Wixon's Day
Page 9
Marquos needed to know what such a sweet pair had done to end up in this place. Through odd comments they made, about their happy homes in the Meth Fields and the care they took to help Red’s daddy with his work, Marquos realised they were childhood friends, from a similar neighbourhood and a seemingly peaceable upbringing. He began to question if it was possible that this pair had not actually done anything wrong. He did not want to ask them directly, not with the guards around, but in the end he didn’t need to. Tired from a day’s work, Tojo slumped onto the boat one evening and spat at the nearest guard. The man cuffed him, an adult fist in metal glove knocking the six-year-old to the floor, and Tojo reacted violently, ploughing into the guard’s waist. The young boy dug with teeth into the guard’s leg, drawing blood, and the man threw him to the floor before kicking him in the jaw. As Tojo lay crying, blood dripping from his face, Marquos stepped forward. The guards around the boat warned him against intervening. The pilot had to stand down, though his concern had at least halted the violence. Tojo dejectedly sat down and sobbed, with Red giving him a sweet, lasting hug, and through the tears Marquos heard him crying that he did not belong there. That they had done nothing wrong.
Marquos watched the guards drag Tojo from the boat with deep questions about this work, and did not sleep easy that night. The next day, Tojo and Red were gone. He asked the guards for details and they feigned ignorance. A few days later, Red resurfaced, reassigned to Barker’s group, and there was no sign of Tojo. Marquos received such scolding looks from any guards he asked about the young boy that he quickly learnt not to interfere, but it did not take long for Barker to draw out the truth.
Marquos’ tale is interrupted as Red jumps up to the deck with bowls of food in her hands, steaming liberally as it hits the cool air. Dawn is almost upon them, with its gentle grey cascade into dim light. Marquos looks at the bowls uneasily; steaming slop, nothing more. It smells of dirty meat. Red hops over to him, planting a bowl in his lap and handing over a spoon, demanding “Eat!” Goreth gives the pilot an uncertain look, though, checking that it’s okay.
“Eat,” Marquos bids him, “The rest can wait for another time.”
The Kand is hesitant to start, though, noting “Sometimes it takes tragedy, to open your eyes to an ideal.”
“What tragedy?” Red asks.
Goreth quickly changes the subject, “That I cannot eat this well all the time. This food is excellent, Marquos.”
“It’s trash,” Marquos finally lifts his bowl and eats a mouthful. “But it keeps, that’s the important thing.”
“It’s fine food, no fooling. I swear I have been living off rats for the past season or so. Not that anyone would admit to selling it.”
“Have you really eaten rats?” Red asks.
“I should think so. And you probably have too.”
“I have not!” Red cries back. “Tell him I haven’t, Marqy!”
“She wouldn’t dare,” Marquos says quietly. Red pauses, unsure if she has been defended or not. She counters, “I might.”
Goreth smiles, “A girl as brave as her keeper. Thank you for this, Marquos. And thank you for sharing. We are not so different, you and I. If you’ll excuse me, it’s time I had a few words with that whelp down there. Warn him of the fighting we’ve still got coming.”
He heads to the cabin, and Red cuddles up to Marquos, whispering, “What did he mean? Why does he want to fight? Is Mr Gore a bad man?”
“I don’t know,” Marquos sighs. “Let’s just try to keep him happy, shall we?”
14
The canal slides out to the hills, towards open expanse, but it is hard to see the landscape through the green veil that now hangs over it. The sun’s dim rays penetrate the surrounding air as it would through murky water; the vast legacy of the unnatural Meth Fields. Marquos finds repose in the gentle patterns of light that flicker in the haze, though his thoughts are interrupted once more by Goreth’s return. The Kand gives him a friendly wink, walking out through the door, but says nothing for a few moments. He steps to the edge of the boat and looks out towards the hidden hills.
“What kind of world is this,” Goreth murmurs, stepping back. “You can’t see but an arm’s length in front of you in the very light of day. Those that live here might as well be born blind.”
Marquos agrees without words.
