“Why didn’t you tell him the truth?” Marquos asks quietly.
“What part of that wasn’t true?”
“I was helping them.”
“Were you?” Qait says, disinterested. “I don’t think you care for the Kand cause any more than I do. You’ve come out of this well, Marquos. You’ll be rewarded heavily, and the Guards here have a lot of respect for you. General Copin is one of Elzia’s chief officers, it’s hard to get close to him.”
“Is he going to be alright?”
“He won’t be using his left arm for a long time, the shoulder’s shredded, but he’ll live. He just lost a lot of blood. As to what will become of him, I couldn’t say.”
“And Hart?”
“I didn’t tell them anything about her.”
“Why not?”
“What would it achieve? If she made it back from the Deadland, knowing she was there doesn’t benefit anyone. Now listen carefully, we’re sitting at Nomes’ table tonight and he will be drinking. He was already half-cut when I left him. If you want to stay on his good side, just keep quiet. The man is volatile. Endure one night with him and we’ll be gone in the morning.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Marquos grumbles.
“Good.”
3
Commander Nomes is perfectly capable of inspiring Marquos to silence without any need for a warning from Qait. He talks loudly and brashly, swinging mugs of glus from side to side as he regales all in the dining hall with tales of his own militant prowess. The dining hall is a fitting setting for his lectures, beautifully lit by a dozen lanterns, with ornate wooden tables sat on a rich carpet and paintings hanging on the wall. It houses dozens of guards, at a number of tables, and even those aside from the commander’s main table sit listening as he talks. They give occasional murmurs of agreement and general satisfied applause and laugh at his jokes. Nomes is an old seadog who has gravitated up to the North Sea after a long career fighting naval battles around the known world; time and again he comments that the North Sea is the most dangerous, untamed stretch of water that there is, and he is proud to police it. Marquos remains quiet, at the commander’s side, speaking only when Nomes makes stern demands of him. These are mostly little more than affirmations in response to the commander’s probing for support of his bluntly forwarded opinions, which Marquos responds to with nods. The pilot is too tired and disorientated to want to be any more a part of the one-man conversation. He sees from others’ example that Nomes is a hard man to converse with, even if you are merely trying to agree with him.
“Norgangs are tough sons of Hrute, I can tell you,” Nomes is saying. “You have encountered the Norgangs before, civilian? I doubt you have, they wouldn’t have left you with your ears. I remember the first time I fought with them, when I was just a lieutenant, and we were on a reconnaissance mission to the North East. It took us a day to cross the sea, in the wildest fucking storm, and they were there waiting for us. Crawling in their wood huts, armed with arrows and axes. We didn’t see them at first. Dozens of them piled out from the trees. They piled out at us with axes and arrows, primitive weapons. Primitive people. We had to fight with every fibre of our being to get out of that scrape, and even then it was only thanks to the men left on the boat what came and supported us with the repeater rifle. I, personally, killed eight of those animals, three with my bare hands when I lost my gun and blade. The Norgangs are more ferocious warriors than ever I’ve met. We spent the next two seasons crossing their pitiful country trying to civilise the fools, trying to build something out of their sad existence. All we got back was aggression.
“We could never seek to control, contain or…or monitor their people, they are always on the move. We tore down some of their villages, and returned a season later to find them rebuilt. Those campaigns were over twenty seasons ago, and the war still rages today. After fighting in Afta and Kand, when they asked me where I thought I could be most effective, I told them straight away that this was the sea for me. Do you know how often the Norgang tribes have tried to invade Estalia? Small, vicious little assaults. Of course you don’t. Because we stop them. Because I stop them. Every time, they have to face me, and they find that however tough they thought they were, I am tougher. Do you see?” Nomes proudly stands, spinning on the spot to gesture to his floating castle all around them. The commander laughs, “I fight for our whole nation, with the might of the Empire.”
Marquos makes no remark, aware of the small boats he saw in the pool and considering their chances of squaring off against the floating castle. One of Nomes’s younger lieutenants, smiling at the patriotic tale and eager to feel a part of it, comments amidst general murmurs of agreements, “They don’t know who they’re fucking with.”
