Before long, Red jumps to her feet and shouts out “Finished!”
She holds up her paper to Marquos, for his approval, and he takes it. She has drawn a terribly scaled picture of his childhood home, little more than two boxes, and there they all stand outside; five stickmen and the small stick-child. The two females are made obvious by their long hair and skirts, and there is his father, wearing spectacles. They are all smiling, and Marquos, shown by two lines that must represent a waistcoat, is holding the hands of the stick-child and one of the women. They are all drawn with different colours, and there are bright coloured clouds in the sky.
“That’s you?” he asks. “There’s my mother and father. And Barns. And I’m with you and is this Nicole? Everyone’s here, it’s beautiful.”
Red nods along solemnly, “And that’s the house where we stayed.”
“It’s excellent,” Marquos tells her. “Truly beautiful. You’re an artist. Look at this, Tim.”
Helious looks up and regards the picture with little enthusiasm. He speaks dismissively, “Very nice.” He starts to sketch again. Marquos glowers at him for a moment, handing Red’s picture back to her.
“Let’s see yours, Tim,” he calls out. Helious looks up again, a little taken aback. He shrugs and holds up his sketchpad, explaining, “I’ve not got just one, I’ve been taking the most interesting parts of these so very fascinating bits of machinery.”
Marquos is surprised by the quality of Helious’ sketches, showing the finer points of his boat’s mechanics with a delicately graceful charcoal monotone. One sketch perfectly captures the way the engine is exposed on the starboard side, rising out of the cabin and steaming above them. Another shows the intricate details of the tiller with its throttle lever attached, details that must have been snatched whilst Marquos’ hand was relaxed from it. The pilot does not show his appreciation. Instead, he looks down to Red and smiles, telling her, “See that, Red, his pictures are just like the real thing. But I would take your art over his without hesitation. You’re a real artist, you’ve captured some true beauty. It takes someone special to see that. Run down and put that inside, will you? I don’t want it getting wet.”
Red bounds back down the steps as Helious regards both the pilot and the little girl with mounting confusion. He looks from his sketches to the crayon picture as Red passes him, and then back to Marquos for some explanation. When the door has swung shut behind Red, Marquos says “She’s a natural, isn’t she?”
“It was a sweet drawing,” Helious says carefully.
“Doesn’t hurt to encourage them. I didn’t mean any offence to your doodles.”
“No,” Helious mutters, “No not at all, that’s very well.”
“Sorry,” Marquos gestures to the river again, “It’s getting choppy again.”
Helious nods understanding awkwardly and returns to his sketches. Red scurries back out and settles at Marquos’ feet again, taking up his flute and starting to blow her own erratic notes. Marquos knows that Helious can feel him glaring at the back of his head, and the actor is straining to look away from the pilot. He is concentrating too hard on his sketchpad. Sure enough, the actor eventually looks up and looks to the doorway, “Do you mind if…?”
“By all means,” Marquos smiles, and Helious edges away into the cabin of the boat.
7
When Helious disembarks, it is with happy smiles and handshakes, telling the sweetest girl to never grow up and the rugged boatman to keep living the dream. Marquos presses on upriver, playing a game with Red, spotting what objects are visible in the thickening fog. It is only a matter of hours before they slip off the river, into the canals. These are the real waterways of the country, negotiable to every little detail of the land. The canal waters are immediately calmer with tighter paths. They must slow further for the fog, with the dangers of narrow canals and the approach of numerous locks. Red has experienced the canals with Marquos before, and is a great help to him when they reach locks; in spite of her age, he has taught her to guide the boat whilst he winds open and closed the great water-gates and pumps. All it requires is a few forward and halting commands, but he is always pleased to have such a resourceful child at hand.
