The Noble Prince (The Empire of the North)

by Brendan DuBois

  “Whatever it might be, Armand, you need to leave the base now.” From a leather case Hinderline pulled out a thick envelope, which he passed over. The envelope was wrapped with some sort of thick cloth. Armand kept it on his lap as Hinderline talked. “In the envelope are tickets for a stern wheeler, that departs from Puget. That’s a port town a few klicks from here. Once you get to Orleans, well, we’re depending on you.”

  There was a faint metal taste in Armand’s mouth. “Yes. I know.”

  “Everything else is in there, too. Oh, and if I may.”

  The boxy vehicle slowed down and from his case, he passed over something in a clear envelope. Inside the envelope was a pamphlet, and even in looking through the clear plastic, Armand saw that the pamphlet was old, so very old. Hinderline’s voice trembled as he said, “In there is an artifact, from the time of the war. We have a handful of these left, but we wanted you to have this. As a sign of who we are and what we can be again. Do you understand?”

  There was a little electric lamp over his head, and Armand tilted the pamphlet so it was illuminated. The words were an archaic Anglish, and he slowly said them aloud, “’A… kid’s… guide… to… the… Constitution…’”

  Hinderline wiped at his eyes. “We don’t forget. We never forget. Look, we’re here.”

  They had stopped in front of a finely trimmed lawn, and standing there, with a female soldier, was Melinda. Armand slipped the old artifact into the envelope and waited.

  Hinderline got out, escorted Melinda in and she squeezed his hand. “What’s going on?”

  “Time to leave.”

  She yawned. “This early?”

  Armand squeezed her hand back. “Just be thankful it’s not too late.”

  Hinderline got into the front seat and closed the door, and they departed. Melinda held Armand’s hand and looked around with wide eyes. “What kind of transport is this?’

  Hinderline said, “It’s called a NextGen Humvee. And don’t ask me what that means. Mechanics in our motor pool have been fighting over those words since my grandfather was a child.”

  “How old is it?” Melinda asked.

  “Old enough,” Hinderline said. “But it still runs well.”

  They traveled along one of the well-paved roads on the base, past low-slung buildings with bright lights burning, and there were signs outside of each building. They made a series of turns and then the road straightened out, heading to a narrow area of finely-mowed grass. Up ahead was a series of bright lights, illuminating a gatehouse and fence. The fence line stretched away from either side of the gate. The vehicle slowed down and the driver’s window opened up. A guard came out of the shack, with polished helmet and boots and a holstered weapon. He leaned down and Hinderline stretched over to the driver, passed over a folded over piece of paper to the guard. The guard went back into the gatehouse. The guard came back out a moment later, passed the slip of paper back to the driver, who in turn gave it to Hinderline.

  The guard saluted, and Hinderline returned the salute. The guard said, “You’re clear for thirty minutes, Major. Stay on the main road, no hitchhikers are allowed, and be alert. We’ll be monitoring the guard frequency. If you have a problem or are going to be delayed beyond thirty minutes, contact us on the guard frequency. Standingorders. Do you understand all of this, sir?”

  “I do,” Hinderline said.

  “Very good sir,” the guard said. “The gate will be opening now.”

  He stepped back into the gatehouse, and ahead of them, the metal gate clanked and slid to the right. It was darkness beyond the opening, and the driver gunned the vehicle and they drove out.

  On both sides of the gate, however, other lights flickered, from torches and small fires. Stretching away on the side of the road were lines of people, most sitting or sleeping on the ground, some with tarps or some shelter stretched over them. The driver made a left-hand turn and they sped down the roughly-paved road.

  Armand looked back at the crowds of people. “Who are they? The ones waiting outside of your gate?”

  Hinderline said, “Petitioners. People from all over come to the General, to look for medical help, technical assistance, or to settle territorial disputes. They come from many, many klicks around here.”

  Melinda said, “But there are so many of them.”

  Hinderline said, “Yes, there are. But the General can only see ten a day. They line up for days, sometimes even weeks. But ten a day, that’s all he can see. Otherwise, nothing else would get done.”

