Wixon's Day

by Phil Williams

“Protecting her,” Marquos answers. His eyes are fixed on the girl. “She’s been on a rather rough ride and I promised I’d take her home.”

  “Promised who?” Father asks.

  “Promised her. She didn’t have anyone else, where I found her. She was taken away from her family.”

  “Why on earth would anyone do that?” Mother asks.

  “It’s not important. All that matters is that she’s safe now, and I’m going to keep her safe. That’s why I can’t stay long, we’re heading further up the river.”

  “So you’re just passing through,” Mother sighs. “Doesn’t ever come just to visit his family. Doesn’t care that they haven’t seen him in so many months. Just potter off on another wild journey, forgetting he even has a home.”

  Marquos gives her a level look, taking a breath. He tells her, “I write you every month, mother. I won’t ever forget I have this home. I’m here now, aren’t I? I will stay maybe a few days, even. And I will return on my way back south.”

  “Where you’ll get some serious work?” Father grunts. “Build yourself a home?”

  “I’ve got a place to stay.”

  “That boat is a death-trap. It’ll explode whilst you sleep. No one’s going to give you a job whilst you’re rocking about on a floating steam-engine.”

  “I get enough work. Don’t you worry about me.”

  “Oh, I don’t.”

  “I do,” Mother protests. “It’s not getting you anywhere, drifting up and down the waterways. I despair. One boy floating along in a world of his own, another struggling to run entertainment houses, what are we to do?”

  Marquos replies. “Where is Barns, anyway?”

  “Out hustling people, no doubt,” Father grumbles.

  “He’s meeting people down the Fern. He knew you were coming, but he couldn’t change his plans. He said you should head down there and see him when you’re done here.”

  “I will, then,” Marquos nods. “Can you take care of Red for a while?”

  Red looks to him with alarm. He rubs her back and smiles, “These people are family, honey. They’re the best people I know. They can take even better care of you than I can. I won’t be gone long.”

  “Can’t I come with you?” Red asks quietly.

  “No, I’m sorry. You’ll be fine here.”

  “We can play a few games,” Mother says. “Or bake. Do you like to make food? You could make your own cookies.”

  Red looks at her, not quite convinced.

  “You’ll be fine,” Marquos repeats. He gives Red a hug and rises to leave. “I won’t be long. There’s a few people I’ve got to see.”

  Red looks at Mother again with an industrious look on her face, and asks carefully “Can we make cookies with ginger?”

  3

  At a table by the river, Marquos looks out as Road Guards drag crates of food onto their small mechanical cart on the opposite bank. It’s a metal contraption with four large wheels and an exposed set of steaming pipes. Two seats perch on the rear of the vehicle with a series of levers, whilst a cage rests over the centre, designed purely to stack with transported goods. These goods are not stolen, no one would be so bold as to say that. The Guards do not steal; they requisition. Marquos’ hometown is seldom affected by these taxes, and he can see by the look on the guards’ victim’s face that this was a most unwelcome, unfortunate encounter. Of all the people in town, Marquos can see him thinking.

  The Road Guard wear slate armour, the colour of the barren rocks and the overcast skies that make up the standard terrain of the world any short distance from the waterways. Slim armour the shape of muscles, many linking panels like an insect’s shell. Their weapons are left in the cart; nothing more than a few bats and blades. The civilian does as they ask, letting them take what they need without any more complaint than the aggravation on his face.

  The Mine Guard wear green uniforms. Emerald green, the colour of the vegetation they have destroyed to harvest whatever fuels they can find. Greenbottle flies; that’s how they looked as they swarmed over the Hypnagogia, days after Marquos’ escape from the Mines. When he heard their footfalls on the deck, he needed only a quick glance to scared little Red to start acting without thinking.

