by Trevor Zaple
There was a rustle of footsteps and some loud voices from the second floor, but Richard did not bother to go and investigate. He made his way down the stairs into the basement as quickly as possible, and snuck across the beaten-earth floor to his bunk, where he climbed in and tried to get some sleep. Karl would be down to rouse him at some point to deal with whatever situation had arisen, and he needed some rest before getting caught up in it. Above him, the footsteps intensified and the voices only got louder.
FIVE
Richard was shaken awake and he was unsure as to how much time had passed. There were rough hands on him and he flailed his arms to shake them off of him. He sat up, blinking, trying to take stock of the situation before whatever was going on ran away with him. There was a heady bustle in the basement; the servants seemed to be milling about with any number of items in their arms. There was an excited, panicked chatter amongst them. Richard stretched and looked to see who had been shaking him awake. John stood beside his bunk, looking even more nervous and twitchy than he usually did. Richard stared at him uncertainly, trying to glean any sort of information about the situation at hand that he could without actually having to talk to the man. John opened his mouth a moment later and made this a moot point.
“We gotta go, boss man,” he said, his words tripping over each other in a rush to exit his mouth. “Shit’s come along and it’s running over all of us”.
Richard nearly chortled at the imagery and managed to control himself. He peered intently into the small Irish man’s half-bright face. There was nothing there but quivering eyes and an expression that was more frightened than anything else.
“What’s going on?” Richard asked slowly. John shook his head.
“Gotta go!” he exclaimed, and then ran out of the basement as though there were something on his trail. Richard swore softly and found his rough-spun clothes. After throwing them on, he decided that packing his bag would be the best course of action. The others seemed intent on gathering up their clothing, and the other meagre belongings that Karl allowed them to have; whatever was going on, it was serious. He retrieved his bag from beneath his bunk and began stuffing all of the clothing that he had in the world into it. Along with the coarse textiles he placed the only two things he had managed to hang on to in twenty-five years of servitude: a stiff old Swiss Army knife and a silver flask. The flask had once been filled with cheap whiskey but that was long gone. He kept the flask because it reminded him of one that he’d had in his sodden university days, and artefacts like that kept him firmly grounded to the past, to the fact that it had, at one point, existed.
He hefted the bag and found it to be of a bearable weight for walking. He slung it over his shoulder and began to plan how to make his way out to the grove in the middle of the far field. If something serious was happening and Karl was actually going to flee his livelihood (as it seemed might be the case) then he needed to grab the tablet. There was no other plan in his mind for it; he found that he could not fathom leaving it behind any more than he might consider leaving his arm behind. Wherever he went, it would be coming with him. All that he had to do was sneak out, cross the field in broad daylight, retrieve the tablet, and keep it hidden from everyone. He grinned in spite of himself. His only real hope was that everyone else would be too busy milling about to notice him sneaking away.
For the most part, this hope was borne out. The basement stairs led out into a crowded kitchen where servants were busily packing the food stores that would travel well into containers. He was able to slip through them with only minimal contact. Sandra caught his eye as he stepped out of the kitchen door; her face was worried and she seemed as though she were about to say something, but he shook his head quickly and she shut her mouth. There was a raise of her eyebrow, however, and Richard knew that he would have to work out some sort of explanation for her. He pushed it out of his mind as he crossed the field. He needed to concentrate now.
Halfway across the field he looked back to the farmhouse. There were servants gathered outside now, loading bags and belongings onto teams of horses. Karl’s two ornate carriages were already pulled up to the front of the house; the horses were hitched up to it and stamping impatiently. A sense of urgency came over him and he went into a flat-out sprint across the remaining half of the field. He dove into the copse of trees and scrambled his hands into the hollow beneath the tree. His fingers closed around the tablet and he hurriedly pulled it out and stuffed it into a side pocket on his bag. After zipping the pocket carefully he turned and half-ran back through the field. He stumbled here and there on the uneven parts of the ground but did not slow down his pace; it would be difficult to explain his absence as it was, and he didn’t want anyone coming out into the field to ask him about his lack of presence that morning.