After four conventional locks, gliding onto what Marquos knows to be a particularly long stretch of canal, they pick up their speed. Red has ducked tiredly below, so Marquos stands alone at the tiller when he catches sight of the boat ahead of them. It is first announced by the ferocious rumbling of its engines, shaking the walls of the canal and disturbing the water like an earthquake. Then comes a wide beam of light, cutting through the fog from a considerable height. He hurries to slow down as the shape looms out of the fog, but he realises that slowing down will not be enough. He leaps from the Hypnagogia and ties mooring lines to the nearest trees. The boat veers out across the canal, brought to its sudden halt, but he manages to steer it back straight before it can crash into the banks. As he finally draws to a stop, the approaching vessel is upon them. He knew what it was when he first saw the light above the canal, but only as it becomes fully visible does he really believe what he is seeing. As the larger boat’s engines cut off with a clatter of metal, Marquos shouts down to Red for her to come up and see.
The light stands on a skeletal tower of crisscrossed iron-bars, jutting out of the centre of an entirely metal vessel. The boat is shaped more like a barge than a narrow-boat like the Hypnagogia, though more angular and mechanical. The front stands out as a sloping metal grill, both a ram and a shield. There is one major cabin, running the full length of the boat and standing taller than any residential vessel would; it is dotted with narrow slits, shielded by metal plates. The pipes standing tall from the back of the boat still shudder from the strain of the engines as the boat stops, spitting out small clouds of dense smoke. At the front of the boat is a large barrel, held in place by a series of pistons and resting in front of a caged seat. A man sits at the cannon. High above them, in that light-tower, another two men can be seen. One mans the massive searchlight, a brutish cylindrical shape with a large winch on one side, the other has a rifle cocked at his shoulder. This is not a boat at war; that much is clear by the presence of another two men stood at its helm, near the cannon, but it is still a problem. It is almost the entire width of the canal, and there is no room for Marquos to pass. There would not be enough room until back at the river.
Red rushes to Marquos’ side and gapes at the boat before them. Its bare metal is decorated only with the occasional insignia of the Estal Nation, a series of green lines and a simplistic cog, whilst the men on board wear the unmistakable armour of imperial guards. They have large shoulder-pads, and every muscle of their bodies appears to be catered for by a separate panel of dull black metal. Their helmets cover only the rear of their heads; the front is an equally dark visor. One of the guards approaches the tip of the bow and holds up a hand to Marquos, who takes Red by the hand to reach their own bow, hurrying down the edge of the boat.
“Have you ever seen these men before?” Marquos whispers.
“Of course. They’re guards,” Red replies.
“But in black armour? Do you know which guard that is?”
“No.”
“They’re the Border Guard.”
“Why aren’t they the Water Guard?”
“That’s a very good question,” Marquos pats her lightly, “Stay quiet, honey. I’ll handle this.”
At the bow, Marquos can see the man opposite him wears a revolver at his belt, but it is holstered. On his left breastplate is a sign of his rank, though; three angular red lines. He is a Commander; that means he is operating this mobile fortress, not merely moving it.
“How far is it to a passing point?” the commander asks without introduction.
“At least an hour, in reverse, my way. That’s the river-mouth.”
“Very well,” the commander turns back to his men and throws up a hand, “Start the passing procedure.” He looks back to Marquos and instructs, “Keep your boat s
teady there. It will take us no more than ten minutes to get by.”
Marquos frowns, “What do you mean? What are you going to do?”
The commander looks back to his men, by way of an answer, and those on the deck all jump off to the opposite side of the canal to the Hypnagogia. Another half-dozen men emerge from the cabin and join them, starting to unwind metal poles from unseen locations on the side of the boat.
“Step to the shore for a moment, sir,” the commander says, turning back to Marquos. Marquos holds Red by her shoulders in front of him, looking from her to the boat before them. He responds slowly, “What are you men doing here?”
“I’ll explain on the shore,” the commander says, “Save me having to raise my voice, for starters.”
“Red, honey,” Marquos crouches to her, “Run back inside, would you? Let me talk with the man.”
“Can’t I watch?” Red pleads back.
