Wixon's Day

by Phil Williams

Marquos shifts uncomfortably, slipping the flute aside as though embarrassed.

  “You’ll make a great couple,” Copin decides. “Kids with an attitude you could cut a rock on, no doubt.” He rests onto the wall and takes in a deep breath of the mountain air, letting it out with a loud noise of satisfaction, then pats Marquos’ leg and says “You’ve been an excellent companion, Marquos. One of the bravest men I’ve encountered, going into the North and facing off old Nomes. Sure you have your moments, but what kind of lunatic would you be if you didn’t. Now I know you’re not keen on what happens next, but trust me it’s all part of the game.”

  “It’s not a game, Copin.”

  “It is.”

  “We’re talking about people’s lives.”

  “A dangerous game, but a game nonetheless.”

  Marquos stares at him, disappointed in the level of the Kand’s argument. He decides to change the subject, “Will we find Elzia and the others back in the woods?”

  “Fuck no. They would’ve moved out shortly after us. They’re probably in Thesteran by now. Someone will be watching the waterways, though; we won’t have to look for them.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s going to be a lovely night,” Copin nods to himself, “And tomorrow, tomorrow is going to be a lovely day. You can smell it in the air.” He takes in a longer, deeper breath and laughs loudly, “Welcome to the war!”

  Marquos gives him an uncertain glance, wondering if the man is excited or merely unhinged, and turns to focusing back on the water ahead. Hart stands on the bow, raising a hand to her eyes to narrow her vision. She calls back “Someone’s coming.”

  The two Kands do not hide, standing their ground as another canal boat slips into view. The waterway is wide enough for them to pass, but Marquos decides to pull the Hypnagogia to a halt and greet his fellow pilot, as is his usual custom. There is a single man stood at the stern of the other boat, and he is not slowing down. Marquos leans towards his boat as it begins to pass, calling out “Stop a minute, won’t you?”

  “Stay aside, idiot!” the man shouts out, guiding his boat on past the Hypnagogia. It drifts slowly but surely on, and as the man’s face comes into view he is staring anxiously ahead.

  “What’s the hurry?” Marquos asks loudly.

  “See for yourself, if you’re so mad to be going to Thesteran! The country is crawling with Kandish scum! Take my advice and head back, head south, as far south as you can!”

  The boat drifts on, the man never slowing, and the trio on the Hypnagogia watch it leave before Marquos releases the throttle again.

  “Daft coward,” Copin comments.

  As they proceed through Chapel Way and the day turns to night, they encounter a dozen more fleeing boats. The second one slows as he passes, just long enough to explain to Marquos that the blazes in Thesteran are driving people to violence in the streets, and that anyone with the means to is abandoning the city. The owner of the next passing boat is a large older woman, who screams at Marquos to turn back. Then comes a passenger ferry, with people hanging over the sides reaching out for Marquos to join them. He waves them off, telling them he knows what he is doing, and has people in Thesteran to protect. At one point a small tug passes, and the owner harshly snarls that he knew the vultures would soon circle into the city. He spits the word scavenger and chugs on.

  The advance over Chapel Way offers a new image to Marquos, different to the clouded night sky he last experienced. As the mountains drop down and the descent begins, the plains below are barely touched by the mist, and the clouds are thin enough to let the light be seen on the horizon. Far away, approximately where Thesteran must lie, the black abyss of the distance is interrupted by a hazy orange glow. It is impossible to make out any details so far away, but there is clearly light on the horizon. The next boat that they encounter confirms Marquos’ fears. That is the light of Thesteran, the fire bright enough to be seen from across the country.

  The flames are visible from a short distance into the plains, flickering delicately above Thesteran. They are clear long before any objects of the city; flames taller than towers, roaring into the night as they spew smoke into the atmosphere. The trio approach with stunned faces, both in awe and horror. One of the passing boats pulls up to the Hypnagogia, the owner recognising the boat and bidding Marquos good luck in ransacking the city. This man has already piled his canal boat high with pilfered tools and furniture. Marquos asks him if he knows the cause of the fires, and the man responds that no one is sure how they started, but the fighting is making them worse. The big flames, he points, that reach up into the sky, are from fuel stores in the Construction Frame. The scavenger is especially keen about this news, a delightful piece of chaos in one of the Guards’ most prized locations.