As he arrived at the farmhouse the last of the horses were being burdened. He sought out Sandra first; as far as he knew, she was the only one to see him leave and come back, and she would also be the most likely to believe whatever story he came out with. He found her overseeing the kitchen servants placing the food into one of the carriages, shouting about proper stacking and the need to keep the containers from toppling over. When he approached she cocked her eyebrow once again but said nothing.
“I thought I saw people in the brambles at the edge of the field,” he said quickly, and he felt his face flush. It was a terrible story, the first thing that he thought of off of the top of his head, and he could tell from the minute changes in Sandra’s expression that she didn’t believe a word of it. He shook his head and decided to just tell the truth; of all of the servants, he thought that she was the last to go running to Karl with tales.
“Never mind,” he said sharply, “I needed to get something from that little grove of trees before we all left. Why are we leaving? What’s going on?”
Sandra snorted and shook her head.
“You’ve completely missed everything that’s happened this morning?” she asked with heavy disbelief. Richard shrugged nervously, unsure of what to say. Sandra started to laugh.
“Karl’s been looking for you,” she said. “He’s been getting frantic. I suggest that you think up a better story before he finds you, or there will be hell to pay”. Richard nodded impatiently and Sandra continued on in a hurry. “Messengers came for that House Speaker last night and he left in a hurry with them. Apparently he told Karl that if he valued his possessions and the lives of his servants he should pack them both up and make for the city”.
“The city?” Richard interrupted. Sandra fixed him with a glare before continuing.
“Stratford,” she said, “we’re going to Stratford. We’re leaving very soon”.
Richard shook his head. “That’s not a city,” he argued, and Sandra threw up her hands.
“I don’t know!” she exclaimed. “This is all that we’ve been told. Something has happened and we’re leaving, that’s all”.
“Fine,” he replied with heat. “Who does know what’s going on?” Sandra frowned at him, stung by the force in his words.
“I guess Karl would know what’s going on better than anyone else,” she said coolly. Richard nodded and walked away, intent on regaining control of the situation by whatever means he could. He made his way through the crowd of horses and frightened servants; he did not find Karl but he did find Marcus and John, conversing animatedly with Tyler by Karl’s main carriage. Tyler’s expression was grim and John still had the more-nervous-than-usual twitch making him grimace continuously. Marcus, however, seemed as placid as he ever did; it was only rarely that he ever got worked up about anything.
“Where is Karl?” Richard asked them, not bothering with a greeting. Time seemed to be running very short all of a sudden, and he didn’t want to waste any time bantering back and forth with them. Tyler shot him a vicious look but Marcus kept his easy-going look as he responded.
“He’s inside, I guess. Came out to look into the carriages, make sure everything was being packed up, that kind of thing.
Funny, he asked us about you, wanted to know where you were. John told him that he woke you up but you hadn’t been seen since”.
Richard cursed, and started putting together a story in his head. I went to go make sure the arena was locked up he told himself sternly. I wanted to make sure that no one could break in while we were away. He offered a short prayer to whomever might be listening that Karl hadn’t sent someone to perform this very task.
At that moment Karl came bounding out of the house, his sharp face a deeply dangerous thundercloud, the kind that heralds the coming of a twister. He turned his blazing eyes on Richard and jabbed an accusatory finger into his chest.
“You!” he shouted. “Where the hell have you been? The whole place is coming down around my ears and my chief servant is off doing god only knows what! I ought to have you whipped right here as an example to the others!”
Richard blanched but then recovered into careful neutrality. He took a deep breath and spoke calmly.
“I had to go check on the arena, sir,” he said. “I couldn’t bear the thought of bandits or vagrants breaking in while we’re away and looting the place. It would break my heart to come back to that”.
The brewing storm on Karl’s face did not diminish but he considered this and nodded.