  Armand thought of General MacPherson, the exhaustion on his face. To operate a military base that was stuck in time, to keep good order and discipline, and in addition to all that, to be a king of sort, living in an island of safety and power and clean clothes and good food. To also know that you could only do so much, day after day.

  The envelope Hinderline gave to Armand rested hard against his ribs.

  Up ahead the lights of the vehicle now illuminated rows of buildings, homes, some stores and such. Not many people were out at this time of the morning, but there were the thin wisps of cooking fires. There were a few electric lights, but not too many, and there were plenty of horses and some dogs, running after them.

  Then they descended and Armand saw a river, as the sun finally slumbered its way up higher from the east. The river was wide and there were docks and boats at play upon the river, and the citizens of this town, up and about at this hour, waved at the vehicle as they slowed down, approaching the docks.

  Melinda said, “Is that it? The Missisipp?”

  “The same,” Hinderline said. “Greatest river around.”

  The buildings here looked as worn and as used as the ones Armand saw back in the Empire, just before he crossed over the border. But the contrast between here and the clean and tidy Ft. McGee was also overwhelming. Armand said to the major, “Don’t the people here resent you?”

  Hinderline said, “Some do, but most don’t. We do what we can, and over the decades, the locals have seen that. Otherwise, we’d be overwhelmed. There are old, old records, from the time of the War of the World. The fort had to defend itself against the armed citizens, trying to steal food, medical supplies, vehicles. It was a very bloody, rocky time, and only through the leadership of General Pope, did we survive.”

  The vehicle slowed more and they were in a warren of narrow lanes, with stores and warehouses, and then they came out onto an open area, of wagons, horses, docks and moored vessels. The vehicle stopped and Hinderline got out, as did he and Melinda. Hinderline went to the rear of the vehicle, opened up a hatch, and pulled out two small black duffel bags.

  “Some clothing, food and water, and the belongings you had when we picked you up,” he explained. “The boat you’ll be going on is a trusted vessel; we’ve used it before, but it’s always good to plan ahead. Follow me, if you please.”

  He strolled away and they followed him, as they went out onto a long dock that jutted into the river. Armand noted the people about them in this river town. They were dressed plain, not too shabbily, but they looked upon Hinderline with something approaching awe. The women gave a slight curtsy, and the men gave a touch to their forehead, either in salute or obeisance, Armand couldn’t tell. The smell was of burning wood and coal, and of water and dead fish, and up ahead, moored to the dock, was a large flat-bottomed boat. There were two tall smokestacks up forward, slowly belching smoke and sparks, and at the stern, there was a wide, large paddle, made with rows of thin wood. Above the slim hull there were two stories of cabins, and a forward bridge. On the side of the boat, illuminated now by the rising sun, was the name of the vessel, in black letters bordered in gold: SAINT CLEMENS. Gangplanks led to the side of the boat, and men were hauling boxes and other cargo across, bringing them into open hatches.

  Hinderline approached a man standing by a tall podium with a ledger, and the man blew a hand whistle, and in a few minutes, a portly man came out of the side of the boat’s superstructure, waddled over the nearest gangplan
k, and came up to Hinderline, saluting him. Hinderline saluted back. The man was in his fifties, with a ruddy complexion, white thick whiskers running down his cheeks, and he wore boots, dark pants, and a dark blue jacket with four stripes on each sleeve. A visored cap rimmed with gold was cocked on the side of his head, and as he approached them, he said, his voice accented but still understandable, “Major Hinderline, so good to see you. Are these your passengers?”

  “They are,” he replied. “This is Armand, and this is his companion, Melinda.”

  He bustled forward, held out his hand, and both Melinda and Armand gave him a quick handshake. His grasp was moist and flabby. “Captain Barry Zebulon, at your service. We’ll be departin’ in a few minutes. Is there any more luggage coming aboard?”

  “No,” Armand said, pointing to the two bags at our feet. “Just this.”

