The Last Citadel

by Kevin Ashman

  ‘Whatever you say,’ grinned Braille, ‘but it’s one coin more than you, shit for brains, now,’ he tapped his cosh lightly on Kenzo’s head, ‘assume the position and give me ten.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Failing to obey a command, soldier?’ That’s a further twenty,’ boomed Braille.

  ‘Braille,’ shouted Kenzo, ‘you can’t do this.’

  ‘Insubordination,’ he tutted, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, ‘that’s another thirty, boy.’

  Kenzo, shook his head in disbelief and dropped to his knees, giving his friend one more stare of disgust before starting his press ups.

  ‘That’s right, mere mortal,’ boomed Braille, ‘shout em out, soldier! One, two, three...’

  The quiet of the night was shattered by voices of the three soldiers echoing around the city walls as they counted the press ups, though soon only two could be heard as Braille was never quite sure after thirteen, so he sat back on the bench to have a smoke.

  ‘It was hard work being an officer,’ he thought.

  ----

  All the way back to the barracks, Braille rubbed in the fact that he was now Kenzo’s superior and expected to be treated as such.

  ‘You’re not an officer,’ snarled Kenzo for what seemed like the hundredth time. The novelty had worn off and Braille was now getting on his nerves. Much more of this and perhaps he would take his chances and knock him out. He stared at the back of his friend’s seemingly neck-less head joining the massively wide shoulders and thought of the money he had earned betting on the results of Braille’s many bare-knuckled fights around the city.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ he thought, ‘but if this continues, I’ll certainly give him a piece of my mind!’

  His brow frowned, realizing the absurdity of that last thought and just silently trotted behind this brute of a man. Loved by women, feared by men, there was no knowing what breath-taking feat of stupidity was looming in this giant’s mind next. He was annoying, frustrating, a bloody pain, and the best friend anyone could ask for. Kenzo stopped suddenly, running in to Braille’s stationary form.

  ‘What?’ he asked realizing his friend was waiting for an answer.

  ‘I said,’ repeated Braille, ‘do you think us officers get an extra ale ration?’

  Kenzo groaned again.

  ‘For Saint’s sake, Braille,’ he shouted, ‘you’re not an officer.’

  It was no good, Braille had already continued his trot down the cobbled street, extolling the virtues of the officer class to the other soldier forced to listen to him as he ran at his side. Kenzo followed them with a deep sigh. It was going to be a long night!

  ----

  The following morning saw the full guard formed up for the first time in years. There were five hundred men in total, grouped into squads of ten. Two paces in front of each squad was the squad commander and Kenzo was frustrated to see that he was in Braille’s squad again. Standing up on the steps of the barracks facing the guard, were two men, Fatman and an old guy he hadn’t seen before, dressed in a white gown, with white hair and … a long white beard.

  ‘It can’t be,’ thought Kenzo to himself, ‘I’m not that lucky!’

  Fatman called them to attention.

  ‘Okay, scum,’ he shouted, ‘pin back your lugholes and listen to what this man has to say. He is very important.’ He stood to one side, allowing Pelosus to step forward to speak.

  ‘Soldiers of the Citadel,’ Pelosus started formally, ‘I am here on the direct orders of the Governor and have assumed his authority over the guard. Over the next few weeks, there may be situations arising in Bastion that will need your, shall we say, particular skills.’ Nervous laughter rippled around the ranks. ‘For reasons that will soon become apparent,’ he continued, ‘food and indeed water is likely to become harder to find in Bastion and the council has decided to introduce rationing. It is highly likely that during this time, there may be disorder in the populace as some try to obtain more than their fair share. This will not be allowed to happen. You will not allow this to happen, so, at this very moment, scrolls are being put up around the city declaring martial law.’

  ‘What’s martial law?’ whispered Kenzo.

  ‘Permission to crack skulls,’ whispered Braille over his shoulder.

  ‘With immediate effect,’ continued Pelosus, ‘all leave is cancelled. The four quarters of the city will each have six squads, rotating in twelve-hour shifts. Three squads will work the quarter, while the other will be on standby in the barracks in case back up is required. It will be your responsibility to keep the peace using whatever means necessary.’