“Good work, I suppose,” he admitted grudgingly, and Richard stopped himself from exhaling a loud sigh of relief. “It wouldn’t do to have our jewel sacked and pillaged while we’re hiding ourselves away from half-trained jackasses”. Richard ran his tongue along the backs of his teeth, hoping that Karl would continue on with that line of thought. Instead, the man clapped his hands and looked up to the seedy-looking man sitting in the driver’s seat of the carriage. The man peered down and shaded his eyes with his hand.
“Are you ready, sir?” he asked, his voice unsteady.
“Of course I’m ready!” Karl shot back. “I’ve been ready for hours! It’s these slow idiots that have taken forever packing up the house! We need to leave now!”
“Sir, please!” Richard implored. He felt a sense of amazement at his own boldness but continued on without a second thought. “Please, what is going on? Why are we fleeing our land? Why are we taking the food and the valuables with us?”
Karl stared at him with open, raw anger, but this seemed to crumble away after a time. He looked around at the others, shook his head, and then gestured at Richard.
“As my chief servant, you may ride in the carriage with me,” he proclaimed loftily. He looked meaningfully at the other three standing nearby. All of them seemed to take the hint at the same time; they dispersed quickly, hurrying off as though an unfinished task had suddenly been brought to the forefront of their memory. Karl made sure that they were well out of earshot before bringing his eyes back to Richard.
“In the carriage,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I know, but only in there. It’s for your ears only, at least until we get to Stratford. By then, I suspect every last one of them will be able to figure it out for themselves”.
Richard nodded wordlessly and followed Karl inside of his ebony-painted carriage. The interior was dim and somewhat small, but the seats were exceedingly comfortable and the large window provided an excellent view of the land outside of it. Karl and Richard took seats on opposite sides of the carriage and said nothing for a time. Richard watched the last-minute bustle of the servants as they finished loading all of their worldly goods onto the horses; he saw several men ride away ahead of the crowd, their packings light and their horses swift. Marcus and John took individual horses and rode out to the edge of the crowd. Richard saw that both of them had the assault rifles that they were only allowed to touch when the situation warranted it. The fact that they were now carrying them made Richard shiver with a sudden nameless fear. The other servants jostled their horses into a circle around the two carriages; Richard had no idea who was riding in the other, save for a large amount of food.
Karl brought out a long, ornately carved wooden smoking pipe and a small hide pouch filled with tobacco. He packed the bowl of the pipe with tobacco and felt around on his person for matches. Richard swiftly opened his shoulder-bag and found the box of waterproof matches he’d brought along; there weren’t many left, but he gave one to his master, who lit the pipe with a small smile and shook the match out with an extravagant wave of his hand. He then proceeded to puff on the pipe furiously, his actions short and angry.
“Speaker Tang, that...” he began to say, and then shook his head furiously. “No, I won’t fall into that trap. Might slip up later and then who knows who might hear me?” He puffed on his pipe and then looked into Richard’s eyes. “You’ve been a good and faithful servant, Richard. I’ve increased my prestige immensely with you on my side”. He smiled around the pipestem. “And my wealth, it must be said. So much that I think the Speakers are jealous of me”.
Richard gave him and uncertain look and the hatchet-faced man laughed uproariously, as though this were the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
“It’s true, I swear!” Karl exclaimed. “From the entrance fees, and the take from wagers, the farmers around here have made me the richest man in the area, and one of the richest in the Republic. Now...” his face returned to its previous thundercloud formation. “Now, what good is it all? It comes down to some stashed goods and a wagon of food”.
Richard leaned forward, his face intent. He placed his hands on his knees, wishing that he could place them around his master’s neck.
“I know we’re going to Stratford, Karl. I know this has something to do with people in Kitchener”. Karl looked up in shock and anger, but Richard kept going without a pause. “I know it’s enough to frighten everyone out of their senses and cause an important cog in the Republic to flee from his host’s house in the middle of the night. If I’ve been such a boon to you, master, then tell me what’s going on”.