  He took both bags and then motioned to the man at the podium, and within seconds, a crewman dressed in blue pants and a heavy gray sweater hustled them aboard. Zebulon looked to Hinderline and said, “Anything else?”

  Hinderline shook his head. “No. Arrangements have been made, with the usual particulars. How long to Orleans?”

  Zebulon rubbed at his chin. “If the weather holds, two days, at the most. We’ve got no stops, save for when we get to Orleans.”

  “Very good, then,” Hinderline said. He looked to Armand and then to Melinda, and said softly, “You’ll be fine. We’ve contracted with Captain Zebulon and his ship for many months. Have a safe journey.”

  Melinda smiled and reached up, kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, major. Thank you so very much for everything.”

  Hinderline looked embarrassed, and then Armand shook his hand. “Major, our thanks.”

  His eyes seemed to bore right through him. “You be safe, Armand. You be very safe.”

  “I will.”

  A whistle from the boat blew and Zebulon gently touched Armand on the shoulder. “We’re getting’ ready to head out, son. So you and your friend, come along now.”

  Zebulon turned and gathered some papers from the man at the podium, and Melinda and Armand followed him to the nearest gangplank. As they went up the narrow slab of wood, she took his hand. When they got to the boat, Armand stood by a railing, with Melinda at his side. Zebulon said, “I need to see to our departure. If you stay here, we’ll have breakfast together, and then I’ll show you to your cabins. Welcome aboard the Saint Clemens.”

  Out at the docks, there were workers along side, undoing the lines, and pushing back the gangplanks. There were warehouses and other buildings, and as the day lightened, more people were moving about. And standing by his vehicle, hands clasped behind his back, nice and straight, was Major Hinderline. It was like he was ensuring they were departing safely, and Armand caught his eye. Somehow it seemed right, and Armand stood straight and saluted him.

  He returned the salute.

  A whistle blew.

  All of the mooring lines were now free, and they were pushed away from the dock. Smoke and sparks billowed up harder from the two black smokestacks. Armand put his arm around Melinda and she said, “Two days on the river, and to Orleans. Do you think it’ll be hard, getting back home?”

  “Not at all,” Armand said. “We go to the embassy or consulate in Orleans, bring you in, declare that you’re a citizen of the Empire, and arrangements will be made. In less than a week, m’dear, you’ll be welcomed home.”

  She cuddled into him. “And you. Don’t forget yourself.”

  “How can I?” Armand said, keeping his voice even, and then he saw movement. Coming down the narrow roadway, the same one they had traveled on, another boxy vehicle from Ft. McGee came speeding down. Hinderline turned at the approaching vehicle, as it quickly braked to a stop. Doors popped open and the military police officer Tanner came out, and strode over to Hinderline. Words were exchanged, fingers were pointed at each other. The whistle from the Saint Clemens blew again, and both soldiers stopped and looked at the departing riverboat. Tanner’s face was twisted in rage, but Hinderline’s face looked pleased.

  And hopeful.

  As they got out into the middle of the river, the stern paddlewheel splashing and churning, Captain Zebulon came up and said, “Would you join me for breakfast?”

  Armand could have gone for a good early morning nap, but Melinda answered for the both of them. Within a few minutes, they were up in the captain’s private cabin, having pancakes with sorghum syrup, ham slices, coffee and orange juice. He and Melinda both ate well, while Zebulon regaled them with tales of his early life, the river, and the adventures he had had with the Saint Clemens.

  Melinda asked, “How did your boat get that name?”

  With a fork, he pointed to a framed portrait on the far wall. It was black and white, faded, and showed a stern looking man with a shock of white hair and a thick white moustache, wearing a white old-fashioned suit.

  “That there’s Saint Clemens,” he said, his voice with a touch of reverence. “He lived a long time ago, years even before the War of the World. He was a riverboat rat, just like me and the rest of the crew, and wrote lots of stories about the river.” Zebulon gently slapped the top of his table. “This boat and other boats like it on the river, they were built based on old plans, from the old times. One old man told me, when I was just a young pup, that there was a time when there was only one or two of these boats left before the War. But they came back, by God. They worked well then, and they work well now.”