  They continue towards the city, watching the drama of the great fire unfold as the cityscape becomes clearer. The fire is somewhere towards the centre, standing tall behind the untouched buildings silhouetted before it, the heat shimmer distorting everything in view. Smaller fires are clear in its approach, plumes of smoke rising randomly between buildings. The whole scene is lit in a terrific jumping golden glow. As they drift between the shacks on the outskirts, where people are crowding in the streets and staring at the fire in wonder, Copin speaks excitedly.

  “You ever been through the Construction Frame, Marquos? They’ve got towers of fuel there. Towers. Tanks of coal and wood and gas, even liquid fuels, standing higher than the buildings. If they’re alight then this city is going to be in all kinds of panic, we can get right to the heart of the Construction Frame. This is perfect.”

  Marquos has been through the Construction Frame a number of times, transporting small cargoes for the Guard researchers. It is a spectacular network of warehouses, including buildings whose interiors compete with the catacombs of the Mine for massive empty spaces. The buildings are laced with the largest construction tools in the known world; supports for raising floating castles, grinders and welders taller than men, and elaborate forging plants fit to be palaces for industrial gods. It is mostly metal, so the flames are unlikely to signify the destruction of the Construction Frame itself. For the city to be on fire, it is the homes and business centres of the people who live around the Frame that must be crumbling.

  Copin’s preaching is interrupted by the appearance of a man shoving through the crowds in the streets, causing some commotion as bystanders are snapped from their trance of staring at the fire. He offers brief apologies, squeezing awkwardly through to the edge of the canal and running alongside the Hypnagogia. A man in ragged clothing, his face smeared with soot to show he has been near the fires. He hisses at Copin, a quick sharp Kand accent “Hey, over here!” The Kand scrambles onto the boat as Copin helps with his good hand, and speaks in whispers, “Copin, good to see you made it back. What happened to your arm?”

  “Forget my arm,” Copin grins back, “What happened to the fucking city?”

  “Keep your voice down, eh?” the Kand says hurriedly, “The people hear a Kand accent right now there’ll be trouble. There’s tanks burning in the Construction Frame, and the flames got so high the wind carried them across the city. Who can say how many buildings are burning now. Half the city is trying to put out the fire, the other half is running scared. Both sides are getting caught up in the fighting. All the junk and clutter in the city is spreading it like hell’s erupted.”

  “Where are we in all this?” Copin says.

  “Where do you think?” the Kand replies quickly. “We’re concentrating on the southern forge right now, whilst defences are down, but we’re spread out, inciting trouble. There are riots in the south-east sector, people started looting in the confusion and the Road Guard came in strong on them. They’re panicking, they can’t control the crowds. Then the Border Guard came in trying to evacuate people, it’s madness out there.”

  “The perfect time to take down the Construction Frame.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “Just take us there.�
��

  Hart, back at the stern, cuts in, “We’ll go by land, it’ll be quicker.” She turns towards the cabin and Marquos puts a hand out to stop her, holding onto her arm. He shakes his head, but she pauses only briefly before shoving him off and rushing into the cabin.

  “This isn’t right,” Marquos turns to Copin, “There are too many people in this city, you don’t know what that weapon will do.”

  “We can only hope,” Copin winks back at him.

  “If you continue on the canals,” the other Kand says, “And head along the eastern route, you’ll reach the others. They’ll be happy of your help.”

  “I’m not helping to destroy a city!” Marquos says.

  “Help them get out of here,” the Kand says. “It’ll be difficult moving that many Kands through the city on foot.”

  “What about everyone else?”

  Hart reappears with the bag slung over her shoulder, heading to the side of the boat. She ignores Marquos, turning to her fellow Kands and saying “Let’s get moving.”

  “Don’t go,” Marquos says to her, “Please.”

  “Enjoy the moment, Marq!” Copin booms, slapping the pilot on the back, “Things will never be the same.”

  “That’s precisely what concerns me.”

  “Come on you lunatic,” Copin beats his chest, “You’ve come this far, don’t stop here.”

  Marquos looks at the bag over Hart’s shoulder, considering his options, but before he can act the Kands jump over the side of the boat. He steps forwards, but the other Kand holds up a hand, blocking his path, “Marquos,” he looks at Marquos earnestly, the pilot surprised to see this stranger knows his name, “Elzia will want to see you. Head down the canal like I said.”