“It’ll be an interesting sight for her,” the commander says. “We don’t do this often.”
Marquos glances back to the guards as they are assembling some bizarre scaffold. He bites his lip and taps Red’s shoulder, “Stay here, then. Stay in sight, okay, honey?”
“Okay.”
The commander gestures back to the shore and jumps off his boat, marching a few metres away. Marquos follows him, giving repeated glances back to the Hypnagogia.
“Lovely girl,” the commander says without feeling. “She yours?”
“No, I’m taking her up the river to her family.”
The commander pauses. He lifts his visor, revealing a face dotted with scars, partially hidden by a bushy grey moustache. He says “You aren’t a slave-trader, are you? That isn’t a conventional boat you have there.”
“No. Are you looking for slave-traders?” Marquos replies hesitantly.
“No, but our duties do not end at our current task,” the commander is staring hard at Red, “And vigilance is a value we should respect outside our simple jobs, regardless.”
“I’m not a slaver,” Marquos says. “I told you I’m returning her to her family.”
There is a loud bang, making the pair shoot their gaze over to a great engine that four of the guards carry onto the shore. They begin screwing pipes into it, and a fifth man carries a large turning-wheel behind them. He slots it into the top.
“Now there’s no use lying to me,” the commander looks back to Marquos. “You’re not supposed to have that kid, I tell it the way you look at her.”
“What business-”
“Be straight with me. We’ve been searching these waters for two days now, my men are itching for a catch right now, and there’s little we despise more than a man with the audacity to abuse children.”
“Do you harass everyone who crosses your path, then?” Marquos asks. The commander gives him a cold stare. Marquos continues, struggling to keep calm, “My intentions for her are as good as yours. I’m not supposed to have her, no. I took her from the Mines. She didn’t do anything wrong, she didn’t deserve to be there. The Mine Guard gave up chasing me a week ago, but I’m sure they haven’t forgotten it. If you want to take her back there, you’ll be damning her to a life of hell for no good reason. And you’ll be doing it through me, because I’ll only let her go when I let go of life itself.”
The commander looks him up and down with a cold calculation. The guards have begun winding the engine they brought out, and steam gushes out of its valves as the pipes wind in circles around it. With almost unseen slowness, the massive metal vessel begins to rise out of the water. The commander asks, “And this one, what makes her special?”
“Circumstances, that’s all. She was one of many.”
The commander accepts this, shrugs, and says “The Mine Guard’s work is their own. I have no fondness for subjecting children like that to such work.”
“Thank you.”
The guards begin shouting orders to one another, as the boat is drawn in towards their chugging engine. They are rushing out to the engine and its scaffold system and attaching a series of wheels.
“Have you got far to go?” the commander asks.
“To the Meth Fields.”
“Then you have a considerable stretch of these waterways to navigate. We have come from the port of Nexter, in search of a particularly dangerous criminal. He is a Kandish rebel who was captured two weeks ago and escaped whilst being transported south. The transport boat sunk on the Nexter River, close to the canal system. We have men on land scouring the area, but I have a particular interest in finding this man, so offered my boat. If I know him, he will stick to the waterways, because it’s the last place most of the guards would look. It’s slow travelling by boat, but it’s easier to hide, isn’t it.”
“What did he do?” Marquos asks.
“I fought with this man outside Thesteran. Him and a force assembled in Kand. They were trying to sabotage the weapons factories. It is a matter of Estalian security.”
The military boat clanks into place loudly and the engine is shut off. It rests half-raised onto the land-based contraption, half-dipped into the canal, and one of its rear-engine turbines is exposed to the air. The pipes at the back of the boat cough to life again as its internal engines begin to speak, and that turbine spins viciously. Almost as slowly as it was raised, the boat begins to creep forward. Marquos squints at the Hypnagogia’s side, taking care to monitor that the boats don’t touch.
“This is a great feat,” Marquos marvels, “Do you come by the canals often?”
