Doctor Who_ History 101 - Mags L. Halliday [88]
The cell was in the basement. The only light came from a well set high in the wall and the stone floor was always chilly from the damp ground below it. It was maybe twenty feet square and Anji guessed it had once been a wine cellar for the huge building above. It certainly hadn’t been designed for human habitation. For the first hour, she had yelled at anyone she saw passing but eventually she had found herself a spot and settled in to wait. As soon as the fighting was over, they’d be released. They hadn’t done anything wrong after all.
* * *
The café had been quiet during the afternoon, people still wary of staying out. The markets had reopened straight away of course, and queues formed for bread, but the bars had been half-empty. Fitz had planned to get away to the Oriente quickly, but he had trouble making his excuses. First there had been much discussion of what would happen next and the arguments when they had found out the POUM were already being blamed for the unrest. Then there had been getting the guns back from the theatre roof without getting into trouble. Then Joaquín had suggested he buy them all a drink for their efforts over the previous few days. The one glass of beer had turned to two, then three, then news of who had been wounded or killed started to filter through properly and toasts had to be raised to the fallen. Maybe five hundred dead, from all the different factions, in three days of fighting. Fitz was starting to suspect the fascists were just waiting for their opponents to kill each other rather than actually attack.
So he’d stopped for one drink and ended up staying for several. They’d taken over the back half of a dingy bar off a side street, well away from where they had been fighting. It was a basic place, the barrels resting on a heavy rack behind the bar. No special beers or wine, just basic stuff. No food, no nibbles. After the first three beers, Fitz had a new burst of energy. He suspected it was just the exhaustion and alcohol making him reel. The time on the train with Sasha had paid off, and he’d led the rag-tag group in a chorus of Ay Carmela, only occasionally stumbling over the words. They had laughed, slapped him on the back and called him their good luck.
‘Contra ataques muy rabiosos... deberemos resisti...’
‘Traïdors!’ someone yelled. Fitz paused, looking round. A group of the People’s Army had come into the front of the bar, their smart uniforms blocking the view of the door. Luiz stood abruptly, his chair scraping back on the tiled floor. One of the newcomers stepped back slightly, but the others jostled him. The captain rapped on the bar, demanding beer for all his men. He turned his back on the scruffy men in the back and started to talk loudly. Fitz clutched at his glass and tried to look nonchalant. He could spot a brewing bar fight anywhere. The mere presence of a ranked officer was an affront to the POUM and then Fitz caught a snatch of the rant the man was addressing to his men.
‘– the POUM are in league with the rebels, starting this fracas to distract us from the real enemy –’
‘Liars!’ Luiz was roaring. Alberto had his good arm on his friend’s, trying to hold him back. Fitz couldn’t hear what the academic was saying under the sudden shouting from all sides, but he suspected it was a variation on ‘leave it, he’s not worth it’. Fitz hurriedly drained his beer, waiting for a chance to make his excuses before things got