“Dirt, smoke, buildings, machinery,” Armand replied, scratching at his side. The knife wounds there had healed but for some reason, they still itched.
Tompkins laughed. “Is that all?”
“Prisoners,” Armand said. “Slaves.”
“Close,” Tompkins said. “What you’re seeing out there is energy, the true wealth of the empire.”
“That dump out there doesn’t look particularly wealthy.”
Tompkins took a sip from the water jug. “Whoever controls the energy, controls the wealth, and has the power. That’s how our noble empire was founded, no matter what the official histories say. When the War of the World took place and the southern border was closed, it was a great disruption. And the provinces --- or kingdoms, as we call them now --- that controlled the electricity, they traded their power for food, for security, and for political power. An odd arrangement, but it has lasted, for centuries. What you see out there --–“ and he pointed with one thin hand “—-is just an extension of their power. What electricity gained them, they spread out. To fishing, to furs, to lumber, and to the oil sands. Those who traded power and food for security, so many of them became indentured… slaves.”
Armand yawned. A long way aways from Scotia, but young Tompkins was still a teacher at heart.
“You know, for someone you’re age, you sure know a hell of a lot. Where did you get it from? No books or classes, I’m sure.”
Tompkins stayed quiet and Armand thought he hadn’t heard him, but Tompkins said, “No books or classes, you’re correct. But my uncle. A retired teacher. Liked to putter around old books and records, visiting town halls and the like. Eventually he was able to piece together some bits of the true history, not the nonsense I was trained to give out in class. So he used to talk to me, late at night. Damn, I miss old Uncle Rupert.”
“Oh,” Armand said. “Did he pass away?”
Tompkins picked up a set of binoculars, as a bird landed on a nearby chimney. “He was arrested when I was fourteen. Sent to a gold mine in North Yukon. And that’s all, Armand. That’s all.”
Armand felt like a fool --- damn it, he thought, why did you have to ask if the old man had died or not? --- when something out by the flat horizon to the east caught his eye, and he picked up his own pair of binoculars. The object was small and shiny.
He focused the binoculars and whistled. “Hey, Tompkins. Over there, to the east. See what’s coming? It’s an airship.”
Tompkins picked up his own pair of glasses, brought them up eagerly to this face. “Why… my word, an airship. Out here! What a sight, what a sight…”
They both stayed quiet for a few minutes, watching the silvery airship approach. It was smaller than the ones Armand had ridden in, during that dark trip to Potomick --– what were the names of those ships? Damn, it had slipped his mind --– but something still stirred inside of him, seeing the graceful approach, the smooth shape. Yes, even though he was a prisoner of the Empire, Armand still felt a thrill, seeing the fleur-de-lis painted on the stern. No where else in this part of the world did airships fly.
Tompkins said, “Look… I do believe it’s changing course. Can you believe that? It’s coming here.”
Armand laughed. “Maybe the Emperor’s coming, to see firsthand his loyal subjects, laboring to do penance for their sins and crimes.”
Tompkins laughed as well, and Armand brought the glasses down, wiped at his eyes. “Maybe we should wave as it goes overhead. Or drop our trousers and wiggle our asses at them.”
His companion quietly said, “Speak for yourself, Armand.”
With a flash, Armand knew what he meant. Armand was a life prisoner but Tompkins kept counting off his days, for he fully expected one day to be free, especially if Armand’s planned escape in a couple of months never came to fruition.
“I’ll be….” Tompkins voice was now a whisper. “Look at that, look at that… It really is stopping here. My, there must be someone important in there to come all the way out to this camp.”
Then it started, the thumping in Armand’s heart, the shaking in his hands, and the warm thrill racing up his spine. “Tompkins… my father… his position in the Ministry of Trade. I’m sure that’s him! He’s come to get me!”
Armand stood up, legs shaking with excitement, as the airship slowed down and circled about, over the flat area between the barracks and the administration buildings. From where they were, they had a clean view of the airship’s approach, and could now even make out the steady hum of its motors. Some camp personnel were looking up, as the airship descended, and lines of rope were suddenly dropped.
