The Dead Travel Fast by Nick Brown

involve any contact with the corpselike priest. There followed a bizarre ritual that stopped just short of a being a parody of the Eucharist as a large silver chalice was raised in the air and passed round all the seated men. As he waited for his turn, Steve felt like an unwelcome guest at one of the drinking societies for rich public school boys when they reach university. It also crossed his mind that Vassilis was playing a cruel practical joke on them simply because he had the power. Like Stalin who, after dinner and drink, liked to make his generals and senior politicians dance with each other while he stood changing the records and watching.
    There was no more time to reflect on power and humiliation as the chalice reached him. Inside was a reddish liquid which at first he feared might be blood but turned out to chilled sparkling red wine. When everyone had drunk, the chalice was returned to Vassilis who carried it outside and set off towards the cricket pitch followed by his congregation.
    A sizeable crowd, gathered under large sunshades, already fringed the boundary and as Vassilis appeared they applauded him as he walked across to the square, where he held the chalice briefly above his head before pouring the dregs onto the wicket. The two captains who followed him stood as he tossed the coin then moved away towards an elaborate marquee set up at the far end of the ground. A large and florid Brit, who had been introduced to Steve, although he had forgotten his name, took him by the arm.
    “Come on, you’re with us; your kit will be laid out in the tent, looks like poor old Dougie lost the toss as usual and we’ll have to field in this heat.”
    Steve, already sweating with discomfort and feeling like a walk on part in someone else’s nightmare, asked him,
    “Have you done this before?”
    “Too bloody right I have: no one with any sense would consider saying no to one of Vassilis’s invitations: the Greeks because they’re scared shitless by him, and us because we have to live on this island. Things might be a bit uncomfortable for us if we had to go back home. Still, the party afterwards is always good particularly if you fancy a turn with Brandi.”
    “Brandy?”
    “Dougie’s wife, someone is normally prepared to take her off his hands for a bit.”
    He said this with an expression that was half smirk, half leer, but lacked the charm of either. They reached the marquee which had a changing area for each team at opposite ends. There was a locker for each player with their names on, and inside Steve’s a complete brand new kit was laid out. He changed in a daze. It was all so strange that he was almost enjoying it; the care that was being taken of him was very flattering, and of course there was Alekka. While he was lacing his boots Dougie asked him,
    “What do you do, Steve? You’re in for Antonis who, naturally, did anything he bloody well wanted to.”
    The rest of the team laughed at this, but not too loudly; and Steve told them he didn’t mind as he hadn’t played for a bit and was rusty.
    “Well, you’re bloody well going to have to do something; Vassilis expects it.”
    “Bowl then, I guess.”
    “What? Seam up medium I’ll bet. Better be good, we’re expected to win so I’ll bring you on once we’re through their openers; they’re the only decent bats they’ve got, the rest just slog so you shouldn’t do too much damage. Till then, double up between long off and fine leg.”
    Steve had seldom been made to feel so unwanted and was impressed Dougie accomplished it with so few words. Somewhere outside, a loud bell rang and they left the shade of the marquee for the glare of the field. He saw Vassilis sitting on a large chair under an awning surrounded by courtiers like Xerxes above Salamis.
    Suddenly he was nervous: he hadn’t played for years and there was now a large crowd. Alekka waved to him as he followed the rest of his team onto the field and he jogged off to his position on the