The Humanarium

by CW Tickner

  ‘Bring them out then,’ Argus said, cutting him off. His eyes roamed over the small shrubs and tufts of grass lining the field beside his house.

  ‘Be warned,’ said Harl. ‘They don’t resemble me. You may be startled at their appearance.’

  Argus frowned. ‘You’re not exactly normal looking yourself.’

  ‘Damen, Oscar?’ Harl said. ‘Come out.’

  Argus looked hard at Damen as he came round the stone corner, but took a step back when the large, dark form of Oscar followed.

  ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ Harl said, quickly, seeing the confusion in the man’s face at witnessing someone so different in complexion for the first time. ‘We’re here to help you.’

  ‘You are not with the Callers?’ Argus asked.

  Harl shook his head. ‘I do not know these Callers, but no, we are not with anyone by that name.’

  Argus’ demeanour changed and he stayed silent for a while until Harl thought he had frozen in fear. Should he have said he was with these Callers?

  Argus glanced over his thin shoulder at the gravel path that led to an empty main road.

  ‘You must be quiet,’ he whispered. ‘You may come inside, but first wait a short time. My wife must be told what to expect. If she was to cry out, the Callers would come, and that would mean death for all of us.’

  Argus slipped inside and after some low murmurings, a woman’s concerned voice replied.

  ‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘If they’re strangers or out of bounds then we must report it to the Callers before it’s too late.’

  Argus talked in a lower voice and Harl couldn’t catch much. He just hoped he had done the right thing. They could slip away now and head back to camp before morning. He turned to tell the other two that they would leave but the door creaked open and Argus reappeared around the corner.

  ‘Inside,’ he hissed. ‘Quickly now.’

  He beckoned them to follow and scanned along the road before ducking inside.

  It was a small house, lit by sputtering candles and divided into rooms separated by bedraggled curtains hanging in the doorways. The three of them stood on a tattered woven rug in the main living room as Argus poked his head out the door, looked both ways and shut it, throwing a rusted latch across.

  The white-washed room was sparsely furnished, with a pair of worn timber chairs standing close to a small table. To their right, a smooth clay fireplace arched over a large, dented cooking pot. It stood on a bed of dying embers that threw out a last whisper of warmth into the room. A large painting of an imperious-looking man hung in a polished wood frame on one of the walls. The stern face that peered down at them was so expertly drawn that the eyes seemed to follow Harl as he shifted position. Two curtained doorways led from the room and the ageing woman standing in one of them let out a muffled gasp when she saw them come in, and then slapped a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound.

  She had the look of a piece of knotted rope. Her thin arms were wrapped in tight muscles as if she had worked the fields since birth and the greying streaks in her hair shone like silver.

  She eyed the three strangers from the far side of the room as Argus bustled Damen and Oscar away from the window.

  ‘You can’t stay long,’ Argus said, peering out through the lattice in the window. ‘It is death to harbour people or speak to strangers without permission, so explain yourselves. Where have you come from and why were you sneaking around my house?’

  Harl noticed a pitiful heap of vegetables by the side of the fire. They were wrinkled and withered but apparently waiting to be thrown into the pot.

  ‘May we eat with you first?’ he asked, thinking it the best way to the ease tension. ‘We’ve some food and it’d be better to explain over a meal.’

  The woman stopped examining Oscar and looked up sharply.

  ‘You got food?’ she asked. It was the first time she had spoken since they came inside and her eyes scanned the three of them, lingering hopefully on their bags.

  ‘Yes,’ Harl said. ‘And we’d like to share it with you. But while we eat I would tell you of a message we have for your people.’

  ‘Our people?’ she asked. ‘Or the Callers? They rule here.’ Her voice had a slight hint of distaste at the word “Callers”.

  ‘The message is for everyone here,’ Harl said and looked at Oscar who was now eyeing the darkness beyond the small window. ‘Oscar get out some food, enough for us all to eat well.’

  As Oscar heaved off his pack, Harl took the chance to ask more about these people before he started his now well-practised speech.