Tompkins stood as well. “Armand… my God, I do hope you’re right, I do so hope you’re right.”
“It must be,” Armand said, almost jumping up and down in excitement, like it was his birthday morning. “Like you said, that airship has to be carrying someone important. I’ll bet you everything I have that it’s my father… oh sweet God, Tompkins, I promise, I’ll make sure you come out with me. I’ll insist on it, I really will.”
Armand looked to Tompkins and tears were streaming down his face. “Please… you’re not teasing, are you?”
He gently thumped him on the shoulder with his free hand. “My friend… if all goes well, we’ll be eating off china and white tablecloths tonight, as we fly back east.”
Armand brought the binoculars back up and saw the airship descend further, the lines fore and aft being secured by horse-drawn wagons, and a platform was wheeled out as well, as ship’s main cabin came closer to the ground. Then the lines were drawn taut and the engines switched off, and despite it all, Armand admired the skill of the camp crew, to keep that airship lowered and still. From the side a door slid open and a short set of stairs were lowered down. Two uniformed members of the crew looked out, no doubt making sure all was proper and secure, and then they ducked back inside.
“Do you see him?” Tompkins demanded. “Do you recognize him?”
By God, Armand did recognize him, as he stepped out and went down the short flight of steps, helpful hands coming up to steady his gait.
“Well? Well? Speak up Armand!”
He lowered his binoculars, Armand’s hands shaking uncontrollably. “I… I…”
Tompkins grabbed his arm. “Speak up, damn you! Is your father there?”
Armand managed to get some spit into his mouth. “No… he’s not. It’s not my father.”
“But it looked like you recognized the man stepping out. Who is he?”
Armand’s legs were shaking again. “Jacques Templair, that’s who he is. From Imperial Security. The man who interrogated me and had me tortured.”
He turned away. “He’s here. And he’s come for me.”
Now it was Armand’s turn to grab Tompkins arm. “And I’m escaping. Now.”
Chapter Seven
Armand quickly climbed down a rickety ladder and bolted into the cottage, Tompkins right behind him. His friend said, “Armand, don’t be hasty. Maybe he’s here on some other business. Maybe he’s --–“
Armand brushed past him, heading into his room. “An Imperial Security officer from Toronto suddenly shows up. I know him, he’s here for me, and I don’t mean to sit around and wait.”
“Suppose you’re wrong? Armand, trying to escape is --–“
“And what if I’m right?” he said sharply, raising his shirt and exposing his back. “See the scars back there? Courtesy of the man that just came off that airship. I’ll be damned if I’m going to give him a chance to do it again.”
Armand went to the adjacent room, tore the baseboard out, retrieved his rucksack with his meager collection of supplies. Too soon, damn it, way too soon! He went back to his room and started piling in spare clothing. He looked up and Tompkins was gone. What the hell? No matter. Armand rolled up his blankets and secured them to the rucksack with a length of cord. There. Binoculars. They would come as well. Stay focused, Armand thought, for he knew if he started remembering what Jacques Templai
r and Francois Parchard had done to him back in Toronto, it would freeze him in terror.
There was a noise. Tompkins was back, handing over a with a paper sack. “That’s all the spare food we have here. And a water bottle. And an extra hat and gloves.”
Armand transferred the contents to his rucksack, tears suddenly flowing. He got up and Tompkins said, “This isn’t fair.”
“I know, it isn’t.”
Tompkins shook his head. “You don’t get it. It’s not fair to me. We had a deal, the two of us, that you were going to get us both out. Armand, the chances of you making it…”
He shouldered his rucksack. “I’ll make it, just you see.”
Tompkins said, “Still heading to SaintJohn?”
He started for the door. “No where else, Tompkins. West and east are just bogs. The south is the badlands. I don’t want to end up killed and eaten.”
Tompkins walked out with him. “There’s no celebrations going on up there, Armand. You can’t last long. The word will get out that you’ve escaped.”