  Kenzo looked at the back of Braille’s head. He could almost feel the man grinning.

  ‘During this time,’ continued the old man ‘you may be asked to do certain things that you may not be comfortable with. Some things may even horrify you. However, in recognition of this, there will be certain rewards.’

  The soldiers were transfixed.

  ‘First of all, there will be no rationing in the barracks. Three square meals a day will be provided and in addition, there will be one free ale skin provided, per week, per man.’

  The soldiers voiced their approval at the unexpected bonus.

  ‘Secondly, your wages will be doubled with immediate effect, the extra to be paid on the conclusion of the crisis.’

  More nods of approval.

  ‘Finally,’ said Pelosus, ‘each man will be allowed one hour a month with a Courtesan of their choice at no cost!’

  This time a massive cheer resounded off the walls and the soldiers started talking loudly amongst themselves, not quite believing their luck.

  ‘Quiiieeeettt!’ shouted Fatman, but it was quite a while before the men gradually fell silent again.

  ‘Alright,’ said the white haired man, ‘most of the squads will be stationed in the barracks and will take care of the city, two however, will be stationed in the keep, providing a rotating guard on the gates. What you do in the barracks, stays in the barracks but as the city council are situated in the keep, a certain level of decorum is required. No drinking, fighting or fornication will be allowed and for this reason, we ask for two squads to volunteer for this duty.’

  In contrast to the noise of a minute ago, the silence was absolute. No one wanted the keep duty. Life as a soldier in Bastion was ninety-nine percent boredom and this was an opportunity not only to exercise their authority but to reap unheard of rewards as well. No, everyone wanted the city job, everybody that is, except one.

  Kenzo’s mind was racing. They were being offered a chance, not only to work in the keep but to be stationed there as well. It was the answer to his prayers, not only would he be nearer to the strange man who was last to see his cousin, but he would be living almost within Leona’s home. He couldn’t believe it.

  ‘Braille!’ he hissed.

  The large squad commander had developed an unhealthy interest in Fatman’s shoes, desperate not to make eye contact with the captain or the Stargazer.

  ‘Braille,’ hissed Kenzo again.

  ‘What?’ he whispered back over his shoulder.

  ‘Volunteer for the keep,’ said Kenzo

  ‘Are you off your head?’ answered Braille, ‘not in a million years, my friend, now shut up and keep still.’

  ‘We will take the keep, Sir,’ shouted one squad leader from further down the line. Everyone looked unbelievingly at the man concerned. Peron was famous for leading a healthy life, not partaking of ale or women, as when he died he wanted to enter the kingdom of the Saint as pure as possible. His squad erupted in rage at his actions but Fatman quickly shouted them down.

  ‘Well done,’ shouted Pelosus, ‘we need one more squad.’

  ‘Braille,’ whispered Kenzo frantically, ‘please, do this for me.’

  ‘Shut your mouth, private,’ came the hissed response, ‘I’m not missing this for anyone. It’s going to be one big party for…’

  He never finished his sentence as he flew forward,
sprawling in the dirt of the parade ground, his arse stinging from the almighty kick from the sole of Kenzo’s boot. He sat up spitting dirt, wondering what had happened.

  ‘Well done that man!’ shouted Fatman. ‘We have our two squads.’ Everyone else cheered loudly, not only because that they had avoided the graveyard shift but also at the irony that the biggest boozer, hardest fighter and most relentless womanizer of them all, was going to miss the once in a lifetime event that would have put his best skills to use.

  Braille didn’t hear the cheers; all he could do was stare up from the dirt, oblivious to the hilarity bouncing off the barracks walls. Hilarity that was not evident on the terrified face of Kenzo as he stared wide eyed back at the squad leader, not only horrified at the audacity of what he had just done, but aware that as Braille slowly drew his finger across his throat, that he was in deep, deep shit.