  ‘Tell us everything you can about this place,’ he asked, looking from the woman to Argus.

  ‘There ain’t much to tell,’ Argus said. ‘We’re ruled by the Callers, the ones in contact with the gods. Together we strive to build a city worthy of their favour, or at least that is what we’re told.’

  ‘By the gods?’ Harl asked.

  ‘By the Callers,’ the Argus said, his eyes flicking to the woman as she scowled. ‘In reality we’re their servants and slaves.’

  ‘Shh!’ The woman hushed, but Argus went on regardless, as if he had wanted to say such things for a long time and finally had a willing audience.

  ‘As the lower people, we’re forced to grow crops down here. Others are put to work mining the rocks and making stone for the city. We build the city to the Callers’ will,’ he said, looking around the bare room and dirt floor. ‘But we see little in return.’

  Oscar unpacked the food he carried and the two became fixated at the sliced chunks of salted meat and lumps of bread he placed on the mat.

  ‘Will you cook for us?’ Harl asked the woman and before he could finish, she was picking up the meat and placing it straight into the cooking pot.

  She made for the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Damen asked.

  ‘I go where I like in my own house,’ the woman snapped, but her gaze drifted to the food Oscar was unpacking and she sighed. ‘Firewood,’ she said before unlatching the door and ducking out.

  She returned a moment later and heaped an armful of brittle logs on to the embers before blowing into the pile. She actually started to eat the bread as she tended the growing flames. Argus looked at her and then at Harl, almost in apology, as she forced the bread down with some water from a clay jug.

  ‘You must excuse us,’ Argus said. ‘We don’t have the luxury of much food and often go without.’

  He looked embarrassed at his words and Harl felt a surge of pity for the man and the people of the tank.

  ‘Please,’ Harl said, pushing the loaves to him. ‘Eat what you like.’

  Argus snatched up some of the bread and bit away a chunk. It took him a moment to wash it down before he continued.

  ‘As I was saying,’ he mumbled, mid chew, ‘the Callers rule us. They use whips and worse things when someone doesn’t obey. There are strict rules for all the low people and death is more common from Callers than from hunger or weakness. We’re made to bring all our food to the city every few switches and if we do not meet our quota we’re punished. Jo,’ he said, looking at the woman as she stirred the pot and continued to stuff bread into her mouth, ‘was cautious of bringing you inside because us low are often checked on by the Callers to make sure we don’t steal any of the produce not rationed to us.’

  ‘Who is the painted man?’ Oscar asked.

  Argus glared up at the painting on the wall.

  ‘That man,’ he said, ‘is our most gracious host, The One, and it’s for him that we do all these things. He is a god himself, and under his eye we’re kept in line so that the building of the great city can continue. We’re made to keep his picture on our wall as a reminder of his benevolence, and to thank him when we wake and before sleep or sustenance. Few have ever seen him ‘cept when he comes out on his throne to make a rare speech about how well we’re doing, but it seems our efforts are never enough.’

  The man drifted off as Jo declared the food was ready.
She began dishing some stew into a pair of splinter-riddled bowls.

  ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘We’ve only two bowls.’

  ‘No problem,’ Harl said, pulling his own copper bowl out and watching Oscar and Damen do likewise.

  They ate in silence and Harl had to avert his eyes from both their hosts. Their faces switched between greedy haste and guilty pleasure as the meal disappeared from the bowls as quickly as it had been ladled in.

  He waited until they had finished, both resting hands on swollen bellies, before he outlined their mission, where they came from, and the books they’d left at the other houses.

  Argus looked concerned when he heard about the books and, after flicking through one that Damen had passed to them, he spoke.

  ‘These may help,’ he said. ‘But just as likely people will suffer if the Callers find them with one. It’ll be considered heresy for anyone to read them. Many will be left where you placed them.’

  ‘I understand,’ Harl said, ‘but we have to spread this message. Your people, more than all of the others we’ve found, need our help the most. This is the only way to spread a message fast enough.’

