Sea Salt 2, Coffee 1 [Divide and Rule]
Title: The Ravens Are Circling
Author: lost_spook
Story: Heroes of the Revolution (Divide & Rule)
Flavor(s): Sea Salt #2 (river), Coffee #1 (coffee)
Toppings/Extras: Malt - PFtH (Jack: the death come to find her); My Treat - Parliament on the Thames - and the depths will keep its secrets).
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1438
Notes: 1961; Jack Brayfield/Afzal Syed. (I’m being really bad at writing D&R characters who aren’t Edward and Julia, but I’m working on it…)
Summary: The pillars of government are falling…
***
Jack wasn’t the only one standing around outside the ruined Houses of Parliament, but he felt, if perhaps unfairly, that the others were falling on the remains like eager birds of prey, whereas he could hardly even begin to take in what had happened. He left then - he had plenty of things to work into his story already - and walked away, across the bridge, pulling his long mac in against him. He headed down to the Embankment, getting a view of what was left from across the river. There was still a small column of black smoke rising from it, reflected again in the dull waters of the Thames.
“What the hell happened?” he said under his breath, but neither the river nor the felled Gothic building gave him any answer. They’d been told the official story, of course: Mr Hallam said it was the work of the government’s enemies, whether from within or without was all that was left to be determined. The nation should have no fear - the culprits would be found and punished, and in the meantime they would keep people safe. Jack felt that sounded more ominous than reassuring, but Mr Hallam was suddenly the only voice in the government being heard.
It might be much worse than that, too. Jack had suspicions, but he didn’t know. He had so many arbitrary puzzle pieces to hand - odd pieces of information and tips, careless slips made during interviews, all the sorts of things available to a journalist with the right contacts - but nothing solid. He’d been used by both sides, if the situation was simple enough to be said to only have two sides. Lord Howe owned the paper he worked for, and he’d made it clear that he was in favour of Hallam and angry over the government’s inaction. Maybe that was genuinely what he believed; maybe it was due to his daughter Sylvia’s engagement to Thomas Hallam, or something more sinister. Then there was Mr Iveson, who had given Jack stories latterly that had disturbed and disappointed him - or he had before he’d died. Now, since, he’d heard even stranger things from Mrs Iveson, and more again from Mrs Foyle, and Lord Howe’s other daughter, Jane, who was never in line with the rest of her family. But what to do with it all and who to believe, that was the thing. Jack only wished that he didn’t know any of it.
“Penny for them.”
Jack had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard Afzal approach and he gave a start at his words.
“Well, now, there’s a guilty reaction. Maybe I shouldn’t ask. Or at least pay more: pound for them?”
Jack turned away from the river with a small grimace. “No, damn it, they’re not even worth a ha’penny. All I know is that I don’t know anything, but I still don’t like it.”
“Who likes this kind of thing?” said Afzal. “The obvious exception aside, I suppose.” He put a hand to Jack’s shoulder. “If you’ve finished for now, then leave it here. Come with me. I’ll buy you coffee, whatever you want. Let’s get in out of this bloody wind.”
Jack had to smile, if unwillingly. “Thanks. It’s only -” He stopped and gestured across at the former Houses of Parliament again. “Well, you see.”
“Yes,” said Afzal, more seriously. “State of Emergency now, isn’t it? Martial Law next, I should think. All for our own good.”
Exactly, thought Jack, and Afzal and Jane would be diving in head first into protesting against the arrangements. They were already involved in something, even Jack couldn’t avoid knowing that much. And once everything went that far, it was going to get serious. If he looked across the river again, he knew it already was. Then there was Mrs Iveson. She’d asked to meet him yesterday over there and she’d never come. She hadn’t been caught in the incident, because he’d taken down the names and details of the dozen-odd dead and wounded, and there’d been no sign of her. The most he got out of anyone was Ronald Whittaker, a junior cabinet minister, pinning him down later and telling him it was best not to ask.
First one down - if she was the first - and who would it be next? Afzal would stick his neck out for his principles, the way he always did, and that could never end well. Jane, too, would be up in arms. The more Jack thought about it, the more too many of the people he knew well were lining up on one side or the other, and he was stuck uncomfortably in the middle, hating all of it, but too unsure to move to any more certain position.
“Staring at the place won’t put Big Ben back together again, you know,” said Afzal.
Jack grimaced, his attention brought back to that glaring fact. “Awful, isn’t it? It came through the war - and now this.”
“Coffee,” said Afzal. He glanced at Jack again. “Or something stronger, maybe? Whatever the hell it is you need.”
Jack turned away from the unwelcome sight, taking a firm hold of himself with a mental shake. “Right. Coffee it is. Sorry.”
“You know there are people willing to do something about it -” Afzal began.
Jack cut him off with more violence than he had intended. “No! We’ll get through this, but not like that. Don’t you see? There could even be civil war; it’s not impossible.”
“Keep your voice down,” said Afzal. “Jack.”
