Within the Water

by Kelly Fallows

  Fahlen, unaware or, more likely, unconcerned by his clerk’s thoughts, took great delight in slapping down the cause of his triumph onto his desk. The cause in and of itself did not look much: it was a plain manila folder. The sort of plain manila folder that was prevalent within the Republic’s bureaucracy, and enclosed such delights as reports on the Republic’s food supply, to the most wanted criminals, and even why the eastern quarter of Eckarna had that lingering smell that no one could quite place. However, this particular unassuming folder contained everything there was to know, or at least everything the Republic knew, about one pirate captain, Benjamin Daniels, who was formerly of the Imperial Fleet before having been tried and found guilty of treason. After which he was summarily executed. This, in turn, led to the rather intriguing question of why he was still gallivanting about the ocean. Yet Fahlen was much more concerned with how to catch him and retrieve those disks.

  ‘But how to do it?’ Fahlen mused aloud to his empty office, while staring at the folder that was, just a moment ago, a cause of triumph. However, in truth, the folder held little relevant information, other than naming a formerly deceased, disgraced naval officer as the pirate currently in possession of potentially the most dangerous information the Republic held.

  True to form, it was at this point in the minister’s musing that his luckless clerk chose to knock on his door.

  ‘Sir?’ came the weak voice.

  Exhaling loudly, Fahlen transferred his glare to the door.

  ‘Ah, sir? The… ah, Feature is about to commence in St Peter’s Courtyard, sir,’ the clerk called nervously through the door. ‘Er, your presence is required,’ he continued shakily when no answer was forthcoming.

  ‘Indeed it is,’ Fahlen stated as he forcefully swung open his door, nearly upending the clerk into his office with the sudden movement. ‘Do mind yourself.’

  ‘Y-yes, sir,’ the clerk stuttered as Fahlen swept past him in his ceremonial cloak, which was a deep purple colour with white accents, and had a phoenix in an upside-down triangle (the emblem of the Republic) embroidered on the right shoulder in gold, with Fahlen’s personal insignia below it in white.

  Fahlen walked in measured strides down the short passages to St Peter’s Courtyard, better known as the Jigs. The courtyard was the middle ground between the two sides of Eckarna – the government and the wealthy being in one half, and the rest in the other. Of course, the divide was never publicly acknowledged, but you could see it all the same. It was in the little things, such as in the way the Courts were on the government’s side of the courtyard and the prison on the other. The Jigs provided a common area for the two sides; after all, it was great entertainment, and great entertainment was enjoyed by all.

  St Peter’s Courtyard was one of the first areas to be built after the Land War had forced Earth's population to move within the water to survive – nuclear war had left the land uninhabitable and space had long since been deemed uncolonisable with so many failed missions. So, the deep, dark depths of the oceans became the only possible refuge for the last of humanity. They were quick to act; they built these new cities within the waves – deep enough to be safe from the radiation, and so deep that the sun became a myth. The Republic was formed from what was left of the tattered Land governments; they knew law and order had to be their first priority once it had been proved that these Wettle cities, so named for the woman who designed them, were safe and could be maintained indefinitely. The newly formed Republic knew that justice had to be visible, definitive and swift. So, St Peter’s Courtyard was designed as a public execution point. It asserted the Republic’s dominance. However, an unforeseen side effect happened: it also provided entertainment. Public executions reverted to how they had been centuries before on the Land – a grand spectacle. Ever willing to capitalise on this new information, the Republic sought to make these executions as entertaining as possible; after all, a happy mob was far less destructive and far more manageable than an angry one. And so the Features were born – all day events on the first Sunday of every month: Jigs Day.

  Jigs had become the term used to describe anything that happened in St Peter’s Courtyard for the simple reason that more often than not the victims of that month's Feature danced the hangman’s jig. Not all of them, of course. There were the whippings and the beatings for minor offences, the cutting off of hands for stealing, and any number of creative punishments designed to fit the crime, which were often devised in the lengthy trials that led up to each Jigs Day. Some of the trials spanned across several Features for the more complicated and juicy crimes, which meant the unfortunate criminal had to watch all the proceedings of the intervening Jigs Days from his or her position chained to the Criminal Stage – a raised platform at the south end of the courtyard with a painfully perfect view of the scaffold and crosses.