  The man nodded, still hesitant, and Harl decided to continue with his story, finishing it with the revelation of taking the ship away from Delta. By the end he saw hope in their eyes, mixed with worry and the expected disbelief.

  Jo jumped up, knocking her empty bowl to the floor as she rushed to the front window.

  She turned, wide-eyed with fear.

  ‘Callers!’

  Chapter 62

  It’s a matter of tests from now on. Each tank will be isolated from the others, so they must be almost self-sufficient. Of course, I will have to set up agreements with manufacturers for precision supplies.

  ‘Out!’ Jo hissed as she attempted to shove Oscar’s huge bulk to the door. ‘Get out!’

  ‘Too late, Jo,’ Argus said as his face turned ashen.

  The woman cupped her hands over her face. ‘I told you Argus. It was a set up-’

  ‘Hush woman,’ Argus said, looking around the house as if an exit would present itself. ‘No,’ he hissed, seeing Oscar and Damen reaching for their weapons ‘You must hide. Go to the back room; take your things. Move!’

  They were bustled through a curtained partition and in a moment all three were cramped in a small, dingy bedroom as blandly furnished as the living room.

  The footsteps crunched on gravel. There was more than one. Guilt wracked Harl for placing these innocent people at risk, but what else could he have done?

  ‘The bowls,’ Oscar said and Harl cursed. They’d left them on the floor in plain view.

  Harl didn’t waste any time. He thrust aside the tan curtain and crouched low, moving into the living room. The couple looked startled and attempted to usher him back. He grabbed the bowls and scampered back as someone began pounding on the door.

  ‘Open up!’ a commanding voice said from the far side of the door.

  ‘Open up or we break it down,’ another said.

  ‘One moment,’ Jo said, suddenly sounding more frail than before, as if to mollify the unwanted visitors.

  The front door squeaked open.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ a man’s voice asked. ‘You’re up late and there was a sighting of strange folk near here earlier this- What’s that smell?’

  The man sniffed over the sound of the crackling fire. The smell of cooked meat must have been a rare occurrence in the hovels and the man had picked up on it.

  ‘We’re eating,’ Argus said, innocently.

  It was not innocent enough. The crack of a whip was followed by a small cry.

  ‘Are you suggesting I don’t know what food smells like?’ the Caller asked. ‘How did you come by meat?’

  ‘They must have stole it,’ said a second, high-pitched voice.

  ‘Did you steal it?’ the first Caller asked.

  ‘No, master,’ Argus said. ‘We’ve saved it for a special occasion.’

  Harl could sense Argus flinching back from the whip as he said it.

  ‘And what is special about this occasion?’ the Caller asked, clearly not believing the explanation.

  ‘Our daughter Alina was given fifty switches ago,’ Jo said, her voice getting more nervous as she spoke. ‘And we are honouring her.’

  ‘Did I ask you?’ the caller said. ‘Do not dare speak to me unless spoken to.’

  Harl’s eyes flicked to Oscar as the man clenched and flexed his meaty fists at the words.

  ‘It’s all lies!’ the other Caller said in his high, snivelling voice. ‘No meat has been given out recently, least not to the low born.’

  ‘Where did you come by the food, bitch?’ the first asked.

  ‘Most likely slaughtering cattle,’ the sneering voice said.

  Harl was filled with shame and anger as the whip cracked again and Jo cried out in pain.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Argus said, but a thumping noise came from behind the curtain, cutting off his protests.

  ‘Please,’ Jo pleaded ‘We have done nothing wrong.’

  ‘You’re lying!’ said the first again.

  ‘And if you want to stay living then you’d best do as we say,’ the whiny voice said.

  Someone landed hard on the floor and Harl risked a look, twitching the cloth partition aside a fraction. He saw, to his horror, that one of the men, whip in hand, was holding Argus back as the other leaned over Jo, attempting to remove her clothing. Argus’s protests were cut off with another knuckling crack from his captor as Jo begged the man to stop.

  Harl glanced at Damen and Oscar as he levered the pistol from his belt, ready to pull the cloth aside and teach the Callers a lesson.

