A Town Called Dust: The Territory 1

by Justin Woolley

  “Quite generous,” he said. “Don’t you think, sir?”

  “Mmm,” Uncle said, his cheeks bulging.

  Lieutenant Walter stood. “I’m afraid I had best check on the whereabouts of Sergeant Bentley.” He nodded his head. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  As Walter walked away he turned back to Uncle. The fruit was almost gone. He put his hand on Uncle’s shoulder.

  “I didn’t come here to try to convince you to let your nephew join the Diggers,” he said, tossing an envelope on top of the remaining fruit. “I came here to tell you he was. We leave at first light.”

  Lieutenant Walter walked away. Uncle opened the letter and let out a cry of disgust, fragments of fruit flying from his mouth. “What!?”

  He threw the letter on the table. It landed in front of Squid, who picked it up. He had always found words difficult, mainly writing them, but he could read reasonably well. The letter was handwritten and bore the official rising sun seal of the Army of the Central Territory. Squid read the letter:

  Squid Blanchflower of Dust,

  You are hereby notified that by the power vested in me by the Administrator of the Central Territory you are conscripted to the service of the Army in this hour of the Territory’s need.

  In this matter my words are those of the Administrator.

  Yours expectantly,

  Lieutenant Argus Walter

  Squid looked up from the letter just in time to see Uncle toss the plate of fruit across the room. It was about to smash dramatically against the door when instead the door opened. The plate careened straight into the face of Henry Zaster who, having more or less recovered from his flight, was walking back in. The metalworker bellowed in pain, wiped fruit from his face and looked around the room for the culprit. His eyes landed on Uncle just as he was rushing out the side door.

  CHAPTER 8

  When Squid awoke the next morning it was still dark. It took him a moment to realize he was being nudged by Uncle’s foot.

  “Come on, we’re leavin’.”

  “What about the Diggers?” Squid said. “That letter they gave you?”

  “I told you,” Uncle said, “you ain’t going nowhere except back to the farm.”

  Squid had lain awake last night, or rather reclined awake against the wall since Uncle had taken the only bed in the small room tucked in the roof space of the pub. He’d known that Uncle would not let him go with the Diggers. He’d even suspected Uncle would do exactly what he was doing now, stealing away early before Lieutenant Walter realized they had gone. He didn’t know what scared him more: the thought of going back to the dirt farm, or leaving behind everything he had ever known to join the Diggers.

  At the rough insistence of Uncle, Squid dressed quickly. The sun’s first hesitant rays had not yet reached the horizon as they headed toward the stables. The town of Dust was too far from anywhere, and much too poor, to have any gas lighting, let alone mechanicals or electricity.

  “Have you got the ticket?” Uncle said.

  Squid reached into his pocket for the ticket that Lieutenant Walter had given him. He pulled it out, but stopped before giving it to Uncle. This was it. Squid knew that if he gave his uncle the ticket they would leave for the farm and he would be lucky to ever be allowed away from it again. Despite how much the idea of venturing out into the world terrified him, Squid felt a pang of regret that he would never find out what lay down that path. Uncle snatched the ticket from his hand.

  “Isn’t this illegal?” Squid said. “The letter said it was the word of the Administrator.”

  “Taking away good people’s livelihood is what should be illegal,” Uncle said as he walked toward the stable door. A crooked sign hung from a nail: “After-hours collection. Please knock and wait.”

  Uncle banged on the door with the side of a clenched fist and waited, for two seconds.

  “Come on!”

  Squid’s eye caught the words on a plank of wood nailed over the open frontage of a building nearby: “Zaster’s Metalwork.”

  Uncle was halfway through banging on the door again when it opened. A bleary-eyed stableboy looked out at him.

  “Asleep on the job or what?” Uncle growled.

  The stableboy looked down at the scrunched ticket that Uncle thrust into his hand.

  “One minute,” the boy said as the door closed.