  Fahlen came into the courtyard from the west passage, having walked down next to the Courts. St Peter’s demonstrated a lot of influence from the Land in its architecture – like its creators could not move beyond what they had lost. They took a great deal of inspiration from the name of the space, Fahlen always thought to himself. Having seen depictions of outside spaces in many books and paintings, it always seemed to him that the architects took all the clichéd points of a courtyard and lumped them together. The result was surprisingly pleasing and iconic with the high vaulted ceiling, faux-stonework façades and central fountain. Such a waste for it to be defiled by the masses, he thought, sidestepping one such cretin as he moved across the courtyard. St Peter’s had the best of the architecture in Eckarna, which, of course, bled through into the Republic’s official buildings and the wealthier homes on the west side of the city. St Peter’s was, still to this day, a showpiece. A vibrantly decorated showpiece now that the stallholders had set out their wares in Jigs Day colours and performers/acrobats roamed through the masses. Fahlen snorted; another insult. Jigs, he thought, is such a crude name, wrapping his cloak tighter around him as if to ward off the lower classes and their filth.

  ‘Ah, Fahlen! There you are,’ Chancellor Carrington called out to him as he mounted the steps to the Ministerial Stage, which was situated along the Western Wall with the Courts at its back. Carrington, as per tradition, was also decked out in ceremonial robes, his, naturally, being more regal, as befitted his station as the chancellor.

  ‘Indeed. I could hardly miss it,’ Fahlen responded as dryly as he could get away with.

  ‘It’s good, I think, to come down here once in a while and mingle with them,’ Carrington said with an imperious wave at the crowd below.

  ‘Some of us are here more often,’ Fahlen muttered, causing Carrington to laugh.

  ‘Of course, Fahlen, every man must pay his dues to the Republic,’ he told the man, who was his second in everything but name, seriously, yet with an undercurrent of mirth. ‘And, of course, those dues will be rewarded with higher positions,’ he concluded with a grin, as if sharing a particularly funny in-joke.

  Fahlen shared his smile, if only a little more vicious in its intent. ‘I live but to serve the Republic,’ he intoned, fully aware and a little more circumspect of the other lower-ranking ministers who shared their platform.

  Carrington nodded in agreement, but his focus now lay with the fire dancers in the courtyard below, a sight that had captivated the majority of the crowd except, Fahlen noted derisively, the Guild. He could see them working their way through the crowds like insects; relieving the less aware among them of their valuables. In some morbid sense, it was actually quite entertaining to watch as they blended in and out of the crowd, depending on whether any eyes were on them, or at least whether they perceived any eyes to be on them. After all, in this Republic someone was always watching.

  ‘Do you not enjoy Jigs Day then, Minister?’

  Fahlen turned to the woman addressing him. An underminister, he noted, just barely above a clerk but with certain privileges that set them above the common mi
nisterial staff, the most visual of which was access to the Ministerial Stage.

  ‘Not enjoy Jigs Day? A veritable display of what the Republic is and does? Really Miss…’

  ‘Tristan, Minister, Sarah Tristan.’

  ‘Then, Miss Tristan, shouldn’t we all be giving thanks on these most auspicious of days?’

  ‘Indeed, Minister – the Republic stands.’ Tristan didn’t let Fahlen’s bullying affect her, nor did she rise to his bait and correct his obvious omission of her title, but replied in the same polite, if somewhat cold, tone.

  ‘Yes, the Republic stands,’ Fahlen echoed before turning back to the festivities, effectively dismissing her.

  ‘Really, Fahlen, you should give the girl a chance,’ Carrington lightly scolded him before turning to watch Tristan walk back to the other end of the platform; his gaze just stopping short of a leer. ‘She seems to have some very valuable assets.’