  Hart gives an abashed look back to the boat as they go, catching Marquos’ eye, and she mouths “Good luck,” before disappearing into the crowd.

  Marquos looks from his boat back to them, making a move to follow, but he cannot leave the Hypnagogia. He stares after them, swears loudly, and shakes some sense into himself. The only hope is to find Elzia. He releases the throttle.

  11

  Thesteran is falling apart. At first, the traffic appears to be made of those that are fleeing and the desperate few who are working together to move water towards the flames, both factions blocked by gawking onlookers. The canals snake east, and Marquos begins to feel the heat of the flames and hears the roar of their fury. The crackle is constant and chaotic at the same time; the random prickling of the fire through the city unites to one horrendous din. The smoke is spurting out in all directions, hanging over the rooftops like a second sky. Through the buildings, Marquos sees a steam-tractor blundering through the crowds, its horn sounding loudly. Men running beside it shove and shout to get the civilians to move. The tractor rolls slowly, but with the strength to drag an enormous tank, presumably full of water. To another side, Marquos sees a single man scrambling in the opposite direction to everyone else, two buckets swinging messily at his side.

  It is not long before Marquos spies his first burning building. It stands one building removed from the canal, flames spitting between its metal flanks, and a crowd of men and women are screaming at one another to hurl buckets of water over it. They have formed a chain to the canal, rapidly swapping buckets to each other, and the water flowing onto the building is consistent, but seems to do little but anger the flames. Marquos watches their efforts glumly, wiping a sweating brow.

  The Hypnagogia passes down a few more canals before Marquos sees another pillar of fire, this time a tower stood on the edge of the canal. People are frantically spanning out, screaming different orders to try and contain the fire, but they are not trying to put it out. He frowns as he sees a group of men tugging on chains that they have attached to a shack next to the tower. One of the men breaks away and starts waving at Marquos to stop. Marquos ignores him and engages full throttle, keeping an eye on the tower. The man shouting turns to the men with the chain and shouts at them instead, and they pause their efforts, watching as the boat careers down the canal. They all yell and point at the burning tower, but Marquos ducks down, blocking his face from the heat, and throttles on. As he passes the tower, the flames spit out towards him, the air sucked inward making them twirl around his head. The water of the canal splashes up into the flaming tower and hisses violently. Marquos passes unharmed and looks back over his shoulder, seeing the tower swaying. The men resume pulling on their chains, and the wall of the adjacent building comes free, swinging out under their combined strength. They all scramble out of the way as the metal panel slides across the floor into the base of the tower, catching it on the canal side and driving its supports sideways. The metal slowly slides down into the canal, taking the tower along with it, and the whole flaming pillar slowly, heavily droops down into the water. The building crumbles down in a ball of fire, magnificently collapsing into the canal. The water fills with smouldering debris, but the fire hisses and smokes as it is extinguished. Marquos frowns to see his way back is now blocked, but the fire of the tower has been put out. The men do not waste time congratulating themselves, merely point to the next fire down the street and race off.

  Continuing deeper into the south-east district, the people’s efforts to stop the fires diminish. The streets are sparsely populated here, as the flames have spread to so many buildings that people cannot approach. The left side of the canal becomes engulfed in a wall of conflagration. Marquos squints through the fire, sweat stinging his eyes, and sees bodies laid on the floor in the street. He hears a piercing screech of a scream and looks up to see a figure bursting out of the flames, ablaze all over, toppling into the canal water. Marquos propels the boat forward, peering down at the sizzling corpse as he passes. Further down the flames, more screaming. The pilot looks up and sees a group of people charging out from the fire, this time not alight. Two of them leap straight into the water, the third hesitates a moment and a beam of fiery wood comes crashing down upon them, folding them back into the blaze.

  Marquos swerves the Hypnagogia to avoid the two swimmers, slowing down and rushing to the side of the boat. He holds a hand out to the nearest one and yells at the man, “Up here! Come on!”