“What? What did you say?” Nomes turns on the man in an instant, his face contorting with irritation. The lieutenant awkwardly smiles back, nervously replying “I…said they don’t know who they’re…fucking with.”
“I should say they don’t,” Nomes sneers, “They don’t know they’re fucking with a child like you, hiding behind all the weapons of the Empire. When have you ever looked a Norgang in the face as you strangle the life from his eyes? Have you ever faced that moment knowing that if you don’t put all your strength into stopping him then he will kill you in an instant?”
The room falls silent, everyone trying to avoid each other’s eyes. Nomes glares forcefully at the lieutenant, who looks away. The man weakly answers “I have fought with you, Commander, I-”
“No man that has fought under me has ever had to fight as I do!” Nomes roars. “You have no idea. No idea in our fortress, with all the advantage we have over these people. Hand to hand, eye to eye combat, like you have never seen, that’s how I earned my place here. So you wouldn’t have to.”
Nomes heaves with anger as he glowers down at this man. Everyone waits, no one daring to move, some with full mouths not even daring to chew. After a moment’s tense silence, Nomes sits down again, heavily, and grumbles, “We didn’t always have these forts. When we first went into Norgang it was with a metal shell hull and little more. Five rifles between twenty of us, and a repeater gun. Organising the bulk of Outpost 4 is a whole new challenge. I used to have to worry about killing him before he kills you, now I have to worry about making sure other men are tough enough to kill without being killed. Taking responsibility for the strength of others is challenging. That’s why men like you scavenge, isn’t it civilian? Of course it is.”
Nomes starts tucking into his food, going quiet for a moment. The room devolves back into murmurous activity as the guards relax. When the commander starts to talk again, it is only for the attention of his table, a little more subdued.
“I envy your freedom, civilian. When you make a career of anything, and show the world that you are good at something, no one wants you to do it anymore. They want you to teach others how to do it. Manage them. You build yourself into something and others see it and want you to build it again and again. Not you, though, civilian. You don’t let people see what you’re good at. You just get on and do it. Do whatever you want.” Nomes laughs at himself, “I would have done the same. There’s work for a fighter in any part of the world. Ah to be a mercenary. But I was built for more important things.”
The commander swigs from his drink and pours himself another liberal helping. He pours more for Marquos, then swings it to his nearest lieutenant.
“I couldn’t bear to see people doing it all wrong,” Nomes goes on. “You’d have kids like these off losing wars because they hide behind our technology. Faced with a real fight and they don’t know what to do. I could not bear to think that the name of a force I fought for might fall into disgrace because of cowards stepping into my shoes.” The commander slams his mug down into the table and rises again. He glares at the lieutenant he spoke to before and demands, “Can you fight, guardsman?”
“Yes sir,” the guard nervously answers.
“Then stand!” Nomes orders. The lieut
enant hesitates, eyes twitching anxiously from one side to another. He starts to question the order, but Nomes yells, “Stand!” and the lieutenant jumps to his feet. Without warning, the commander makes a tight fist and punches the lieutenant sharply in the face. The guard is thrown back to the floor, rolling into another table where the guards leap up around him. They back off as Nomes quickly advances and skids to the floor, punching the man again. Marquos stares in shock at the unprovoked assault, the other guards completely stationary. As the commander yells, punching repeatedly, the pilot pulls his eyes away and sees Qait watching him. The tracker raises his eyebrows. Nomes stands again, shaking the blood off his knuckles, and laughs. As he returns to the table, the audience of guards are still as statues, none daring to look at him. Nomes shouts “I have to set an example in ways they won’t see in battle! Teach them to be as tough as I am. How would you do it civilian?”