“There has to be a telegraph station in SaintJohn, or an office of the Ministry of Trade. Somebody who knows my father, someone I can plead my case to. Give me five minutes with someone of influence, and I’ll be on my way. When I get back to Toronto, I’ll get you out. Later, I’ll start raising hell, about what happened to me, to you, and so many others. Just you see.”
At the door Tompkins held onto his arm. “You be careful out there, all right? Don’t you dare forget about me.”
“I won’t,” Armand said.
Tompkins’ eyes were watering. Armand shook his hand. “Trust me when I say I could spend an hour thanking you, and it wouldn’t be enough.”
Tompkins said, “Yeah, sure. Armand, hit me.”
“What the hell did you just say?”
Armand heard him take a deep breath. “Damn you, hit me. Hit me hard, for when the camp guards get here, I want to tell them that I tried to prevent you from running off. If you don’t hit me, if I don’t have a bruise, then they’ll be suspicious of me, they’ll think I helped you escape, and then –--“
He slugged him, hard, right into his left eye, and Tompkins collapsed, moaning. Armand knew he should stay and get him a cold compress, but he couldn’t. Armand was now on his own, and so was Tompkins.
Armand stepped out of the door and into the compound.
With the approaching nightfall, camp lights were being switched on, including the guard towers at either end of the trustee’s compound. Armand took a deep breath, didn’t look back, and strode to the fence. He sure as hell hoped Tompkins was right about the blind spot. If not, this was going to be one short and violent escape attempt.
Armand went up to the fence, dropped the rucksack, took out a pair of scissors and pliers. In a manner of minutes, he had cut an opening in the wire, and slithered through. Armand then twisted it back into shape, hiding his escape hole. After getting up, he walked slowly and deliberately away from the fence line. Maybe, he thought, maybe Tompkins made it through because one of the guard towers had been unmanned back then. So what. Better a quick gunshot to the head than returning to Jacques Templair’s tender attention.
He went up a small rise of land. When Armand descended to the other side, out of the view of the fence line and guard towers, he started running.
He was free.
There was a near-full moon and he kept up a steady pace, moving south. After an easy escape, he challenge now was surviving, day after day, for the lesson he had learned at the execution of Kimball Ed was to travel well and smart. He paused, catching his breath, looking about the flat landscape, illuminated by the cold lunar light. Armand offered an apology to his poor friend Tompkins, for Armand had once again lied to him.
With no birthday celebrations, Armand had no intention of going north to SaintJohn. From the way he looked and was dressed, he’d be arrested within minutes and be taken back to the camp, in time to be hung or met by Jacques Templair. So if the camp staff interrogated Tompkins, Armand hoped his friend wouldn’t suffer too much before giving up the name of SaintJohn.
By then, he hoped to be many, many klicks away.
Armand caught his breath, recalling what Tulley had said, at Kimball Ed’s execution. To the east and west were bogs. To the north was SaintJohn. And to the south… the badlands. Amerka. Where the barbarians lived.
South was where he was going.
Armand kept on walking, forded a small stream, and then looked back. Off to the horizon was a glow of light marking the location of the camp’s administration buildings. He reached up to his neck, tugged hard, and pulled off the bit of rawhide and stamped metal with the markings of Imperial Prisoner N19283. Armand tossed it into the stream and looked again at the lights.
“To hell with you all,” Armand said.
Melinda Tenhorse was surprised during a late afternoon break during their ride south, when she was placed on the ground under a tree with Christy Donovan, the farmer’s young girl. Since the kidnapping, the raiders had made it a point to keep Melinda separate from the others, but somebody must have screwed up. She was stunned at seeing Christy close-up: her light blonde hair was a matted mess, her left eye was nearly swollen shut, and her lower lip was split. Her clothes were in shreds and rags were tied across her feet, for the poor girl had been taken without shoes. Christy was on her side on the prairie grass, wincing from her pains, talking to Melinda.
She spoke low and firm, though tears trickled down her bruised cheeks. “If you get rescued, Melinda… you tell my family… I didn’t suffer too much, all right? You tell them it was quick.”