“You must be tired.”
“I’m fine,” Marquos says, but the mere suggestion makes him yawn. “I’ll have time to rest in the Meth Fields. When you’re off the boat.”
“Does this canal go west? Around the city?”
“It does, but we don’t. I’m going through the city, heading north.”
Goreth turns away again. He speaks quietly, “I’ve not seen the Meth Fields before. We seldom venture beyond Thesteran.”
“Not to make assumptions about your cause,” Marquos gives him a wry, almost jocular look, “But a well-placed spark in such an area would do devastating damage to Estalia. You people like to make an impact like that, don’t you?”
“It would serve no one’s purpose,” Goreth answers seriously. “We have no desire to cripple this nation, or to kill so many innocents. Though there are rebels amongst my people that might. Our war is barely with Estalia, you realise that? We fight against the Border Guard. Those that invade our lands. I can see why they want to flee a land like this, though.”
“Yeah, Lian already told me the sun shines brighter in Fretop. I’ll bet the lands of the Dread Clan offer views for a thousand kilometres in all directions.”
Goreth lets out a light laugh, “You’re a hard one, aren’t you? All lands offer their own mystery and majesty, and for the most part I would agree that the air is clearer in Kand. The air around Byfraze is no cleaner than in Thesteran, though. Neither, of course, are as bad as the Metropolis. And that in turn is a whole different world to this. This place has built a Kail’s Shroud of its very own.”
“You’ve been to the Metropolis?” Marquos asks. Goreth gives him a grim look.
“Boy, I’ve been a lot of places I oughtn’t have. It was a long time ago that I was down there, and I dare say it’s got a damned sight worse now than it was then. We even did business with the Mine Guard for a time, which I’m sure I regret as much as you do. Clans have been fighting one another in Kand for as long as anyone can recall, and there was no end of opportunity for men to rustle profits from it. Morality slips for the trade that has to be done in war. I worked with the guards in the Metropolis, I’ve worked with mercenaries in Norgang, I even went on a trip to Afta to fight in a feud that I doubt a soul alive could explain to you now. By Hrute, I’ve fought on both sides of every conflict you could now think of. I do it because it is required of me. There will always be someone to fight for, and when you’re good at it there will always be opportunities for profit.”
“Highness Elzia must be very wealthy.”
Goreth lets out a short laugh, “She is. All the wealth of this world could not turn me against her though. In meeting her I felt I finally found a purpose. What battles my people have fought, against each other and against your nation, had never truly been about freedom and identity. Not until she came along. There was always something else at hand. Rights to land, or fuel, or technology. Little bickering conflicts that normal people got caught up in. But after the riots, with the cruelty that the Border Guard brought to our city, it became clear what our people’s status was. In our own land, we were treated as underlings. Genuine war is upon us now, and I finally have a chance to fight for something I believe in.”
“What do the Border Guard want from you? What do they gain from invading Kand anyway?”
“Influence?” Goreth replies dismissively, “Power? Powerful people always want more. Our nations act as though they have no heads, and that law and order is a thing of the past, but there are always people in charge, and those people want to be in charge of more. More technology, more resources, more soldiers, more slaves…” Goreth trails off as he looks out ah
ead of the boat. He narrows his eyes and says, “We’re approaching something.”
Marquos leans to the side, following his gaze towards the black images emerging in the distance. Crooked, jagged, protruding cubes of darkness rise above the canal as they approach, given life by ragged cloth that hangs on the edges like dying flags.
“That’s Neglam,” Marquos announces, “A market town. You’ll be wanting to stay hidden.”
Goreth grunts agreement, but lingers on the deck as he watches the town slip into view. The buildings that flank the canal are shanty huts, little better than sheets of metal stacked together. Their mix-match of colour and texture fill them with life and character, but their precarious perching suggests all the stability of a house of cards. Marquos follows Goreth’s gaze to the nearest towering building, piled high with scrap metal and bound together at the corners with oily rags. The pilot says “There are trading posts like this all the way along the waterways. Hardly the height of civilisation, but they keep people like me going.”
