by Lucas Hault
“Who are you and what brings you here?” asked one among the company of guards. They stood tall before them, staring at the numerous barrels placed on the ship. The guards were dressed in indigo frogged jackets and trousers, with an indigo flat hat that had the emblem of the nation attached to it, which consisted of a panther, stretched preceding his strike. This was the emblem of the Islands of Sinfron that was also carved on the big dome of the Royal Palace, which Sebastien remembered to have seen it in his last visit to the land.
“We are exporters from Silver Island,” replied Sebastien. “We are here to make a trade for a large shipment of oil at a very low price”. He sounded eloquent and swaying.
“But why would you exchange it for a low price?” asked one of the guards.
“Because we have it in abundance and any single penny is worth our profit”.
“Who exactly are you?”
“I am Peter Rodrick, and this one is my younger brother Joe”.
Sebastien had to misrepresent himself because the authority of that land were well aware of the actual person behind the disguise.
The guards examined them for a while, verifying their documents carefully, which was arranged at the very last moment before the expedition. Sebastien noticed the perceptibly lengthened face of Joe Rodrick, draped in fear of getting caught, but fortunately, they didn’t, following which his nerves relaxed. The guards moved towards the barrels once being done with the documents. They checked some of the barrels randomly, while one among them rummaged Sebastien’s bag. Fortunately, nothing was discovered, just the oil and his belongings. Sebastien was well aware of it beforehand and had thus suggested his men to place the weapon containing barrels in the midst of the rest. The manoeuver worked favourably, and the men were allowed to step into the country.
“Do you need any assistance in moving these barrels?” asked the first guard.
“No, thank you!” he replied humbly. “My men and I have been doing this for ages and we are used to it. I appreciate your concern, but we will do it ourselves”.
“Alright”, said the guard. “Let me at least guide you to the guest house”.
Sebastien nodded. “Get all the barrels off the ship and into the guesthouse”, he ordered his men and began descending the ship.
“I appreciate your capability in your job”, complimented Sebastien.
“The job demands it,” said the guard smiling. Sebastien noticed a golden tooth in his upper jaw as the lips stretched. His behaviour seemed quite friendly, and it did not take too long for them being familiar with each other. A man of around thirty, with grey eyes and a thick moustache, the guard introduced, “I am Ryan Cutler, and it is my pleasure to meet you”.
“So is mine”, he replied and the men shook their hands.
They were involved in a conversation when another guard approached them from the booth. “I have spoken to the Dictator and he has given his consent”, he said.
Ryan nodded.
“Do I look like a spook or something?” asked Sebastien jokingly.
“Forgive me Sir. It is mandatory, as it is a part of security for the nation, and nothing else”.
Sebastien inclined in appreciation. “Have you ever been to Silver Island?”
“Nobody has ever invited me. But if you do, I will surely be there.” The two chortled.
Sebastien followed Ryan Cutler through the narrow mud-coloured streets. The place was appealing and so were the people, who were all dressed in fancy cotton wears that suited the climate. The crowd had a life of its own, the vibrant clothes shining in the afternoon light and the people moving like enchanting shoals of fish. Stalls flooded the streets and there was a chatter between sellers and buyers, old mates catching up, and families travelling in their disclosed cars. Everyone seemed busy and yet it was the crowd that brought life into that place. The roads were properly maintained and there was no compromise with cleanliness, something which was rare in Silver Island. He followed the guard across the third and fourth street, and finally into a winding lane that led to the guesthouse. It was a high storey edifice that was elegantly constructed, with a varying housetop, unlike the houses everywhere around, and consisted of large balconies and smaller windows.
“There you go Sir”, said the guard. “Don’t feel hesitant to consult me for any help”.
He smiled. “Now that you have mentioned it, can I ask you about something?”
“Sure Sir!”
“I have heard that Jon Philips is here too. He has been in a partnership with me and has to clear some dues. Do you know anything about him?”
“There are plenty of traders visiting the country and I don’t know anyone by name. But almost everyone of them spend most of their time in the brothel”.
“Why brothel?” He looked confused.
“Because they are far more superior and have a lot to offer”, replied the guard and winked.
He grinned. “Please tell my men to move their buns quick and unload the ship”.
“Yes Sir”, he replied and left, while Sebastien Stummenford moved inside the guesthouse.
The night was clear and fine. Stars shone cold and bright, while a half-moon bathed the whole place in a soft, uncertain light. The lamp posts over the streets made the appearance of the place pulchritudinous and fascinating. The harbour was visible at the far end, and the sound of the sea filled the place.
Joe was too exhausted in moving the cumbersome barrels and so he and the others had rushed straight to bed. Everyone craved for sleep except Sebastien, who was out on the streets, taking his walk and admiring the foreign land. It was something that he loved the most, walking with the best companion he had ever known—himself; Sebastien Stummenford. His rewarded Holferian dagger which he always carried with him was tucked by his side.
