down at them, standing just far enough back that one blast from the shotgun would hit them both, "We spotted their drone followin' you outside Saltash this mornin'."

"What's a drone?" Jessamy asked Mpenzi.

"Sneaky fuckers," Mpenzi muttered under her breath.

"Why're they huntin' you ladies, eh?" the shotgun woman demanded.