The commander thumps himself back into his seat, staring straight at Marquos and expecting an answer. The pilot stutters, “I- well, I-”
“By Kail why do I bother asking a simpleton like you. What was I saying? I love this job. I love this place. The North Sea is the best place in this world to challenge yourself. That was what you went to the North for wasn’t it? There’s nothing there, though. The bandits are weak. The Norgang and this tempestuous water, this is where the real challenge lies. And I have tamed it all. None pass through here without tribute to me.”
4
Marquos finds he has unwillingly paid tribute to Commander Nomes with most of his possessions on the Hypnagogia. Returning there after a night’s sleep, half his clothing, his stockpile of tinned food, crates of coal, wood and mechanical trinkets are all gone. He had expected such losses at the hands of these pirates, but for the first time he sees quite how much he owned that could be missed. They have taken his beloved flute, his kitchen pans, his six gas lanterns, his mechanical clock timer, his cutlery and plates. His mugs. His fishing rod and net. His brass compass and seldom-used goggles. His shovel, poker and grill for the furnace. His magnifier glass. His pillows, chairs, pliers, wrenches, knives, chains and spare engine parts. His carved comb, straight razor, hand mirror, nail clippers, scissors, climbing boots. His pillows and mattress. Even the mattress is gone. All that is left is the boat’s bare mechanics, its furnace and cooker, the inbuilt wash basin and side-board, the wooden bed frame. Even the brass key to the cabin door has been taken. Marquos sullenly wanders through the cabin, remembering every little detail of what is gone, and finally comes to sit on the bed-frame. The walls are bare. Red’s scribbled drawings are missing. The spare paper and the crayons, all gone. What use do they have for such drawings? Marquos brims with rage.
Nomes does not grace Marquos with his presence again. The pilot was not even offered breakfast, merely sent down to his boat and instructed to wait. Two guards stand by the Hypnagogia, while a few more strip the Norgang boats on the other side of the pool. None of them speak with Marquos. Eventually, Qait arrives with two more guards carrying Copin on a stretcher between them. As they enter the boat, they marvel at how basically he lives. The floating castle’s cogs chug into life and the gate opens, revealing the dim light of morning outside. A lieutenant approaches the boat and hands Marquos a small box, the reward for delivering Copin to them. Marquos looks at the money with anger instead of gratitude, boiling inside as he wonders what all his stolen possessions were worth. The lieutenant returns a short time later with crates of coal and wood. Qait carries them down into the cabin as the guard explains that he could not procure any food. They dismiss the pilot, and Marquos leaves the floating castle shaking with inexpressible rage. Qait joins him on the deck, but Marquos ignores the tracker as he guides the Hypnagogia out to sea. They are only a short distance from land, and Marquos hurries to navigate them into an estuary and on towards the Eastern Canals. He never looks back to Commander Nomes’ Outpost 4, hand tightly wound around the tiller as he stares through the world ahead. He knows that if he looks back at the floating castle then he will lose his composure. He does not know what he will do, but he knows he cannot handle the sight of the abhorrent place.
Qait keeps quiet for the most part, content to watch the world roll by, acutely aware of when to talk or not. He holds out as he sees how angry the pilot is, until some time into rolling down the estuary he notes “There’s a trading post coming up soon. I know the traders quite well.”
“Great,” Marquos replies curtly, not looking at him.
“I’ll get you a good price on the essentials.”
“I’d rather you didn’t do me any more favours.”
“If we hadn’t run into that floating castle, we’d have died at sea, Marquos. You realise that, don’t you?”
“I realise it.”
“Then consider yourself lucky. He gave you some work, at least.”
“What a blessing,” Marquos huffs. He finally looks Qait in the eyes and says “I built my whole life around this boat. Every little bit of my person was in there. What do I have now?” The pilot clutches at the lapels of his coat, “A stolen Kand coat and a shell of a boat half-painted by Kands and half-panelled by thieving Border Guards. They are our defenders!” Marquos raises his voice, pointing back down the river in the direction they have come from, “The towns give tribute to these brigands so they can float out to sea and butcher foreigners without cause! The Border Guard is a lie, just like the Mine Guard, nothing but an abuse of power!”
