Elysium. Part Two Read Online Free

small town of pastel buildings. The wind roused the flags atop their masts and lines, filling the air with the sound of fluttering.
    Guliven liked it here; it made him think this must be what Mortehoe would have been like in the past. Electricity burning, lights brightening the night, the vibrancy emanating from the public houses, with little care for who might hear.
    ‘That you, Kelly?’ Tom said, climbing down a ladder to take their rope.
    ‘Guliven,’ he replied quietly.
    ‘Ah, Gully, how’ve ye been?’ He reached out to take the rope Guliven offered and tied it to a large ring on the harbour wall.
    ‘Apart from my wind-burnt face? Well... Tom, this is Sean Colt, he’ll be helping me from now on. I’m the new Runner, see?’
    ‘We bored ol’ Kelly, did we?’ Tom said with a laugh and returned to the top of the ladder. ‘Or is it that he couldn’t handle the drinking that goes on after hours?’
    ‘If that’s the answer then it was a severe course he took in avoiding it. He died near three weeks ago.’
    ‘No,’ Tom said, surprised. ‘Kelly? Dead? I don’t believe it.’
    ‘It’s true,’ Guliven continued, ‘as true as my face and arse are raw. Heart attack. Out like a light.’
    ‘A shame... A real shame. We all knew Kelly. Liked him, too. Told him he were more a Ballycotton man than whatever you call yourselves in that... Kibbutz of yours. Well, it happens, I suppose. Ned Blarney dropped down dead only two months ago, though he was in his sixties... Kelly were a young man, in his prime. And fit too...’
    Guliven had ascended the ladder, and saw Tom better for the lights dotted along the harbour. He was in his late forties, with a wild shock of grey hair tied in a ponytail with a shoelace, and a nose that had been on the receiving end of too many knuckles. He wore a grey jumper two sizes too large for him, quarter-length trousers and sandals, and he bobbed from foot to foot as though readying himself to spar.
    They clasped hands and greeted each other warmly, before he introduced Sean properly and spoke a little of the journey they had endured.
    ‘We were expecting you last night,’ Tom said, nodding, ‘though it was no surprise when you didn’t show. Will you be taking the usual or is there anything else you need?’
    ‘Just the usual, though I did promise my wife some sugar.’
    ‘One of the perks, eh?’ He nudged Guliven in the arm and lead him to a cargo crate secreted behind several abandoned skiffs. He opened the crate, which screamed as metal rubbed metal, then flicked a switch as he entered, dousing a large stock of crates in cream light.
    ‘It’s all there, as usual. You can either go through it now or have a drink and do it in the morning, it’s all the same to me.’
    ‘Sean?’ Guliven said, eyeing the boxes. He didn’t much fancy checking the pile now.
    ‘To be honest, I just want to have a whiskey and get myself laid. Does that girl with the red hair still serve at the Blackbird?’
    ‘Jesus, you’ll have to be more specific, man.’
    ‘We’ll stay the night,’ Guliven said, and the three retreated back outside, the door scraping loudly and reverberating in the quiet. Guliven looked over the harbour and the scores of vessels swaying gently, their flags rustling and the water lapping against their hulls. There was one amid them that caught his notice, a rusting tug with a deep orange bow. He’d seen it before, though he couldn’t place where.
    ‘Let’s be off then,’ Tom said, distracting him. He’d probably seen the vessel on a visit here in the past, though why it would stand out to him now he didn’t know.
    They stepped back up to the main walkway of the harbour and made their way into the town when Guliven realised from where he recognised the tug. The thought hadn’t finished forming in his mind when two large men barred their way. They were between the reach of street lamps, and all of them were doused in shadow.
    ‘Who’s that?’ One of them asked.