  ‘Indeed, Chancellor. Certainly one to watch,’ Fahlen commented neutrally causing Carrington to scoff.

  ‘On to business now though. Where is Devonport? As my second, he should really be here,’ Carrington asked before the look of distaste Fahlen didn’t hide quite fast enough induced him to continue. ‘I know that position is in name only; it is after all quite obvious who runs things down here in my absence, but really appearances are important.’

  ‘I believe that Minister Devonport had a little mishap on his trip a short while ago,’ Fahlen commented lightly as a huge cheer went up from the crowd below as the fire dancers finished their routine in spectacular fashion.

  ‘Just what kind of mishap?’ Carrington demanded, turning sharply to face his Minister of Security, with all trace of good humour vanishing from his countenance.

  ‘A run-in with the dead, I believe,’ Fahlen replied calmly, still facing the crowd, which was slowly jostling to get a better view of the scaffold as the event was set to begin.

  ‘The dead? Fahlen that’s cryptic even for you, and I don’t have the patience for your games,’ he added threateningly.

  ‘Games, Chancellor? I do humbly beg pardon; I simply did not wish to speak on the matter before Minister Devonport had a chance to make his case to you about this… messy business.’

  ‘Messy business?’ Carrington queried, knowing full well he was being spoon-fed exactly what Fahlen wanted to tell him, which wasn’t doing much for his temper, but he needed to know all the same. ‘And don’t lie to me, Fahlen; you’d as soon see him dancing the jig as help him,’ he told him contemptuously, waving a hand in the direction of the scaffold as the marshal took his place.

  Fahlen merely smirked before joining in with the applause that was sweeping through the crowd as the marshal began whipping the crowd into a frenzy.

  ‘So, out with it Fahlen,’ Carrington demanded, his tone hard and cold, although now his face betrayed none of his rising temper as he sought to play his part for the spectacle of the day. It would not do for anyone to catch onto these troubles.

  ‘It is being handled with all the care and haste that such a delicate case requires, I can assure you, Chancellor.’

  ‘The more you speak, Fahlen, the more I’m sensing that this mess has the potential to cost me dear,’ Carrington growled, as he gave an imperious wave to the marshal to continue with his duties.

  ‘Well, the higher up, the further the fall,’ Fahlen commented; the irony of his word choice did not escape Carrington, but it seemed much less amusing in this context than it had half an hour before.

  ‘Fahlen, you are trying my patience.’

  ‘My apologies, Chancellor.’ Fahlen knew then that he had pushed the chancellor as far as he could without serious repercussions; perhaps the situation had caused him to go further than he usually would being secure in the knowledge that, once the chancellor did know of the troubles, he'd be far too busy to worry about Fahlen overstepping his bounds a little.

  ‘The Serronous was attacked by pirates as she crossed the Straits, and they took the valuable information that Devonport was carrying,’ Fahlen succinctly summarised the problem in low tones, under the noise of the crowd that just carried to Carrington’s ear. Fahlen took the sight of the colour draining from Carrington’s face as confirmation that he had, indeed, heard him and understood the weight of the information that had just been conveyed to him.

  ‘This valuable information… would not happen to include certain proofs that the Guild have long sought, would it?’ Carrington asked carefully after managing to rally himself.

  ‘It would.’

  ‘What the bloody hell was Devonport doing taking that into the open ocean?’ Carrington used the momentary distraction of a beheading to shoot a glare at Fahlen.

  ‘I believe he was acting on your orders.’

  ‘My orders?’

  ‘To courier the… documents from Isnal to Eckarna.’

  ‘I gave no such orders!’

  Fahlen frowned; both at Carrington’s outburst, which caused no small amount of heads to turn in their direction, and the fact that he hadn’t ordered Devonport to move the documents.

  ‘The Guild,’ Fahlen muttered, having come to the very quick realisation that they had been played from the beginning.

