Brink (The Ruin Saga Book 2) by Harry Manners Page B

Malverston, town mayor four years running. “ Elected mayor,” he proudly announced at every opportunity, though no election had ever been held. He was an enormous near-spherical man with a grimy beard that ran down to his navel in tangled greasy spiracles. His beady black eyes latched onto Alex and James like leeches. “Always a thrill, always. What news of the world?”
    James cringed inwardly at the exaggerated falseness, the grandiose antiquated exclamations. Malverston was full of them. He thought himself some kind of generous member of the gentry, a relic from the eighteenth century who was embarrassed to find himself of good fortune and chose to mingle with the commoners. But James knew better. They saw his kind all too often.
    “As always, Mayor, there’s plenty to tell and little time to tell it,” Alex sang over the continued hum of the crowd. James hated these pleasantries, pretending friendships that were simply not there. Alexander Cain was no songbird, but a quiet, pensive soul. He would be a great man one day—they all said it, wherever they went. James would be lucky to be half the man he was when he came of age. Yet this eternal front he put on in public, the showmanship, it was all a lie.
    But it was all part of the mission. That was the way they had always done things. And all things told, James was glad to endure a little falseness if it meant success. He had a destiny, after all, and he would do anything to see it realised. The world relied on the precious few like Alex and himself. If they failed, a new Dark Age would sweep over everything in a generation.
    “And you, my dear Mr Chadwick! You’re looking more strapping by the day.”
    James nodded and called on his practised diplomatic smile, honed to perfection over countless iterations. But his body seemed gummed up, his mind still on Beth. “Mayor,” he stammered.
    He caught a confused warning glance from Alex and shook himself, squashing Beth’s face from his mind.
    Malverston clapped, lest any attention waver from him, and laughed in great hacking gulps. “Good, good, fortune smiles on us all. My dear friends, I’m sure our guests are tired after their long ride. Let’s give them some space and refreshment.” He flicked a hand in the direction of the stock keeper. “Harry, give their horses a fair seeing to, won’t you?”
    The stock keeper’s brow twitched, but he nodded. “Of course, Mayor.”
    “Good, good. We ran out of the jerky you brought on your last trip. We certainly have a taste for it around these parts.”
    “I’m glad everyone enjoyed it.” Alex was still smiling, but James knew every inch of him too well for the micro expressions of distaste lurking under his brow to go unnoticed.
    The partiality to jerky was chiefly that of the mayor, rather than the town. His subjects were lucky to receive anything but the occasional tinned spam or tuna when after a taste of the Old World. Newquay’s Moon was a long way from any city of note, and so the scavengers had picked the loot left behind after the End clean in the Early Years.
    “In time there’ll be plenty more,” Alex was saying.
    “So what have you brought?” Malverston cried.
    “Only good intentions, and an offer you’d be a fool to refuse.”
    A momentary fury flashed behind Malverston’s piggy eyes. But then the flicker was gone and he was wearing his amiable smile once more. “Indeed, young master Cain? Please, let’s get comfortable.” He gestured to the largest building in town, the pantry around back overspilling with the goods brought by those looking to win his favour.
    That was how power exchanged hands in the South-West. They relied on trade caravans and wandering allies for such luxuries, which carried a hefty premium. It was no surprise they had taken to Alex and James. They took to anyone willing to give a discount, regardless of their ulterior motives. Their affections and allegiance came down to how much you were willing to shave off your