Melinda looked down at her own bruised and scabbed-over wrists, where the rawhide bounds had been so tight over the days. “You’ll tell them yourself.”
“Oh, I’d love to, but I’m not going to last… I heard those women talking… I can make out a word or two… they’re jealous of me, of my hair, about how young I am. We’re getting close to their camp… they’re not going to let me get there alive.”
“Oh, Christy, I…”
“But you,” Christy kept on, moving closer to Melinda. “They’re afraid of you. Them and their men. You look different, like a witch or demon from the far north. So I think they’ll let you live. They think you might bring them luck… so you stay alive, all right?”
Melinda bit her own lip, wondering what she could say to this brave girl. She was younger than Melinda, barely out of her teens, but was as clear-eyed and strong as a village elder.
“Melinda, my sister Tracy… when she escaped that night. She didn’t wake me up. She just left. But she didn’t try to take you, did she? Tracy must have thought if she traveled by herself, she could get help and come back that much quicker. I’m right, aren’t I? I mean… she didn’t leave me behind, did she?”
Tears came to Melinda’s eyes as well, and she easily lied to the young girl. “You’re absolutely right, Christy. She didn’t try to get me. I didn’t even know she had escaped. I’m sure she left on her own, because she thought she could get help faster.”
Christy smiled through her puffy lip. “I’m so glad to hear that… and I still wonder… that cavalryman… why didn’t he try to help us, that first day? Why did he just ride in and ride out?”
Yes, she thought, that soldier who trotted in, dropped off a payment, and then trotted safely away. He didn’t help us because it wasn’t his job. Some sort of deal had been struck, to pay those monsters to cross the border and attack defenseless farms. You and me and the others, we didn’t matter, she thought
Aloud she said, “I really don’t know, hon. I really don’t know.”
Christy sniffled and rolled over. Melinda was going to tell her that she was the bravest girl --- hell, woman! --- she had ever met, but then a male and female raider came over, and dragged Christy away, as night fell.
During the night, there was one long, heart-rending scream from the other side of the camp that seemed to echo for hours. Melinda slept not at all. The
next morning, as they rode south to smoke in the distance, she was the only one left.
Armand walked for three days and nights, curling up and sleeping on the hard ground. He drank from a few trickling streams, his stomach aching, for he was stretching out his meager food supplies as best as he could. On the fourth day he was on a stretch of flat prairie grass when the clouds opened up, drenching him. After an hour of slogging with his clothes and shoes soaked, he came across a dirty gully where he made a shelter by digging into the soft soil. With soggy blankets about him, the rains came down hard, splattering the mud, Armand thought about what it was like back at the labor camp. Tompkins would have a fire burning in the little stove, his feet stretched out, a cup of tea in hand, perhaps leafing through a new selection of books from the dowager Princess aunt….
Maybe he had overreacted. Maybe Jacques wasn’t coming to the camp for him.
The rain fell harder. He tried to push back further into the dirt, but his legs and feet were exposed, cold and sopping wet. Armand shook from the cold, hugged the wet blankets tighter about him, and suffered through the dreary night.
The next day was overcast and the wind came up. Armand was wet and frigid as he kept on walking. During the day he obsessed over his lack of a compass, for he was afraid of going around in a giant circle. The land was now rolling prairie, but he was fortunate enough to find an occasional stream, where he re-filled his water bottle. But his stomach ached awfully as he worked his way across the empty grasslands, rationing out the hard bread, nuts, and dried meat. To top it off, his feet were blistered and sore from the wet night, and as the day drew on, he had slowed down. Before him were low hills and Armand paused on the top of one, shivering, and in the distance, to the north, something was moving.
Armand brought the binoculars up. Horsemen, with dogs running before them, following his scent. Coming his way. Something cold and depressing jelled in his gut. His attempt to misdirect his pursuers to SaintJohn hadn’t worked.
The Noble Prisoner (Empire of the North Book 2) Page 8