  ‘The Guild?’ Carrington repeated in a much more level tone than his previous outburst. ‘Fahlen, do you mean to tell me that they have the… sensitive information?’ Carrington demanded, his tone, while level, conveyed the seriousness of this particular offence, should Fahlen have permitted it to happen.

  ‘No Chancellor,’ Fahlen assured him. ‘They are, however, like us, seeking the pirate who does and it would seem that they have orchestrated this from the beginning. Although their plan has gone a little awry.’ Fahlen smirked at the thought.

  ‘Not nearly awry enough if that information is still out there and on the open market,’ Carrington fumed.

  ‘But it does afford us the opportunity to retrieve it before anyone sees it,’ Fahlen countered.

  ‘That’s assuming you get it back in time. At least if the Guild had it, we’d know where we stood; they don’t want it to become public knowledge either.’

  ‘It would do far less damage to them than us and Nathan knows that. He wouldn’t hesitate to use that as a bargaining chip and make it public knowledge if we didn’t concede to his demands.’

  ‘Demands? What demands?’

  ‘He hasn’t made them yet, but he will once he gets his prize. And you can be sure that they won’t be good for us.’

  ‘Us or the Republic?’

  Fahlen laughed, ‘I’m pretty sure the Republic won’t be standing for long after that information is made public… nor will we.’

  ‘Then I suggest that you find this pirate.’

  ‘A search is in progress; our best guess is that he will try to discover what information he’s got his hands on. Abantos is his most likely port of call for that.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Carrington muttered before stepping forward to give his Jigs Day speech to the waiting crowd.

  ‘Citizens of the Republic. This is a day that brings together the people of our great nation. It brings us together to serve justice on those who have wronged the Republic by their reprehensible actions and, in doing so, have wronged every single one of us. Together, we show them that we are united in our abhorrence of their crimes and show those who may be tempted by their path that we will not allow such behaviour in our glorious Republic. We have all striven for too long and too hard to salvage a life for ourselves after the horrors of the Land War, and not only have we succeeded through diligence and adherence to the law but we have flourished. We have, together, made this Republic what it is today: a veritable bastion of justice, honour and freedom. We will brook no opposition and no attempts to undermine our very foundations. We will have justice!’

  Carrington’s speech was met with thunderous applause and the roars of
the people. Fahlen often wondered if that was the product of Carrington’s skills as an orator, or, more likely, the product of the troopers who were extremely visible throughout the courtyard and heavily armed.

  ‘Another rousing speech, sir,’ Fahlen congratulated him as he stepped back into line with his minister.

  Carrington shot a glare at Fahlen for his gall. ‘I think you have more important matters to concern yourself with or perhaps you would like me to pen your eulogy?’

  ‘Apologies, Chancellor, that will not be necessary. I shall return to my post at once and continue the search for Benjamin Daniels.’ Fahlen bowed and swept away from the chancellor just as his last words fell on Carrington's ears, leaving Fahlen able to smirk in safety at the choking noise made by the chancellor behind him.

  ‘Daniels?… Fahlen!’ Carrington called him back.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Your information is incorrect. Benjamin Daniels is dead.’ Carrington managed to state calmly, having regained his composure.

  ‘I have information that states otherwise, sir, but if you could tell me how you know for certain that he is dead, that would be of immense help to my investigations.’

  ‘I… that will not be necessary. I leave the investigation in your capable hands, Minister Fahlen… and be sure to tell Devonport I’ll be needing a word.’ Carrington dismissed him once more, feeling even more uneasy than he had only moments ago.

  Fahlen bowed once more and made his retreat, this time saving his smirk until he was fully encased in his private chambers.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Well, well, well. Looks like Fahlen’s stirring up his own trouble,’ Nathan commented as the recording of the Jigs Day ceremony ended, or more accurately the recording of the Ministerial Stage during the ceremony; after all, once you’ve seen one Jigs Day you’ve seen them all.

  ‘The things people will say when they think they can’t be overheard,’ Rose commented, having watched their latest intel with Nathan.