  “Maybe you could hire someone else to work on the farm,” Squid said.

  Uncle turned to Squid, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him close. His breath smelled as though something unclean had nested in his mouth overnight.

  “You think we can afford that?” Uncle hissed. “These bloody Diggers putting ideas in your head. If we weren’t leavin’ right now I’d find them and sort them out. Now, come on!” Uncle caught sight of the stableboy leading their horses out into the lane. He threw Squid forward. Squid stumbled and crashed into the dirt. He lifted his head to see that he had landed next to a round, fist-sized rock. How many times would he end up face down in the dirt if he returned to the farm? This was his chance to get away, to go to a school. And without any more thought than that, Squid grabbed the rock, stood and threw it toward the Zaster’s Metalwork sign. It missed—Squid had never had good aim— and smashed through the front window of the building next door.

  Uncle turned at the noise. “What was that?”

  The stableboy, the only witness to Squid’s act, ratted him out. “He just smashed Henry Zaster’s window!”

  Uncle reached for Squid, his eyes alight with fury, but he was interrupted as the door to the house all but flew off its hinges. Henry Zaster, dressed in a white nightrobe and tapping a large wooden mallet against his palm, stood in the doorway, his eyes locked onto Uncle.

  “You!”

  “No, no, no,” said Uncle, his hands up in protest, “it was the boy!” Uncle pointed to Squid but Henry Zaster was already walking toward him.

  “I don’t know what your problem is, dirt lifter,” Henry Zaster said, “but you mustn’t want to live.” He raised the mallet.

  “Stop!”

  Both men turned to look at Squid. Maybe Uncle deserved nothing less than a severe beating with a wooden mallet at the hands of a short-tempered metalworker, but despite everything, somehow, Squid did not want to see Uncle suffer.

  “It was an accident …” Squid started.

  “No accident, Henry,” said the stableboy, “I saw him chuck it.”

  “No,” Squid said, “I mean I never meant to hit the window …”

  Henry walked toward Squid. “What were you thinkin’?”

  “I believe he was being quite wise.”

  Squid, Henry, Uncle and the stableboy all turned toward this new voice. Squid’s heart jumped into his mouth. It was Lieutenant Walter.

  “I’d hazard a guess he was trying to draw attention to the fact that his Uncle was about to commit treason.”

  Walter walked to Henry Zaster and handed him a gold coin. “For a new pane of glass and for your trouble this morning.”

  Henry stared at the Digger for a moment before grudgingly turning toward his house.

  The protests from Uncle began well before Lieutenant Walter was standing in front of him.

  “Lieutenant,” Uncle said, “I was just getting Squid to help me with the horses, then we was going to come and find you. Isn’t that right, Squid?”

  Squid said nothing.

  “Isn’t that right, boy?” Uncle repeated, louder this time.

  Squid again said nothing.

  “Tell him that’s what we was going to do!” Uncle yelled. He raised his hand, ready to strike his nephew. Lieutenant Walter grabbed his arm.

  “I’m sure you can manage the horses on your own,” Lieutenant Walter said. Squid could see the Digger’s knuckles turning white as he squeezed Uncle’s wrist. Uncle, out of some twisted sense of pride, didn’t cry out.

  “Yeah,” Uncle said, “I can manage.”

  Lieutenant Walter let go. “Do you want to say go
odbye to your nephew?”

  “No,” Uncle said. He collected the horses from the stableboy and, ensuring he didn’t make eye contact with either Lieutenant Walter or Squid, he walked away.

  Squid felt his insides tighten. His front teeth ground against each other and he swallowed loudly. The world grew blurry. “Goodbye, Uncle,” he called. He didn’t get an answer.

  Soon Uncle had led the horses around the corner and was gone. Standing in the first light of the day, in a laneway of the town called Dust, Squid was left alone with a solider of the Army of the Central Territory.

  Lieutenant Walter put his hand on Squid’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry it had to be like this,” he said. “Usually it would be your choice whether you came with us or not, but you are wasted on that man, I can see it.”