  ----

  Kenzo stood on guard at the gates of the keep, ironically, in exactly the same place where he had given his note to one of the other soldiers two days earlier. He looked up at the sun to check the time. A few more minutes and his shift would be over and he could try to make contact with Leona.

  His tongue played along his still swollen upper lip. It wasn’t hurting any more, and the loosened tooth seemed to have settled down. If it wasn’t for his broken nose and blackened eyes, no one would have guessed at the severe retribution administered by Braille in the barracks last night. It could have been worse and only the frantic promise of a free skin of ale every month for the rest of his life had persuaded Braille that it was not in his interests to beat Kenzo to a pulp. It wasn’t the beating that annoyed Kenzo, it was a price worth paying, but the fact that he had seen Fatman lurking in the shadows enjoying the spectacle, made it a whole lot worse.

  Still, what was done was done and he was actually inside the keep. His double shift would finish soon and he could start making enquiries. Ufox approached to relieve Kenzo.

  ‘Time’s up, Kenzo,’ he said, ‘Braille’s finally allowing you a break.’

  Kenzo grimaced back, fingering the new lump on the bridge of his nose.

  ‘Not the first break,’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘Well, you can’t say you didn’t ask for it,’ he said. ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘I have my reasons,’ said Kenzo.

  ‘Would this reason live in the keep and have long black hair?’ asked Ufox.

  ‘She’s part of it,’ said Kenzo, ‘but at the moment, I’m more worried about my cousin, Amber.’

  ‘Amber?’ answered Ufox, ‘I know her, pretty thing, gonna be a stunner in a year or two. What about her?’

  ‘Missing,’ said Kenzo, ‘and the only clue I have is right here in the Keep.’

  ‘Have you reported it to Fatman?’

  ‘I tried, but he only laughed in my face. Said we’re in a middle of a crisis and he’s got no time to waste resources on a missing kid.’

  ‘It figures,’ said Ufox, as the midnight bell rang out from the keep, ‘anyway, time is up, go and get some sleep. Oh, and try to keep out of Braille’s way. He may be your mate, but he’s still sulking.’

  ‘Thanks for the tip,’ said Kenzo, and he went through the door into the keep.

  There had been no interaction with the Artists since the soldiers had arrived and both groups kept out of each other’s way. The Artists went about their normal business and there was a constant stream of traffic to and from the central well, as they drew water to store in whatever containers they could. The announcements about rationing had been made the previous day and though there had been initial unrest with the crowd, it was soon calmed down when the troublemakers were singled out for what Fatman called ‘special’ attention. Since then, the city had been fairly quiet. There was plenty of food in storage and though the sea had risen somewhat, it had still not reached the level it had been just before Moon-day. Soon, the feeling in the populace was that perhaps the council had been wrong and all this would soon blow over.

  Kenzo walked toward the hall they had been allocated within the keep walls. He was exhausted and the beating had taken it out of him yesterday and he had just done a twenty four hour shift. He was almost asleep on his feet and pausing only to get a bowl of stew from the pot as he passed, he walked slowly to the bed space he had been given. Luckily, the snoring echoing around the room told Kenzo that Braille was fast asleep, so at least he didn’t have to listen to him whingeing again. He sat on his bed, his back against the wall, planning what he would do next. First, he would eat, as he was starving. Next, he would have half an hour’s sleep, that’s all, half hour was all he needed, then he would find Leona. She could take him to the old man, and then he would find Amber. Yes, that’s what he would do, but first…but first…

  Braille sat up suddenly, wondering what had woken him. He looked across at the slumped figure of Kenzo on his cot, steam still rising from the stew on the floor where it had spilled from the dropped bowl. He rose from his own bed and walked across to Kenzo’s comatose figure, reaching down to grab the boy by his shoulders.

  ‘Braille, enough,’ said a voice from the shadows, ‘don’t hurt him anymore!’

  The giant man looked into the darkness briefly before laying the boy gently down on his cot and covering him with a blanket.

  ‘Hurt him?’ he said quietly. ‘What do you take me for? He’s my mate!’