  There were three of them on board, one on the jetty watching. They were armed with steel batons, each longer and probably heavier than Marquos’ wrench, and they were armoured from head to toe. They lacked his conviction, though. Their helmet muffled whatever they said, but their orders were more muted by the look of determination in the pilot’s face. Clear by the surprise in their posture, none of them had expected a transporting scavenger to react so violently to their search. Marquos shouted and swung at them before they could respond. He knocked one down with his wrench, another his fist, and threw the third clear of the boat to splash heavily into the water. To the man on the jetty, too dumbstruck to flee, Marquos snarled his threats that they should never set foot on his boat again. Never so much as step into his field of view. He sat on the roof of the Hypnagogia, eyes shimmering a challenge for them to fight back, and watched silently as they dragged their shame away. Uniforms, he told himself, suits of armour and a supposedly shared ethos. None of it made them tough. His defiance had been futile in the Mines, where there were thousands of them lurking, but out here, on the canals, no meagre patrol had the right to threaten him.

  Marquos is aware that he hasn’t spoken for some minutes. Nicole is watching him, a smile on her face. He shifts his eyes from the Road Guards across the river back to her soft, loving face, and gives her a smile of his own. He murmurs, “Sorry, just had my mind on something.”

  “I can see that,” she replies, perching on her elbows to lean closer to him, “What’s been going on with you recently? You haven’t written in ages.”

  “I’ve been distracted. I’ve been busy. But here,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small pack of papers. He lays them on the table, “I did keep writing you, I’ve just not had the chance to send them. Part of me was scared to, for some of the things written there.”

  “Well let’s see,” she says in her usual chirpy tone, putting a hand on the letters. He holds her grip there, though, and shakes his head.

  “I don’t really remember what I wrote. I’d rather tell you those tales in person, now. I can’t trust these letters.”

  “Nonsense, they’re my property, they were meant for me.”

  “No,” he pulls the papers back, “They’re meant for no one. They’re meant to be forgotten. Besides, I bet you have no such letters to give me in return.”

  Nicole turns her head away and replies, “I’m sorry, Marq. What would I have to tell you?” Her face down turned, her profile is lit gently by the dim glow of day. It is apt gentle lighting for gentle features, the shadows forever drawing attention to those large white eyes. Marquos rests back in his chair and lets out a long breath.

  “It’s so good to see you, Nicole,” he says. “So good. I’ve barely seen anything pure on what seems like endless moons.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Marquos has to think for a moment, wondering whether or not he should tell her. He says “I was working in the Mines for a while. It was regrettable. I’m heading north, as far north as I can go.”

  “You mean the Deadland, don’t you? Why would you ever go there?”

  “Adventure. To see the things most people only ever hear of. You could see them too, there’s always room on the boat. What’s stopping you?” Nicole laughs. She never takes it seriously, no matter how many times he asks her to come with him. He pauses as Nicole gives him a caring look. “You’re the finest girl I’ve ever known. I don’t know why you confine yourself to this place, where they’re gonna leech off you all till the world’s too dark to see. You could be seeing the world, the lava streams of the Northern volcanoes, the great waves of the Afta Straights. Stars over the sea.”

  “Yeah, I could see it all if I went with you. How many girls have you told all this to,
Marq? Does it ever work?”

  Marquos smiles back, lowering his eyes. He replies awkwardly, “Depends what you mean by work. It’s got a lot of girls on the boat. But when I say it to you I mean it. I could live with you, wherever we might go. You know I mean it because I’m not trying to get in your pants. I would never do that.”

  Nicole looks back at him playfully, unsure how serious he can be taken. She stirs a finger around her mug of drink, sighing, and replies “I hope someday you find someone that can keep you company out there. And look for the same things that you’re looking for. You know that’s not me any more than you’re going to settle here and keep me company.”

  Marquos nods knowingly. He is distracted slightly as the Road Guards’ cart throttles into life, shuddering on the spot in a puff of smoke before rattling away over uneven ground. He points a finger to them, about to speak, but shakes his head, thinking better of it.