“I’ve seen worse,” Goreth replies.
“Duck below, someone’s seen us approaching. Do me a favour and wipe clean that tool we got last night. We’re not going to stay here long, but it’ll be easier trading here than in the Fields.”
Goreth silently leaves him, and the boat glides into Neglam.
The brief time spent in Neglam is a typical day’s enterprise on the waterways for Marquos. He meets with a skittish tinkering trader named Brax, a tech-head with an unhealthy obsession for the Hypnagogia, and discusses the gossip of the hour. The Border Guard have been through Neglam recently, looking for Kands, though Brax regrettably saw no sign of Retical’s command-boat. When Marquos describes it to him, the trader is beside himself with irritation about missing it. He is also sketchily uneasy about Marquos’ reluctance to let him on board the Hypnagogia and see the engines, one more time, as is part of their usual to-and-fro when Marquos visits. The pilot keeps him at bay, though, with the distraction of the borer. It is a fine piece of machinery, though neither man can quite fathom its use, and Brax eventually agrees to trade a healthy supply of fuel and food for it. He invites Marquos to stay longer, to catch up on what is happening elsewhere in Estalia, but the pilot insists on leaving.
Marquos does loiter in Neglam a little longer, though, visiting the Message Centre to dispatch a few courier notes back to his family and friends to inform them that he is okay. He is offered some work reading and writing messages for the locals, but regretfully has to decline: in a place like Neglam, literacy is an uncommon thing, and notes from afar tend to pile up for a transporter like Marquos to translate. One local overhears him asking for information about the Border Guard, though, and trades a transcribed message, to the man’s brother in Thesteran, for a lengthy account of the Guard’s actions. From this man’s knowledge, they have headed south, confident that none of the Kands had got past them heading north, but their presence in the Meth Fields was rising, just in case. A checkpoint has been established somewhere on the canal leading into the city; travelling by boat it would be impossible to avoid. Marquos thanks him and leaves.
15
Neglam drops behind into the green mist as if dissolving in water. Marquos only gives it a backwards glance, choosing instead to look ahead, to the fields that dip in the approach towards the Meth Fields. It will not be long, he knows, before the spouts and flames of that industrial plain come into view. The crates of tins still lie on the deck of the Hypnagogia, the coal box alongside them. He finally calls down to the cabin that it’s safe to come up. Both Goreth and Lian join him above.
“Did they suspect anything?” Lian asks carefully.
“There was no they, Brax is the only one with an interest in me,” Marquos tells him. “And no he didn’t. He’s got no mind beyond tinkering with technology, he doesn’t care about human affairs.”
“I’ve known a few like that,” Goreth grunts. “Everyone chooses their own blinkers, don’t they?”
“Finds something they want to live for, you mean. It’s not a crime to find passion in something other than violent causes.”
“Thank you, Marquos, for all this,” Lian meekly offers. “We do appreciate it, so greatly. And I’m sorry about last night, it was all unfortunate. You know that those men-”
“I don’t need to talk about it anymore. Forget it.”
“How long have we got now?” Goreth asks.
“The Meth Fields are about another hour up the canal. I can drop you at the bypass, to avoid heading into the city. A canal branches West a few kilometres before the Meth Fields boundary, it will take you through Chapel Way, directly to Thesteran. Otherwise you can head through the Meth Fields, risk the various Guard that dwell there, and try to reach the canal at the North of the city. Or other transport. I wouldn’t think it worth the risk.”
“We can’t get through Chapel Way without a boat,” Goreth grumbles, folding his arms. Marquos glares at him, resting back on the tiller. The pilot shakes his head slowly, “My generosity stretches to that canal and no further.”
“Is it – is it a dangerous route?” Lian asks quietly.
“No,” Marquos replies without taking his eyes off Goreth. “There’s hardly anyone around Chapel Way, it’s just a mountain pass to Thesteran. At the worst you could walk the route in a couple of days. Hitch another boat and you can be there in less than a day.”