  ----

  Chapter 15

  Pelosus stared at the silk handkerchief left by Petra for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. Since the declaration of martial law, he had been run off his feet and the only time he could give to it was during the night. He looked up, disturbed at the sound behind him and spun around to see the clerk with a cup of warm wine and a couple of Narwl biscuits.

  ‘Ready for a break?’ asked the clerk.

  The Stargazer took a deep sigh and leant back in his chair.

  ‘Go on then,’ he said yawning, ‘I’m getting nowhere here.’ Despite his examinations, he was still none the wiser. There was certainly no message that he could see anywhere on the silk. He had held it up to the light, searched for hidden text amongst the embroidery and even applied certain chemicals known to reveal invisible ink, but all to no avail.

  ‘That’s pretty,’ said the clerk sitting down, ‘what is it?’

  ‘Oh this,’ he said, ‘just a handkerchief.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said the clerk.

  ‘Yes it is,’ murmured Pelosus quietly.

  ‘Where did you get it from?’ asked the clerk, picking up the delicate silk to examine it closely.

  ‘Oh, I bought it from the market,’ Pelosus lied, ‘those Brewers would sell their parents if they thought they could make a profit.’ They both laughed. The avarice of the Brewers was famous throughout the city.

  ‘Why are you working so late?’ asked the clerk, ‘you hardly sleep at all these days.’

  ‘It’s this business about the moon,’ said Pelosus. ‘It weighs heavily on my mind. I have to believe there is a way out of this and if there is, I have to find it as soon as possible.’ They passed a few minutes in small talk as they enjoyed the break.

  ‘Oh well,’ said Pelosus, ‘I have to get back to work.’ They stood up and the clerk passed the handkerchief back to the Stargazer.

  ‘Don’t lose that,’ he said, ‘it may be valuable one day.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Pelosus. ‘Do you think the Brewers would let something valuable go?’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said the clerk, ‘but that’s not Brewer in origin, ‘It's from the Watchers tower.’

  Pelosus stopped and stared at him.

  ‘What makes you think that?’ he asked.

  ‘The flowers around the edge,’ replied the clerk, ‘they are Poison-orange and that plant is only found in the Watchers-tower.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Pelosus, ‘I should have recognized them.’

  ‘Easy mistake to make,’ said the clerk, ‘the vine is all wrong. Poison orange d
oesn’t have any thorns and certainly doesn’t twist as much as that. Anyway, I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.’

  ‘Good night,’ said Pelosus watching the clerk retire. As soon as the door closed, he spread out the handkerchief quickly, studying the decoration in detail. Now it had been pointed out, the vine did indeed seem odd, twisting and turning back on itself, repeatedly. He picked up a thin piece of blank parchment and placing it over the silk, started to trace the route of the vine with a charcoal scribe. The line flowed and looped as he reproduced the embroidery with his pencil, and where it disappeared behind the flowers, he joined the line to the next probable resumption of the vine.

  Pelosus grew excited as the loops and curls of the duplicate began to form identifiable letters on his parchment. Within minutes, he looked down at the document, eyes wide with astonishment at what he saw. Encircling the page, written in beautiful handwriting was a simple sentence, and though on the handkerchief it was not visible, on the parchment it was crystal clear.

  ‘Beware the Brotherhood’

  Pelosus read the script over and over again, wondering about its meeting.

  ‘Brotherhood’, he thought, ‘I’m sure I’ve heard that name before. Despite racking his brain, he could not recall where he had seen or heard the word recently and it niggled away at him for a long time. Despite this, Pelosus was beside himself with excitement. If nothing else, this message, alongside the beautiful fabric called silk, proved that Petra’s information was of value. She had said that the handkerchief held a message and if she was right about that, she may just be right about the other place. This avenue of investigation was worth pursuing.

  For the next hour or so, Pelosus pored over the message, wracking his brains about what the cryptic message might mean, but he was out of his depth. Eventually he retired to his cot exhausted. He had succeeded in finding the message but had no idea what it meant. As he dozed off, his mind returned to the word.

  ‘Brotherhood,’ he thought, ‘Brotherhood.’ Where have I…?’