It was nearly midnight, and the street was deserted save for one or two revellers upon their way home. A warm wind blew from the west, drawing heavy clouds upon the clear sky that moved slowly across, and a half moon peeped occasionally through the rifts. Sebastien walked through the last street and entered the lane that led to the guesthouse. There, suddenly, he caught a glimpse of two people, standing in an isolated corner before the guesthouse and between the row of houses. The light from the lamp posts were low in the lane, save for the radiance from the guesthouse lamp at the entrance that bathed the spot. The figures stood in the gloom, using darkness as their veil. A look of mingled repulsion and interest covered his face. There was something puzzling in the situation that weighed him down on one side and his muscles were struggling to compensate for his lack of balance. He sneaked towards the guesthouse through the small shades across the houses, using the shadows to his full advantage. He stopped by the last house and could move no further, as the path in between was showered in light. The place where he stood was still quite distant from the scene of encounter, and he could only see the two outlined figures in the dark.
He thus remained still, staring at the two. Endless thoughts pricked his mind as he looked at them in a helpless way, wringing his hands together like one who is in the last extremity of doubt and misery. He wanted to chase and knock them down to unveil the mystery at once. But unfortunately, he couldn’t, as he was in a secret visit to the island, and couldn’t commit any such thing that would highlight his presence instantaneously. He therefore, suppressed his restlessness and waited. It wasn’t too long when the secret encounter was over, and one among them stepped into the light. It was way too far to study his face, but this man had a hat over his head that shaded his face. And as for the other one, he remained braced in the gloom, talking continuosly to this man before him. Sebastien crouched against the walls taking in shallow breaths, and careful never to make a sound. His curiosity was peaked as he tried to look at the face under the hat, but nothing helped. They exchanged a few more words and then, suddenly, like a thunder in the sky, something followed—something fortunate, but so abhorrent that it stunned him for a moment. The man standing in light smiled, and a q
uick flash followed. This struck his mind immediately. A flash. That little shine, following the parting of lips. The golden tooth. The guard. Ryan Cutler!
It was all clear. Sebastien remembered the smile, the exact same smile and the glittering of golden tooth when it was exposed to air. Now he needed no light to look over the face under the hat, his senses had already conceived it. But the identity of other fellow, the one entertaining the guard was still as dark as the sky. Ryan stood right before him, and his back prevented Sebastien’s view to look over the face. They shook hands, following which the guard escorted him into the guesthouse. This was another blow which exploded his senses, and Sebastien just stared at the scene open-mouthed. His brain formulated no thoughts other than to accept that he was shocked. The guard’s back still blotted his view, and this had somewhat piqued his curiosity. Ryan left his companion at the gate and walked away through the other street.
Sebastien jumped out of the shadow and rushed straight into the guesthouse. He ran across the hall and through the stairs and over the corridors, but discovered no sign of anyone. Everything was still, with only the snores audible from every room. He moved to the second floor only to see his men drowned in their sleep. Joe, Jason, Rob and the others—all were at rest. Sebastien was soaked up in sweat and the same scene flashed before his eyes, almost giving him a headache.
“It must be someone else from the guesthouse,” he murmured, swallowing down his agitation. He trusted his men, and it no longer bothered him. It was surely someone else, about whom he hardly cared.
“Come on Owen, are you serious?” asked Borkan. He was seated beside Owen Green, who drove their car towards the destination, the remote town of Gubby. Harot was a serious threat to the nation, and perhaps the whole continent, and visiting the town seemed the only way to discover the truth.
Owen simply gave a nod, his eyes still sunk into the sea of sorrow, missing the sight of his beloved brother.
It was really hard for Borkan to apprehend Owen’s refusal in accepting such a beautiful offer, and choosing something which could prove no good. But at the same time, he was no stranger to Owen’s love for his brother, elaborating his decision far and brief.
“I never deny the truth!” replied Owen. “I know my brother broke the law, and that hell of a place has most probably swallowed him. I just want to go through this so that no other individual has to suffer the pain of losing their beloved ones”.
His fingers grasped tightly over the driving wheel as he remembered it.
“I know how it feels to lose your siblings, specially the younger ones. I have gone through the same. But trust me, time heals everything,” replied Borkan. “I still remember the happy faces of Farrah and Barak that day when my brother Yousouf was to be welcomed in our world. But that poor soul was defunct at its birth. That incident changed our lives. I have seen my broken mother and helpless father, I have heard the cries of my sister and shared Barak’s sorrow. Life had lost its colour, but then Meshach was born. Time heals every wound. It may not be immediate, and certainly not as what we think, but it does. All you need to do is have faith in the Almighty.”
His words were indubitable and illuminative, and had made Owen feel a little stronger and relieved.
The day was pleasant and the sun shone brightly. The blowing winds felt cool and refreshing. A beautiful autumn day that looked favourable for travelling, and the men were on. They had left the Capital far behind and were heading further north. Borkan was dressed in pale cargos, with a cream-coloured shirt and a dark, unzipped leather jacket on the top, while Owen was in his velvet trousers along with a faded green shirt.
“One would never know the real world if he doesn’t steps out from his impervious environment and into the reality”, he mentioned, looking around the modest houses all over the locality. The roads weren’t properly constructed and nothing appeared fancy or lavishing. The locality before them was situated by the Northern Desert, and the place was sandy and barren. A few trees could be seen growing around, but the rest of the place was bare.