He closed his eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t have principles, he thought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care that it wasn’t only the buildings that had fallen - today they’d suspended Habeas Corpus like a nightmare revisiting of old history lessons. But when it came to fighting back, he couldn’t help thinking of who was going to get hurt. Besides, who could be so absolutely bloody certain they were right that they’d literally fight for it? And he knew the answer to that one: Afzal, for a start. Maybe sometimes he didn’t have as much choice in the matter, but he also chose to jump right in to any issue going. God, he hated the idea of losing him. Jack would rather just keep his head down and keep what he had and think the cost was worth it.
“All right, I’m sorry,” he said. “I suppose it doesn’t seem quite real. I was standing over there taking notes on the Fall of the Government, as if it’s any other news story. I suppose that is all it is, but it shouldn’t be.”
Afzal shrugged. “I know, but can we argue about it somewhere inside where it’s not bloody freezing?”
“Mrs Iveson wanted to meet me,” Jack said, having to say it to someone. “On the Embankment, outside the Houses of Parliament. She never turned up, but she wasn’t inside - she wasn’t hurt. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think she might be dead. She wanted to say something about Mr Hallam. I wasn’t keen - and then all this happened.”
Afzal stopped jogging about from one foot to the other to keep warm and looked out across the river himself. “Oh,” he said. “Actually, I’m not sure it does sound ridiculous.”
“And you could be dead next if you’re going to start playing games like that.” Jack couldn’t help the way he sounded slightly petulant when he said it; it came out that way. “Just - don’t.”
“They’re not games.”
Jack sighed and started to walk away, Afzal beside him. “Just don’t do anything stupid. You can manage that, can’t you?”
“Nothing stupid, I promise,” said Afzal, quickening his pace, evidently still keen to be out of the inclement weather. Jack wasn’t particularly reassured: he knew too well by now that they had different ideas about the meaning of the word.
Jack looked at him again. “If this is about Tom Hallam, you know that Alan Jemmings is in it, too, don’t you? And he knows us. He went out with Jane. He’ll be watching for you to do something and you know what a bastard he is.”
“Coffee, my dear fellow,” said Afzal. “Or probably something more calculated to calm the nerves - and then you can get your story down and stop having a fit about things that haven’t happened yet. Never will happen, either.”
Jack gave a slight smile. “Yes, but what will you be writing?”
“I’m not a journalist,” Afzal said. “I can tell the truth.”
“Yes,” said Jack, with a wry twist to his mouth, “that was what I thought.”
***
Author: lost_spook
Story: Heroes of the Revolution (Divide & Rule)
Flavor(s): Sea Salt #2 (river), Coffee #1 (coffee)
Toppings/Extras: Malt - PFtH (Jack: the death come to find her); My Treat - Parliament on the Thames - and the depths will keep its secrets).
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1438
Notes: 1961; Jack Brayfield/Afzal Syed. (I’m being really bad at writing D&R characters who aren’t Edward and Julia, but I’m working on it…)
Summary: The pillars of government are falling…
***
Jack wasn’t the only one standing around outside the ruined Houses of Parliament, but he felt, if perhaps unfairly, that the others were falling on the remains like eager birds of prey, whereas he could hardly even begin to take in what had happened. He left then - he had plenty of things to work into his story already - and walked away, across the bridge, pulling his long mac in against him. He headed down to the Embankment, getting a view of what was left from across the river. There was still a small column of black smoke rising from it, reflected again in the dull waters of the Thames.
“What the hell happened?” he said under his breath, but neither the river nor the felled Gothic building gave him any answer. They’d been told the official story, of course: Mr Hallam said it was the work of the government’s enemies, whether from within or without was all that was left to be determined. The nation should have no fear - the culprits would be found and punished, and in the meantime they would keep people safe. Jack felt that sounded more ominous than reassuring, but Mr Hallam was suddenly the only voice in the government being heard.
It might be much worse than that, too. Jack had suspicions, but he didn’t know. He had so many arbitrary puzzle pieces to hand - odd pieces of information and tips, careless slips made during interviews, all the sorts of things available to a journalist with the right contacts - but nothing solid. He’d been used by both sides, if the situation was simple enough to be said to only have two sides. Lord Howe owned the paper he worked for, and he’d made it clear that he was in favour of Hallam and angry over the government’s inaction. Maybe that was genuinely what he believed; maybe it was due to his daughter Sylvia’s engagement to Thomas Hallam, or something more sinister. Then there was Mr Iveson, who had given Jack stories latterly that had disturbed and disappointed him - or he had before he’d died. Now, since, he’d heard even stranger things from Mrs Iveson, and more again from Mrs Foyle, and Lord Howe’s other daughter, Jane, who was never in line with the rest of her family. But what to do with it all and who to believe, that was the thing. Jack only wished that he didn’t know any of it.
“Penny for them.”
Jack had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard Afzal approach and he gave a start at his words.
