Send Simon Savage #1 by Stephen Measday Page B

feast. At least it showed he could still provide for his family.
    ‘I’m not sure how you eat this,’ Damien said, holding a knife over the pineapple, a fruit he had seen once but never tasted.
    ‘I’ll show you,’ Hanna said, getting up. Her crippled legs wobbled as the tree house swayed slightly in the wind.
    Alli dashed to her side to support her.
    ‘I’m all right!’ Hanna pushed her away. ‘Wind’s a-rising, things will buckle and fold for a while. Don’t bother me.’
    Damien hated seeing his mother in this surly mood, especially as there was nothing he could say to make her feel better. Talking wouldn’t bring Danice back.
    He turned to the open window. Great banks of storm clouds brewed along the horizon and a rising wind ruffled the treetops. Lights flickered from the candles in the other tree houses. These days, they were inhabited mainly by women, young children and the elderly. Most of the adult men were gone, working as slaves, or as poorly paid factory workers in Old City.
    ‘I better go and see Bigdad,’ Damien said. ‘I can give him a share of the food. And these …’ He took a pair of scuffed leather boots from a hessian sack and showed them off proudly.
    ‘Where did you get those?’ Hanna asked. ‘You didn’t do some silly piece of trade, did you?’
    ‘The Chieftain gave them to me,’ Damien replied. ‘I think they were going to be thrown out.’
    His mother grunted. ‘Trouble. Working for the Chieftain is causing us nothing but trouble.’
    ‘A lot of the other families here are starving, Mama,’ Damien reminded her. ‘You know that. Working for the Chieftain is risky, but it puts food in our bellies!’
    ‘Not unless we eat, it doesn’t!’ Hanna snapped. She reached for the pineapple. ‘Cut the leaves off the top, trim the thick skin all around till you reach the flesh. Then eat it … if you have the appetite for it.’
    Damien opened his bag and packed some of the chicken, a couple of apples, a few vegetables and the boots into it. ‘I’ll eat when I get back later tonight,’ he said. He slung the bag over his shoulder. ‘I’d better go while it’s still light.’
    ‘Be careful, Damien,’ Alli said.
    ‘Those people have already taken Danice,’ Hanna added. ‘How do you know you won’t be next?’
    ‘I’ll be all right, Mama. I can look after myself,’ Damien replied.
    ‘Then watch out for the——’ Hanna began, but Damien didn’t wait to hear her out.
    He stepped onto the timber landing outside. The wind in the soughing redwoods smothered his mother’s voice. Damien didn’t need reminding. He knew the dangers of the night.

    ‘Care for what’s left?’ the Chieftain asked, taking the last portion of grilled steak from a platter on the table.
    ‘No, boss, thank you,’ O’Bray replied politely, and sat back a little in his chair.
    ‘You prefer the synthetic stuff from the Farms?’
    ‘Syn-food is nutritious, it’s filling,’ O’Bray said, ‘and they say it’s non-carcinogenic.’
    ‘ This is real food,’ the Chieftain said, cutting into the meat and lifting a juicy chunk to his mouth.
    O’Bray let his master eat. If that was the sort of thing he liked, who was O’Bray to object? The Chieftain had different tastes and habits, acquired in the Far Lands. Or so he had said on the few occasions he had mentioned his origins.
    O’Bray didn’t enquire too deeply. Warlords like the Chieftain came and went all the time. This one had first arrived over a year ago, along with a great deal of gold. Enough to buy a large share of whatever technology was available in this unsophisticated world. And also enough gold to buy friendship with the Tribunes who lived a few kilometres away in Old City.
    Gold meant power, and O’Bray knew this better than most. He worked for whoever paid the best price. For now, that person was the Chieftain.
    ‘Mmm, delicious.’ The Chieftain wiped his lips with a white napkin. ‘Now, O’Bray, let’s talk