“They’re their own people,” Qait responds calmly. “The people of Outpost 4 do as befits their survival, as do the people of the North, as do the people of the Meth Fields, as do the people of the Metropolis. As, I’m sure, do the people of whatever town you came from, and as you yourself do. They don’t see themselves as the Border Guard, Marquos, the people living on that floating castle are the people of Outpost 4.”
“Why?” the pilot musters weakly, taken by the tracker’s words. Qait does not answer, merely gives him a look back that tells the pilot he should already know why. Marquos drops his eyes. He knows he has to look no further than his own life to explain theirs. He mumbles “How can they have no common decency? I would never treat people as they have treated me.”
“The people that stole from your boat don’t consider it theft,” Qait speaks as though it is simple, honest truth. “You see it as taking something you have earned, they consider anything that comes into that castle as something they have earned. You have rules that say it is wrong, they have rules that say it is right. If you wanted to stop them, you could have caved one of their heads in.”
Marquos frowns at Qait and says “That’s low.”
“It’s true. They would have stopped stealing from you, if you convinced them it was too dangerous. You might have had a hard time convincing them, though.”
Marquos shakes his head, revolted by the world but unable to respond to Qait’s points.
“Do you really think they kill without cause?” the tracker goes on, though.
Marquos glowers, “You heard that psycho talking.”
“You’d think differently if the Norgang raiders were allowed into Estalia.”
“If such people even exist.”
“All stories have some basis in reality,” Qait dismisses him, looking away. “He’s not so different, you know.”
Marquos looks at the tracker oddly, and Qait nods towards the cabin to explain. The pilot says “Copin fights for what he believes in.”
“What belief was it that made him face those bandits?” Qait replies. Marquos goes quiet again, considering the manner of the man in his boat.
5
The Bungo trading post is a similar shanty town to Neglam, of roughly the same size, announcing the entrance to the Eastern Canals. Qait leads Marquos directly to the best trader in town and they set about replenishing the Hypnagogia. The trader is poorly stocked and expensive, so far removed from the real population centres of Estalia, but Qait is on good terms with him and finds odd items that are not on show
, for discount prices. By the time they leave Bungo, the Hypnagogia is once again well-furnished and Marquos’ spirits are slightly lifted. It is by no means the home of his life’s collecting, but it is a start on something fresh.
Carrying all the goods down into the cabin, the pilot finally gains a proper introduction to his two extra passengers, the guards Jenz and Molicz, who do not offer to help as they keep watch on the unconscious Copin. Marquos tries not to look at his Kand friend as he passes, tingling with betrayal. Jenz and Molicz were supposedly guarding the boat, but when the pilot returned he found them loitering on the bank, merrily rolling bone dice in the dim light of the lanterns.
As they set out again, onwards through the Eastern Canals, Marquos’ anger at the floating castle subsides. He starts to think about the journey into the North, reflecting on what it has all meant to him. The stars were incredible and the mountains were stunning, and he certainly got the adventure he craved, but the spectre of Rosenbault’s resignation haunts him, as he thinks of the decadent Border Guard and their violent enemies. It seemed so simple before. Rescue Red and see the stars.
“I want to make a difference,” Marquos quietly utters, the words slipping out unprepared. Qait sits by him, on the edge of the boat looking at the hills as dusk settles in.
“You can do that,” Qait replies without looking at him.
“We should be able to see the stars,” the pilot says. “And we should be looking out for one another. That’s what the Guards were supposed to do, look out for the people that needed it. Where did they go wrong?”
“They didn’t,” Qait twists back to him, “Some of them do exactly what you wish they would. Outpost 4 is a company of pirates, but I can tell you that Outposts 2 and 6 are good fortresses. There are a lot of good commanders in the Border Guard, even if many have lost perspective. Commander Nomes still sees the wars of decades ago, when everyone was vying for a place to call their own. The Norgang raiders are mostly gone now, but he still believes every boat in the North Sea belongs to them. Normal people do not go there anymore, so the harm is minimal.”
Wixon's Day Page 25