  Marquos has to hold onto the wall of the deck and lean down, stretching, so the man can grab hold of him. The other figure, an older gentleman, splutters, barely able to swim. Marquos looks from his rescued companion back to the drowning figure as the former is coughing uncontrollably on the deck. The pilot sees he has no choice and leaps into the water. It’s warm, heated by the flames, but dark and murky, thick to swim through. He has to use all his strength to reach the old man and drag him back through the water to the advancing boat. He yells up at the other man to help him up. They all go tumbling back onto the deck. As the man coughs, he points up the canal, “It’s suicide to go any further. You have to turn back.”

  “I can’t,” Marquos shakes his head without explanation, “There’s a jetty coming up here, get off, head south.”

  The pilot guns his boat up to the said obstacle and the two men hurriedly disembark. They shout out their thanks as he hurries on, his soaked body being dried by the heat only to drip with sweat.

  Shifting further east, Marquos notices the flames dying down, and their roar is blended with the shouting of people. He cranes to see around buildings, where there are civilians rushing down streets, brandishing tools. They have iron bars, hammers, wrenches and poles, wielded aggressively. Marquos gets a passing glimpse down an alley that leads onto a main road. It is blocked by the darkly clad bulk of a group of armoured guards. As the whole scene drops out of Marquos’ view, the sound of the civilians yelling breaks up and distorts to the strikes and shouts of a violent scuffle.

  Further, past the fighting, and the canal breaks free from buildings to the left, the walls on the right untouched. Marquos stares in horror at the expanse before him, savagely lit by the tower-high flames beyond it all. There is a wide, extensive plain where once stood buildings, and now is noth
ing but ashen remains. The odd blackened jut of metal stands feebly amongst the soot, in a patch otherwise flattened by the fire. It stretches far back into the city, a field of desolation, back towards one of the flames that reaches the sky. Here, Marquos can see the source of that flame, a massive metal tank, slightly drooping to one side where it has partially melted, with the flame standing on top of it, a few metres above a crack. The flame widens as it rises, up into the heavens. Marquos cannot imagine the buildings that stood here before, or the people that occupied them, the otherworldly power of the fire has converted it to a grave.

  Beyond the beginning of the burnt decay, Marquos looks back to the line of the city where the fire has stopped. In some places solitary buildings are untouched, as though the fire ran straight past them, but in others there is a mix of flaming homes and those that seem on the verge of catching alight. Marquos sees a gust of wind hook a small flame off the roof of one house and down into the next, which suddenly ignites in a rapidly spreading burst. The canal curves to one side, swinging around so that Marquos begins to see a cross-section of the city, the streets alive with panic and violence. Even as they retreat from the fire, people hurl debris at guards, who in turn beat people down with batons. It makes no sense, to see such actions in the middle of such a disaster.

  Marquos keeps moving, aiming to get beyond the burnt patch, but he finds it stretches on and on. Soon he notices movement to his right, though, in the buildings that have escaped the fire by virtue of being on the other side of the canal. He looks down a wide street where a mob is descending on another patrol of guards. They have the same makeshift weapons as before, and are furiously attacking the far better-equipped guards. Something is thrown into the middle of the melee and a harsh blue cloud suddenly erupts over the crowd. People are coughing and spluttering, collapsing from the effects of the gas, and masked guardsmen run in to strike them as they suffer.

  Ahead, a ruined bridge looms over the canal. It was a brick structure, but the centre has disappeared, each side a broken mess of crumbled rubble. Its debris is one threat to the Hypnagogia, but the people on its tip pose another. A gang of civilians have been pushed up the bridge, to its broken edge, and are furiously trying to fight their way back down the street. Marquos grows nearer and sees the guardsmen they are fighting, more armoured men with batons, trying to drive the people into the canal. One of the civilians spots the Hypnagogia and points, yelling out to the others. They all start pushing the guards back with more force, hoping to gain some space as Marquos approaches. He speeds up, seeing that he has no choice but to go under them, and as he grows close they start to jump down. He winces as the first man lands on the roof with a cracking sound. More quickly follow. It is only a small jump, but the boat is moving fast and the gang are numerous, knocking into each other as they drop. A few of them slip and fall into the river, but their comrades are quick to help them back aboard. By the time he has passed the broken bridge, Marquos finds his boat crawling with the remnants of a ragtag militia, and is barely able to see forwards. He yells out at them to duck down, so he can navigate the canal, and gives a quick glance back to the bridge, where guardsmen are rushing to the edge and watching after him.