The commander ignores the question, “The man we’re looking for is in his late thirties, with short hair, a large flat nose. Have you seen anyone of that description?”
“I haven’t seen a Kand in seasons,” Marquos says.
“Are you sure? There’s always the chance he could’ve been trying to conceal his identity.”
“No,” Marquos shakes his head, “I’ve not run into anyone since I left my town, Hasseran, first thing this morning. I’ve only passed one boat on this canal, and that was an hour ago. It was just a tug, though, I can’t imagine there was anyone but the pilot on it. No one wants to travel with Kail’s Shroud hanging over the water.”
“You’ll allow us to search your boat, of course.”
“There’s nothing in there.”
“Then you have nothing to hide.”
“I have nothing to hide, but I have my principles to defend. Border Guard or not, Commander, you have no right to my property.”
“I’m not trying to take it from you,” the commander says simply. “Do you think I’m being unreasonable, to investigate every opportunity when I have travelled this far to find a single man? I am asking you politely.”
“And if I still refuse?”
The commander considers this. He scans the length of the Hypnagogia for a moment and fixes his eyes on Red. He says, “If I can trust an Estalian to resist us to the death over her, I think I can trust that you wouldn’t have let a Kand rebel near this girl. Unfortunately, my trust is not enough. Rifleman Bricks,” the commander waves a hand to his nearest guard. The man looks up obediently. “Give this boat a quick look. Make sure there’s no one else aboard.”
“Yes, sir!” the guard salutes and runs to the Hypnagogia’s stern. Marquos jumps forward, but the commander places a hand on his chest, sternly saying “You wait here. Don’t test me.”
Marquos watches the guard disappear into his cabin, as Red continues to watch the military boat being moved. Red is oblivious to the intrusion, so eager to see the mechanics before her. Marquos tenses and keeps still, “This is out of line, Commander.”
“It’s nothing,” the commander says.
Rifleman Bricks re-emerges only moments later, leaping back to the bank and running to the commander’s side. He salutes again, barking “It’s empty, sir. Damned tight ship. I did find-”
“That’s enough,” the commander waves him off. He turns back to Marquos and says, “Thank you for your cooperation. If you do run into this Kand,
don’t try and apprehend him, he’s dangerous. Contact the nearest Guard.”
“I’ll be sure to,” Marquos replies icily.
The commander holds his gaze for a moment, before going on, “My name is Commander Retical. If you do find anyone, you tell the Guard to put it through to me at once.”
The pair watch the military vessel as it is slowly lowered back into the water, beyond the Hypnagogia. The whole canal shudders under its weight. The guards begin to dismantle the strange apparatus that lifted it.
“We do use the canals quite often these days,” the commander says. “This machine was developed less than a season ago. The likes of our suspect don’t know we can travel the canals in these boats, so he assumes I will be on land.”
“I’ve always heard the Border Guard have the greatest technology in development. We never see it.”
“You should never have to. It’s a sad day when the Border Guard have to operate within our own territory. We are men of expansion; we should not be policing stagnant plots of land. I have seen three theatres of violence in the past season; two were in Kand and one in this very nation of ours.”
“I’d not heard that the people of Kand were stirring such trouble,” Marquos says. “You must be thankful that we’re not at war.”
“We are always at war, sir. I couldn’t make it my livelihood if we weren’t. But this is a plague spread to our own lands, and I’d be a damned sight happier if we weren’t at war with our own people. Still,” Retical drifts away dreamily. “There will be a new campaign before long. If we can travel the canals so easily here, the world is ours for the taking.”
Marquos does not reply. As the guards begin to disappear back into their mobile fortress, he marvels at how impenetrable the whole thing appears. At the rear, he sees another cannon, this time partially concealed in the metal. With a dozen riflemen at the windows and those two cannons blazing, this beast would be able to bring a whole river-side town to its knees. Marquos murmurs, “I guess it’s so sure a prospect, no one has to stop and think why it’s necessary.”
Wixon's Day Page 4