  “You’ve got something against them, haven’t you?” Nicole says casually.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “They’ve been building a community centre, for meetings and general extra accommodation and all that. We can take in drifters-”

  “I know what the Road Guard do. I don’t really have an issue with them.”

  “Good, because I’m seeing one right now. Henra, he’s called. I’d hate to think he might have some reason for conflict with you.”

  Marquos scowls at her, slightly taken aback, “This is what happens when I leave for a few short seasons? Damn. Forget it, though. I had a bit of trouble with the Mine Guard, that’s all. We didn’t leave on the best of terms.”

  “That’s in my letters, is it?” Nicole raises an eyebrow.

  “Yeah. No. Mostly the reasons I left the Mines are in there. The kids they’ve got down there don’t deserve that life. Just like that man over there,” Marquos points across the river, “No doubt didn’t deserve to give up his goods. You know in all my travels the only time I’ve had anyone jump on my boat looking for a fight it was the Mine Guard.”

  “Dendra, what’d you do?” Nicole replies, smiling to show she does not take his woes too seriously. She is invoking the life goddess, one of the four deities, like Kail, that Estalians have reserved for the general purpose of cursing and little more.

  Marquos shrugs, “I’ve got a girl on board that they’re after. Come with me, and meet her, head up to the North, it’ll be fun. You’ll love her.”

  “Who is she? How long have you been with her?”

  “A good few weeks now,” Marquos smiles. “It’s not what you think, though. You know I wouldn’t betray you like that, even if you are gallivanting about with Henra. She’s just a kid.”

  “You’ve got a kid?” Nicole exclaims. “Fucking hell-”

  “I got a bit mixed up with the mines, Nicole,” Marquos taps the letters, still sat on the table. “Let’s just leave it at that shall we?”

  “Tell me. You know you can tell me anything,” Nicole regards him with worried eyes. She can see his expression glazing over with the dark memories. “What could you possibly have done?”

  He leafs through the letters briefly, draws one out and hands it over to her, giving her a nod to read it. Nicole frowns as she starts to scan the words. He tells her warily, “This is the way it was presented to me.”

  Children have become the most unruly area of society, to such a degree that when unsupervised they are often considered a direct enemy of the Guard. The guards round up criminal elements and ship them down the Mines, without any complaint from the people who have been victim to the destructive children. Everyone knows the younger generation are responsible for general vandalism, frustrated violence and other abuses. If they cannot be disciplined, they can be put to work, and no one is arguing about the Mine Guard’s methods as long as boats run and cities are lit and people are warm. Besides, as long as resistance movements like the Kennel exist, the Mine Guard have a free hand in combating society’s younger elements. The Kennel is an infamous den of escaped children, a slum of mythical proportions where the adolescents have broken free from the adults. The Mine Guard are never able to uncover its location, as the children are adept at moving, but few people doubt it exists. It’s the ultimate scapegoat for any crime that the Mine Guard aren’t able to adequately explain or punish; crimes alleged to have been carried out under the influence of the Kennel. Somewhere out there, they say, children are still running wild, and anyone who encounters them suffers. The theory is that this makes the atrocities of the Mines seem perfectly reasonable, considering the occupants and their associates.

  “And those atrocities?” Nicole looks up warily.

  “I saw children beaten before my eyes. They were underfed, all chained together, worked long days underground...they had such sad, lifeless eyes. I tried to ignore them, treating it as a job and nothing more. The Guard paid me well and those mines keep people going, but...it was hell. The kids were too weak to stir any trouble. They could barely even talk, certainly didn’t get a chance to offer their side of the story, so it was possible to believe all I’d heard about them deserving it. But then I met Red, and saw how wrong it all was. I couldn’t leave her there. She’s only six seasons old, and she’s the sweetest thing. They kidnapped her to bring her there, she never did anything wrong. So I kidnapped her back.”

  “You’re insane! They’ll come after you! The Mine Guard are notorious for-”

  Marquos waves a hand for quiet, still refusing to meet her eyes. “They already came after me. A couple of times. The last time I saw them was about a week ago. I handled myeslf alright.”