Karl stared at him and the anger melted off of his face. He nodded tiredly and in that moment he seemed years older than he really was. It was that look that frightened Richard more than anything else that happened after. If the hurricane of human history could drive a hale, hearty man of conviction like Karl Tiegert old before his time, then what chance had a bent, frayed old reed like Richard Adams in the gusts of that endless storm? Before he could dwell on this exceedingly gloomy thought any more, Karl opened his mouth and unleashed a tale more foreboding than anything Richard could have conjured up. Outside, the tangles of long-unkempt overgrowth glided by with mute, unasked-for testimony.
SIX
Karl did not know the entire story. Richard would not discover the entire story until later, in the agoraphobic environs of Stratford, and by then it ceased to be urgent, and was relegated to the realm of academic understanding. Karl only knew the smallest amount of information, and most of it was inferred from his conversations with the House Speaker and not from any concrete knowledge of fact. As he would learn later, however, most of Karl’s assumptions would turn out to be mostly correct. He was by no means a stupid man.
The Republic, by any estimation, had entered a period of stagnation in the previous decade. Emerging as a beautiful idea in the immediate ashes of the plague, it had quickly been co-opted by forces much more interested in control than cooperation. Convinced that it was the only way they could keep their homes and families safe, they formed a hardened army and went from settlement to settlement offering a choice. It was the same choice that Richard knew all too well from his days in Brother Bentley’s cult: one could either swear an oath to the Republic and obey its commands, or one could meet their untimely death. Some chose to fight, preferring to keep what they had, mean as it might be, to living under the thumb of another. Most took the more peaceful option, however, and from each of these new communities that they held under their expanded rule they took men to serve as soldiers. By the time they confronted their first major regional power (Brantford under Bentley, as it turned out) they had an army capable of swarming under any other organized force in their pat
h. This would also prove to be their last great victory; since then, they had made only very minor gains, if at all. To the north they only encountered emptiness, and small clans willing to defend their lands to the death with mines and booby traps. To the east they established settlements in the wild urban centers of Kitchener and Guelph. Kitchener had especially been exhausting for the Republic; it was really three cities in one, and the survivors that had originally been there fought the Republic in a guerrilla war that had brought all sides to their knees. A peace had eventually been declared, but the process had severely weakened their military strength. Some five years later, an enterprising House Speaker had attempted to lead men to invade the fertile fields of Niagara and had quickly discovered that they were outclassed. The army that had met them had been insistent on not giving up a yard of land, and had backed this up with artillery fire. After having two days worth of exploding shells dropped on them the vaunted courage and discipline of the Republic’s army broke and the Speaker was forced to run back to London with the tattered remnants of his force. Since then there had been no more attempts to invade any other lands under force of arms. After twenty years the situation had ossified, with the Republic holding a line in the country surrounding the old Golden Horseshoe; the decaying cities of Hamilton and Toronto remained mysterious forests of skyscrapers, eerie places that the citizens of the Republic avoided with an intensity that bordered on the superstitious.
Then, two days before Richard went to the market and found the tent of Troy Larkson, a howling army of men and women came pillaging across the border in a two-pronged attack. One army, a confederated army built from a patchwork of republics, dictatorships, and petty kingdoms, rolled through Guelph and onward into Kitchener. That army had been greeted in Kitchener as liberators by the beaten but not broken remnants of the original inhabitants of the city. The other army had come out of Niagara, and it was the army that gave the House of Speakers in London the vast majority of their nightmares. That army, an impassive collection of hard-faced men and women, had circled around the Republic’s stronghold in Brantford and cut the city’s supply lines from London in half. In the days that followed the flight from the arena, that army would starve the city of Brantford into surrender and then continue north towards Stratford. The Niagara army would meet the rough-and-tumble armies of the Golden Horseshoe, which had by that point been laying siege to Stratford for a full two months.