  “He was still my family,” Squid said, sniffing and turning his face away. “My only family.”

  Walter took a moment before he spoke. “No one who treats you like that is family. During your training you will make the most loyal friends of your life. They will be your family.”

  “I’ve never had a friend before.”

  “I’m sure that’s only because you’ve never been given the chance.”

  Squid had seen other children playing Diggers and Ghouls at school, laughing and arguing. He had never really played, not like that anyway. He liked to count things instead. He liked to see how things worked. He liked to think the reason he didn’t have friends was because he’d never spent enough time with other children, but he knew the truth. He was different.

  “Don’t worry, Squid,” Lieutenant Walter said. “You’re going to be fine.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The Administrator sat at the very obvious head of the council table. He looked down its length and eyed each of the men who sat along the sides. The twelve ministers of the Council of the Central Territory sat uncomfortably in their high-backed chairs, just as he preferred. Thirteen years ago he’d ordered a carpenter to re-shape the chairs so that no one would particularly want to sit in them. It still gave him immense satisfaction to watch the ministers squirm.

  Even in his late fifties the Administrator was a giant of a man, gruff of voice and more often than not unshaven. He had been handsome in his younger days, his thick crop of shining black hair filling the dreams of many young girls across the Territory. Now, though, his beard was turning gray and he had grown thick around the middle as his indulgences of late began to take their toll.

  Ocean Bourke, Minister for Health, raised himself to a standing position. “Your Honor,” he said, “I believe we were discussing the continuing problem of the Territory’s growing population. We are facing increasing food shortages both inside and outside of Alice and the Church has been complaining about the number of quarantine squads being dispatched to deal with breakouts of disease in the slums. It’s occurring almost weekly now and is only a matter of time until we face a plague within the walls. Something must be done; the size of the slums is out of control.”

  “Minister Bourke, I assure you, as I have assured the High Priestess, the problem with the growth of the slums will be dealt with,” the Administrator said. “But today there is only one matter this council must discuss. I have received word from the boundary riders that there has been a breach in the fence. There is a horde of ghouls inside the Territory.”

  There were low murmurs from around the table as the ministers looked at each other. It was Colonel Hermannsburg who voiced what they were all thinking.

  “How many?” he asked.

  The Administrator paused. “Early reports have estimated the number at ten thousand.”

  “Ten thousand!” Colonel Hermannsburg shouted. The Administrator had expected this reaction; Ancestors’ sin, he’d had the same reaction when he’d been told. That number was extraordinary. It must have been a mistake.

  “How is this possible?” Colonel Hermannsburg continued. “What about the early detection, the watchtowers, the patrols? How are the Diggers not aware of this?”

  “I assure you, Colonel, we are looking into it.” The voice that spoke was slow, as if the words had to slip out through a thick layer of oil, but the voice was not weak; each word was deliberate and demanded attention. This was the voice of Knox Soilwork, Chief Minister of the Central Territory, a man who had all but ruled the Territory in his own right as Acting Administrator when the Administrator himself had taken office at just eight years of age. Following the Administrator’s coming of age Knox Soilwork had been made Chief Minister and had held that position ever since. Despite being an old man, his hair white and his dark skin lined with deep wrinkles, no one in the Territory doubted the power he still held. “From what we understand, a boundary rider crashed into a remote part of the fence. The repairs on the fence are under way but the ghouls were through well before the breach was noted.”

  “How long ago did the breach occur?” Colonel Hermannsburg asked.

  “The boundary rider in question did not check in at his outpost two days ago,” the Administrator said.

  “I don’t understand!” Colonel Hermannsburg exclaimed. “The Diggers should have been told immediately. There are supposed to be back-ups in place, lookouts, regular patrols. We should have known about this!”

  “Yes,” Knox Soilwork said. “We should have known, but we did not.”