  Armand sipped his orange juice. “It looks to be a fine craft.”

  “Thank you,” he said, pleased at the compliment. “Tell me, how did you folks like stayin’ with the Starmen?”

  He looked over at Melinda and she looked at Armand, and she said, “They treated us very nicely.”

  Zebulon chewed, swallowed. “How long were you with them?”

  His turn, Armand supposed. “Just a few days.”

  “A few days!” He looked to Melinda and then to Armand. “Well, if I’d known that, I’d’ve kicked a couple of our passengers off so you’d have better quarters. A few days…”

  “Sorry,” Armand said. “I don’t understand.”

  “Hah,” he said, picking up his coffee cup. “Look here, son, I’ve been under contract with the Starmen for more than a year now. I’ve been to their base exactly once, to sign some papers. They served me a lunch that was the finest meal I’ve ever eaten, in a room that was kept cool through some ductwork system. I saw electric lights everywhere, and plenty of power, and food, and marvelous machinery. I tell you, the Starmen are something else, and you two must be special as well, to have been their guests for so long.”

  Armand didn’t know what to say, and he guess neither did Melinda. They finished their breakfast in silence and let the captain show them to their cabin.

  Their cabin was small, with two beds, a bureau and a tiny WC. A porthole overlooked the starboard side, and there was an odd metal shutter arrangement above the round glass. The cabin was lined with faded ivory wallpaper, and there was a steady vibration from the steam engines and the stern wheel. Their bags were on the bunks and after the captain touched his hand to his cap and left them, Armand closed and locked the door and put his bag on the floor.

  “M’lady, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get some sleep,” Armand said, lying down on the nearest bunk.

  “Armand, please, I want to know –“

  “I’ll tell you, but right now, I’ve got to sleep.”

  Her fading voice, saying “Armand” was the last thing he heard for a while.

  Armand woke up, stiff and sore and listening to snoring. He got up and used the WC and went back to the cabin. Melinda was curled up on her side, looking young and fresh-faced and quite clean, and it was hard to remember what she had looked like, back at the Ayan camp, which Armand thought was a blessing. Here with her brown skin, long dark hair and slim features, she looked exotic, entrancing, not like any girl he had ever seen before. For a moment he wished s
he were awake so he could tell it to her face, but she dozed on.

  Armand smiled and went outside to get some fresh air, and to look over the mighty river that they were cruising down, to their destination of Orleans. The water was wide and moved slow, and there were trees and brush along the far riverbank. Other boats were out there as well, small ones that held only two or three fishermen, and larger ones that had engines as well, propelling themselves nearby, their smokestacks blowing smoke and embers up into the air.

  He looked back at their cabin door, thinking about Melinda in there sleeping, and he hesitated. Should he wake her up and tell her about his agreement with the general? And how would Armand explain what he was planning? And --- this thought speared him --- could she be trusted to keep it secret?

  Then Armand was spared more thoughts when a young man wearing a uniform similar to the Captain came to him and touched his fingers to his cap.

  “Compliments of the cap’n, suh,” he said, bowing. “Would you and your companion join Captain Zebulon for dinner at his table?”

  Armand nodded, thankful for the interruption. “That’d be great.”

  Later they were in the main dining room, saloon and gaming room of the steamship Saint Clemens, sitting with Captain Zebulon. The room was carpeted, the walls were wood, and lighted chandeliers hung from the ceiling and swayed with the boat’s movement. Armand had on his best trousers and dress shirt, while Melinda surprised him with a simple light red dress that looked wonderful on her. Armand had asked her, “Where did you get that?” and she had smiled, saying, “While you were out and about, learning about guns and machines, I had much more fun with the lady folk of the base.”

  Dinner was something called fried catfish served on plates, and there were mixed drinks, and a piano in the corner played music –-- something fast and jarring called jazz –-- and Captain Zebulon seemed eager to know they were having a fine trip.