  Nicole is staring at him with a mix of awe and surprise. She shakes her head slowly, taking a moment to find words to respond with. Eventually, she lets out a small sound, “How?”

  “How?” Marquos finally looks back into her eyes, and as he does his smile returns. “I’m tougher than your average guardsman. I’ve been through enough to know how to fight. The sort of things I don’t want you to know from here,” he taps the letters again, taking back the one he gave her to read. He tells her, “And I won’t let anyone hurt that girl, just as much as I wouldn’t let anyone rifle through my boat.”

  “So who is she? What did she do?”

  “She was kidnapped. The Mine Guard’s plan has worked so effectively that violent crime amongst children has been cut to a bare minimum. They don’t have the criminals left to send down the Mines, so they’re plucking kids up from all over the place. There are dozens of those kids down there with no purpose being there.”

  “And you’ve given it all up to save just this one?”

  Marquos looks at her coldly for a moment. He says, “There’s no great design to it. It just happened. And now I’m dealing with the consequences.”

  “To run away to the Deadland? It’s extreme.”

  “That’s not why I’m going there,” Marquos shakes his head. “Not exactly, anyway. I’m not afraid of them, Nicole, but if I’m ever to return to the Metropolis it’s going to take more than a hard work ethic. I can read, and write, that’s more than most can do down there. Red got me to write something about what I know of the world, and it made me realise that if I can bring back stories from the North it could make me famous. Then I could make a difference.”

  Nicole takes one of his hands, giving him a fond but almost pitying look, “You’re such a dreamer, Marq. I love you for it.”

  4

  Marquos finds his brother, Barns, outside a school-ground, dismantling what appears to be a wooden stage. He has a number of men working for him, carting away wood and steel, and greets his brother distractedly at first. Barns is barking orders to his men as Marquos watches, running an efficient clean-up operation, and gives sharp instructions to have the stage relocated by nightfall.

  They walk and talk, and Barns explains how his theatre has expanded and is on the move. Marquos congratulates him and together they note that few people have respect for the arts in this darkening world; utility is life, and it
is hard to pursue entertainment as a means of support, even if most enjoy it when it is on offer. In turn, Marquos starts talking of the horrible conditions in the Mines and the violence he has seen exacted there. He talks of the dangerous streets of the Metropolis, and his plans to visit the Deadland, where the horrors of the North surely can’t compare to these abusive population centres. Barns is not convinced but allows his brother his point of view. He understands that Marquos trades in his ability to move through unchartered terrain, a valuable commodity, though he doubts the worth of anything that might be found up there. Marquos’ childhood friend, Jimmi, is even more difficult to convince.

  The hills that surround the town are still green, when the light is sufficient to show their colour clearer than grey, and their vitality is Jimmi’s lifeblood. He works the land with a knowledge second to none, and for his dedication he can no longer be found amongst the townsfolk at sociable hours. Marquos must make the trek out to the hills to find him, and comes across the burly man hacking a shovel into the soil by the boundary of a field. The light has already started to fade. Jimmi wipes sweat from his brow as Marquos approaches, then shakes Marquos’ hand with the sweat still dripping from his own. Marquos bears it no heed, grinning at the patch of earth that has been dug up.

  “It’s working, then? I knew it would. You’re on the way.”

  “It’s working alright,” Jimmi says. His passion, the science of this land, has finally become common knowledge in the area, and he now performs a service to all the farmers nearby, treating their territories as a doctor. “There’s hope, just as I always said there was.”

  “I knew it,” Marquos winks. “Then comes money, then comes travel.”

  Jimmi pauses, frowning. “You’ve got your dreams, I’ve got mine. I like to see things flourishing back here, Marq. That’s good enough for me.”

  “I know,” Marquos laughs. “I was joking.”

  “When did you get back, anyway?”

  “I’m not back. I’m passing through. I’ll be back soon, I hope, but I’m heading North, first.”