“You see these poor people,” remarked Owen as they gazed at the surrounding. “Power and authority is the last thing on their mind. The only thing that bothers them is peace and harmony. They never demand palaces and castles or any hidden treasure. Their only wish is peace for themselves and a better life for their children”.
Borkan saw the people at work; the blacksmiths and porters, and the various labours. There were also a few women selling fruits and vegetables on the wooden stalls. Surprisingly, none of them looked complaining about anything, but happy and occupied with their lives.
“These people remind us about the actual phase of life”, he mentioned, as the two moved past their area. “I have never seen this face of Syneria. To be honest it looks strange to me”.
“The world is full of strange things. The only thing you need is the perception to see them,” said Owen.
“You sometimes sound like my father”.
“He is the man who has influenced my life!” replied Owen.
The car moved towards the long desert road ahead of the locality. Borkan and Owen were the sole travellers in that track, which had cactus plants growing on the side and a pile of broken milestones huddled off the track. There on the top of the desert hills, Owen caught a glimpse of uneven figures, or more likely some weird creatures, outlined against the bright blue sky. It appeared ambiguous, and they seemed antithetic, perhaps brute; quite different than a human form. They might have been four or five, Owen didn’t count, but had the thought of pointing it to Borkan, until they disappeared from sight and he just ignored. Owen was already too disturbed and involved in some other thought, and hence it literally slipped out of his mind.
They crossed the hills and desert roads, and could soon descry the view of a town at the horizon. The small storey buildings, the puny warehouses and large fields—everything turned clear as they got closer and closer.
“I never thought that this place would be so amazing”, he said.
“So did I”, supported Owen.
They drove straight ahead and into the town.
‘Welcome to Gubby’ read a large yellow signboard and they proceeded.
“Where shall we begin?” asked Owen. It seemed no lesser than a challenge after seeing the place fully occupied with people. The numbers were much more than that they had imagined.
The townsfolk had a different taste of life. They were dressed in rich cotton garments and broad-brimmed hats. They were happy and too much involved with their own lives, or perhaps pretended the same, for there was an ignorance in their mannerisms and no intent to be objectionable.
Borkan at that instance was dull and confused. He remained still, figuring out something profound. There was yet another quality that described Borkan—his patience. The decisions taken by him under any circumstances were exemplary.
The men had set foot in the town, and now they needed to act.
“What do we do now?” asked Owen abruptly. He looked inscrutable.
“It would be better to start with the vendors. I think they can deliver something about the man”.
They got off the car and walked towards the different stalls. The stalls weren’t big enough but were full with varieties of goods, including edible, non-edible and various other items. The streets were occupied with stands, appearing more in numbers than the houses around.
“Excuse me”, he interfered. The vendor was in a bargain with his customer. It was a vegetable stall, and the vendor was an old man with a thin moustache. He was short and scraggy, with a dark green cap over his head. He spoke in some alien tongue about which the two knew nothing.
“We are stockbrokers from Hustlecitis and we wish to meet Cade Brown for some trade purpose. Can you kindly direct us to his doorstep?” Owen sounded the kindest in his entire life.
They stared at Owen for a moment, and then the vendor began speaking in the same foreign tongue. Borkan understood nothing—not a word, except for the nam
e that was mentioned. He couldn’t follow him but was absolutely sure of him being rude and harsh.
“Can you please speak in the common tongue?” requested Owen, but the vendor remained stuck to his own accent. The communication seemed useless and hence they moved on.
“Was he abusing us?” asked Owen.
“Who knows?” said he smiling.
The men moved ahead of a few stalls and stopped before a grocery stand. Borkan noticed a young couple who were incharge of the store. Both, husband and wife were golden-haired, and well dressed, with the husband in a chocolate brown waistcoat over his check-shirt, while the wife was in her long indigo frock. They too had hats over their heads, just like all the people of Gubby. It might be traditional or perhaps something else, about which either of the two hardly cared.
“Can you speak in our common tongue?” asked Owen directly.
The couple shook their heads at once. A No! The men proceeded.
They tried with a few others, but the aftermath remained unchanged. Borkan looked weary, while Owen frustrated. They tried communicating with some others, including the passers-by, but nothing helped.
“It really looks like they hate strangers”, said Owen, appearing tired and confounded. Borkan saw the people staring at them, as if they were some invaders who were there to loot their land.
The men had travelled a long way, but achieved nothing; nothing but failure. They gloomily dragged themselves towards their car, with a look of despondency and impasse that masked their faces.
They did not stop, not until the cry of a child which ceased their footsteps.
Borkan turned around to notice a small little girl around eleven approaching them. A blonde-haired cutie with grey eyes, she was one of the prettiest that he had ever seen. Her dainty shoes and smart pink frock with its little linen apron, all bespoke her mother’s care. She scorched and stood before him, and he dropped down on his knees, following which she began, “Everyone is lying to you. They know the way you speak”. Even though she spoke the common tongue, her accent was entirely different from his. It wasn’t too clear, but it sounded saccharine and soothing.