  “Ten thousand,” Colonel Hermannsburg said. “You’re certain? There have been hordes of that size before but not for hundreds of years.”

  “We have sent boundary riders to find and track the horde,” Knox Soilwork said. “We don’t know that the number is correct. It seems unlikely. The boundary riders will provide us with a more accurate estimate.”

  “Either way we can expect the number to be big, though,” Colonel Hermannsburg said. “Something has gone horribly wrong here.”

  The Administrator was silent. He knew Colonel Hermannsburg would be the most difficult to deal with. He had always been among the most vocal members of the council, particularly when it came to military matters. The Administrator wished he’d had more time to prepare but he’d had no choice in the matter. Somewhere their well-established defenses had failed them. He had learned of the massive fence breach less than an hour earlier although the incident must have happened at least two days ago. Even the way they’d learned of it was wrong: an anonymous message from a boundary rider that was delivered directly to him instead of through the Digger chain of command. He didn’t know how it had taken so long to learn of such a disaster or why they had learned of it in such a mysterious way. He would find out. But for now he would take advantage of the situation.

  In some ways he was glad that word of the horde had not spread. This was an opportunity to show what he was made of as a leader, and he couldn’t afford panic. He would crush a horde of ghouls just as his great-grandfather had done, and for that he would be remembered.

  “Do not think, Colonel,” the Administrator said, “that I do not share your concerns that a horde of ghouls has escaped detection, but we must now concern ourselves with our actions in the moment. We can discuss the early warning system if we survive the invasion.”

  The Administrator could see that Colonel Hermannsburg wanted to say more, wanted to lay blame, but he glared at the man, daring him to do so.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Colonel Hermannsburg eventually said. “We must focus on planning our defense.”

  “Very well,” the Administrator continued. “I seek agreement from the council that we go to war. What say you?”

  “Obviously we must all agree,” said Knox Soilwork. “The people of the Territory must be protected.”

  “Well, yes, of course the people must be protected,” said Reginald Roxby, Minister for Resources, “that goes without saying. But how do we intend to face this horde? What is our plan?”

  “Quite, quite,” agreed Eric Sweet, Minister for Infrastructure. “What is our plan?”

  “Protocol already dictates our strategy,” Colonel Herm
annsburg said. “We lay a fall-back fence a suitable distance inland from the ghouls and we give up what we have lost. Then the Diggers can fight to regain it.”

  “That may be the conservative approach to dealing with a horde of ghouls,” the Administrator said, “but I have another plan. Repelling this horde could take years and the loss of much territory in the outer regions. I suggest we do what would have been done in the old days. We raise the army, recalling all units, and we attack the bulk of the horde directly. We send the entire force of the Diggers in a frontal assault against the ghouls and we crush them. We show the people of the Central Territory that we are not afraid, that we will not give territory to the enemy. The people need something to inspire them, this can be it.”

  The ministers looked from the Administrator to each other and back again. It did not escape the Administrator’s attention that Colonel Hermannsburg did not look away.

  “Let us vote on this motion,” the Administrator said. “Shall we send the Diggers to a rousing victory over our enemy?”

  “Nay.” Colonel Hermannsburg spoke even before it was his turn to vote. “We cannot commit the entire force, Your Honor. It simply doesn’t make strategic sense. It is far too risky.”

  The Administrator eyed his military advisor. He had known Hermannsburg would be the one to stand in the way of the glory he deserved as leader. It was an antiquated old law that required the council’s unanimous consent to go to war anyway. He was the Administrator, he should be able to administrate.

  “Colonel Hermannsburg,” the Administrator said, “do you not wish glory for the Diggers? Do you not wish to be part of the history-making crusade that will crush a ghoul horde and be remembered as a great victory?”

  “I wish, Your Honor, to protect the people of the Central Territory, and we do that through strategic retreat and ensuring we fight the ghouls on our own terms. You would risk destruction of our already depleted forces. You understand what happens if we lose?”