“It could take that long just to find someone else heading that way,” Goreth notes.
“Someone else?” Marquos questions calmly. “That’s not my problem. Red is going back to her home, whatever your problems. If you want to stay on this boat, you’ll have to go into the Meth Fields with us. You’re welcome to, but it’s unnecessary risk.”
“How strong a presence is there in – in the Meth Fields?” Lian asks warily, darting his nervous eyes from the Kand to the pilot. “Really lots?”
“Too much,” Goreth answers. “I don’t have to go there to know that. They’ll be checking any boat that enters the industrial limits, especially after our escape.”
“You’re right there. A man in Neglam said he’s seen Border Guard patrols around the city limits,” Marquos says. “I guess we part ways soon.”
“It’s less than a day on boat, from the fork in the canal to Thesteran. By this time tomorrow you would be back here.”
“I have no interest in going to Thesteran,” Marquos raises his voice, growing irritated, “My only interest right now is protecting that girl. All you’ve led me to believe is that Thesteran is as dangerous as any for rebel movements!”
“A day of your time, Marq. Is it so precious?”
“I am not discussing this. I will leave you at the Chapel Way pass and wish you good luck, that is all.”
“We’ll never make it,” Lian says hurriedly. “They’ll be expecting us to go that way. There’ll be guards all the way along, and they’ll be searching for us everywhere. We can’t go on foot, we can’t. Days in the open, we’ll be killed. They won’t hesitate, this time, they won’t try and take us prisoner they’ll just kill us as we stand!”
Marquos looks into his terrified eyes. He draws his gaze away to the green fields and air that surround them. He mutters “It’s not so dangerous.”
“You don’t know that! You can’t say that! You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve never been hunted like a dog. Please! I just want to return to my people. I know you’ve got that girl down there, I know you want to protect her, and bless her she’s the sweetest thing I don’t want any harm upon her either…but I’m not so strong myself, Marquos. Please…” Lian’s voice grows weak, his body slumping, “Help.”
Marquos looks uncertainly to Goreth, whose face has contorted to a look of disgusted disbelief as he stares at his fellow countryman. Lian slips down to his knees, almost weeping as he looks imploringly into the pilot’s eyes. Marquos hesitates as Goreth shifts uncomfortably. The Kand grumbles, “Have some dignity man. We do not take to begging where I am from.”
“What do you expect to find when you get back to Thesteran?” Goreth snaps back. “When you reach Kand? A struggle waits for us that we have to fight through, don’t be so pathetic. If you really were a leader of your people, it’s no wonder they cast you out. And you,” Goreth turns on the pilot suddenly, “You said yourself that you are a man of this world, and every affair is yours, and we fight the most important fight being fought on your land and you wish to help only at your convenience?”
“And you said yourself,” Marquos answers coldly, “I don’t like my way to be made for me.”
“There’s a time limit,” Goreth says, “On how long we can take to get back to my people. They will move on. They will act in our absence. Everything I can offer will be for nothing if we don’t make haste. You know what we’re doing is just, Marquos, you’ve seen the horrors that the Guard can offer. You can take that one child home, now, and pretend you’re doing your bit, but whatever guilt you feel for that little boy in the Mines, know that without helping me now you’ll be damning a thousand more to the same fate.”
“Enough!” Marquos throws his hands in the air, “That’s enough. I’ll take you through Chapel Way. I can do that much. I won’t take you into Thesteran, though. As far as the western border of Chapel Way, then I turn back.”
“That will be far enough,” Goreth answers, satisfied, “You do us a great service.”
“Thank you,” Lian cracks a pitiable smile, “Thank you so much.”
“It’ll be dark by the time we reach the other side of Chapel Way. I’ll have to moor for the night before turning back,” Marquos grumbles.
“You can rest well knowing you did your bit for our freedom,” Goreth pats his shoulder encouragingly, “Rest well for the coming days of your life that you do not sacrifice to our fight. Every day you can wake and know that we are still fighting, those of us that are alive, and that day you do not have to. Because you’ve done your bit.”