  ‘Take her to the back room,’ the one with the whip said.

  Harl stepped back from the cloth partition as the man indicated it with a hand. Harl stayed still, anger boiling inside. If his prey came to him, then all the better to give them a surprise.

  ‘We don’t want her cries to bring more,’ the Caller said. ‘I’ve enough bloody trouble without twenty men trying to mount the shrivelled wretch.’

  The sound of the attackers footsteps were laboured as he dragged Jo towards the curtain. Harl took a quick look around. There was nothing to hide behind, so he tensed, ready for action.

  Oscar moved to Harl’s side and touched his shoulder, indicating that he wanted to be first to encounter the Caller. When the partition was tugged aside, the Caller backed into the room, both arms wrapped around Jo’s waist as he struggled to pull her in. He swung Jo around and let go. She tumbled to the floor and cried out in pain.

  Shock split the Caller’s face when he looked up and saw Oscar’s dark, muscled form in front him. He froze, completely speechless as he stared at Oscar, his hooded eyes blinking rapidly as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

  Before the man could say a word, Oscar thrust his large hands out and grabbed the man’s neck as silent rage stormed across his usually calm features. Shock turned to horror on the Caller’s face as Oscar twisted violently, snapping the man’s neck as if it were a chicken’s.

  Oscar held the limp body up and dragged it further into the room, where he eased it to the floor.

  Harl helped Jo up and put a finger to his lips. She nodded.

  ‘What is it now?’ the other Caller asked as if bored. ‘Ardy? Come on man, she’s only an old low woman.’ When no voice came in reply, footsteps came towards the small room but stopped in front of the curtain. ‘Ardy?’ The man waited a moment and must have sensed something was wrong. The ring of a sword being drawn vibrated through the curtain.

  Oscar tore the blade Damen had given him free and reached a hand out to grab the cloth. He ripped the curtain down and stormed through the gap with Damen and Harl behind him.

  The Caller froze in the face of what must have looked like a tattooed daemon surging towards him. He held his sword limp in one hand, terrified of the alien men who had stormed from behind the curtain.r />
  Oscar kicked the man squarely in the chest, sending him sprawling onto the floor. The man’s curved sword and whip tumbled from his hands as Argus leapt aside. The Caller scrambled to his feet and, instead of grabbing his weapons, he turned and ran for the door.

  Damen reacted first, stepping around Oscar as he drew out one of the bone knives Oscar had given him and hurled the blade towards the Caller. Harl watched it spin, tumbling over and over through the air to land with a light thump into the man’s back. The Caller arched, a short cry escaping his lips as he crashed through the door and sprawled on the gravel.

  ‘Good shot,’ Oscar said, moving quickly across the room to check outside. He froze.

  Standing in front of the door was a cloaked figure staring down at the body. The man looked up at Oscar.

  ‘Wait!’ Argus said as Oscar raised his short sword.

  Oscar stayed the weapon and both men faced each other like statues.

  ‘Cheng?’ Argus said, hurrying to the door. He slipped past Oscar and grabbed the stunned man, tugging him inside.

  ‘This man is not an enemy,’ Argus said. ‘What are you doing here, Cheng?’

  ‘I-I was coming as usual,’ Cheng said. ‘What in the name of the One is going on?’

  Oscar grabbed the Caller’s ankles and hauled him back inside, closing the door behind. He turned the groaning man over. Blood streamed from his mouth as he stared up at Oscar, gurgling and choking on the liquid before shuddering to stillness. The man’s hooded eyes and tanned complexion were similar to the owners of the house, but fleshier, as if they lived a life of excess in comparison to Argus and Jo.

  Harl now saw that the Callers were dressed in a leather and light scale armour. Patches of red cloth showed underneath, darkened by blood.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Cheng said, blowing alcohol fumes at Harl. He stared, aghast, at the bodies and raised his hands as if he might be next. ‘I won’t say a word.’

  ‘These men, ’ Argus said, looking at Harl, Damen, and Oscar, ‘might be able to help us. Do you still have contacts in the city?’

  Cheng nodded.