“Well, now, there’s a guilty reaction. Maybe I shouldn’t ask. Or at least pay more: pound for them?”
Jack turned away from the river with a small grimace. “No, damn it, they’re not even worth a ha’penny. All I know is that I don’t know anything, but I still don’t like it.”
“Who likes this kind of thing?” said Afzal. “The obvious exception aside, I suppose.” He put a hand to Jack’s shoulder. “If you’ve finished for now, then leave it here. Come with me. I’ll buy you coffee, whatever you want. Let’s get in out of this bloody wind.”
Jack had to smile, if unwillingly. “Thanks. It’s only -” He stopped and gestured across at the former Houses of Parliament again. “Well, you see.”
“Yes,” said Afzal, more seriously. “State of Emergency now, isn’t it? Martial Law next, I should think. All for our own good.”
Exactly, thought Jack, and Afzal and Jane would be diving in head first into protesting against the arrangements. They were already involved in something, even Jack couldn’t avoid knowing that much. And once everything went that far, it was going to get serious. If he looked across the river again, he knew it already was. Then there was Mrs Iveson. She’d asked to meet him yesterday over there and she’d never come. She hadn’t been caught in the incident, because he’d taken down the names and details of the dozen-odd dead and wounded, and there’d been no sign of her. The most he got out of anyone was Ronald Whittaker, a junior cabinet minister, pinning him down later and telling him it was best not to ask.
First one down - if she was the first - and who would it be next? Afzal would stick his neck out for his principles, the way he always did, and that could never end well. Jane, too, would be up in arms. The more Jack thought about it, the more too many of the people he knew well were lining up on one side or the other, and he was stuck uncomfortably in the middle, hating all of it, but too unsure to move to any more certain position.
“Staring at the place won’t put Big Ben back together again, you know,” said Afzal.
Jack grimaced, his attention brought back to that glaring fact. “Awful, isn’t it? It came through the war - and now this.”
“Coffee,” said Afzal. He glanced at Jack again. “Or something stronger, maybe? Whatever the hell it is you need.”
Jack turned away from the unwelcome sight, taking a firm hold of himself with a mental shake. “Right. Coffee it is. Sorry.”
“You know there are people willing to do something about it -” Afzal began.
Jack cut him off with more violence than he had intended. “No! We’ll get through this, but not like that. Don’t you see? There could even be civil war; it’s not impossible.”
“Keep your voice down,” said Afzal. “Jack.”
He closed his eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t have principles, he thought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care that it wasn’t only the buildings that had fallen - today they’d suspended Habeas Corpus like a nightmare revisiting of old history lessons. But when it came to fighting back, he couldn’t help thinking of who was going to get hurt. Besides, who could be so absolutely bloody certain they were right that they’d literally fight for it? And he knew the answer to that one: Afzal, for a start. Maybe sometimes he didn’t have as much choice in the matter, but he also chose to jump right in to any issue going. God, he hated the idea of losing him. Jack would rather just keep his head down and keep what he had and think the cost was worth it.
“All right, I’m sorry,” he said. “I suppose it doesn’t seem quite real. I was standing over there taking notes on the Fall of the Government, as if it’s any other news story. I suppose that is all it is, but it shouldn’t be.”
Afzal shrugged. “I know, but can we argue about it somewhere inside where it’s not bloody freezing?”
“Mrs Iveson wanted to meet me,” Jack said, having to say it to someone. “On the Embankment, outside the Houses of Parliament. She never turned up, but she wasn’t inside - she wasn’t hurt. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I think she might be dead. She wanted to say something about Mr Hallam. I wasn’t keen - and then all this happened.”
Afzal stopped jogging about from one foot to the other to keep warm and looked out across the river himself. “Oh,” he said. “Actually, I’m not sure it does sound ridiculous.”
“And you could be dead next if you’re going to start playing games like that.” Jack couldn’t help the way he sounded slightly petulant when he said it; it came out that way. “Just - don’t.”
“They’re not games.”
Jack sighed and started to walk away, Afzal beside him. “Just don’t do anything stupid. You can manage that, can’t you?”
“Nothing stupid, I promise,” said Afzal, quickening his pace, evidently still keen to be out of the inclement weather. Jack wasn’t particularly reassured: he knew too well by now that they had different ideas about the meaning of the word.
Jack looked at him again. “If this is about Tom Hallam, you know that Alan Jemmings is in it, too, don’t you? And he knows us. He went out with Jane. He’ll be watching for you to do something and you know what a bastard he is.”
“Coffee, my dear fellow,” said Afzal. “Or probably something more calculated to calm the nerves - and then you can get your story down and stop having a fit about things that haven’t happened yet. Never will happen, either.”
Jack gave a slight smile. “Yes, but what will you be writing?”
“I’m not a journalist,” Afzal said. “I can tell the truth.”
“Yes,” said Jack, with a wry twist to his mouth, “that was what I thought.”
***