by J A Deriu
The captain frowned. “I could say the same thing.”
Gaspar lifted a leg over the stool and then the other so that he was free to move toward the Ghouls. “You will understand that it is unusual for papers to be provided to those not wearing the uniform of the governor.”
“And you will know that because of the operation, there are the local militias that are completing the tasks of the forces that are now engaged in the operation. You will also know that the purpose of the operation is to rout out the troublemakers from the wilderness, those that have caused all kinds of nuisances in the lands of the empire. This was not a small thing, and all of the border forces have been enlisted to these savage lands. And you will understand the governor’s wariness of any man or men crossing into the empire at this time, even if business does continue, as it always does. The governor has thus advised the keepers of his borders, those he trusts, to keep a suspicious eye on those traveling his roads.”
Gaspar had taken steps toward the captain. “You have explained yourself well.”
Jack saw that Amblard shuffled the cat into his coat. The dog stood and left its bone as if it sensed something. The captain of the Ghouls eased a little as he thought Gaspar was moving to offer his papers. Jack knew that there were no papers. The Templars had talked of the Ghouls in their banter. Jack imagined them as actual ghouls – ghostly and ugly. The Templars jested about them as if they were a comical act for laughs. They were locals from the borderlands, those who had not made a living from the commerce or farming of the land, instead looking for bounties and gritty tasks that the empire did not concern itself with. Jack noted the keenness in the eyes of the captain but the disinterest in that of his men, who could have been his sons. Their skin was shadowy, and they had patches of beard, with only the captain having his groomed into a neat triangle that peaked at his thick chin.
Gaspar was within touching distance of the captain. He felt his nose for a long moment and then touched his lower chest with a stiff arm. The Templars controlled their breathing. He was certain that they were preparing for a fight. His fingers tensed. Their weapons were in the rucksacks under the table. The Ghouls had their weapons at their belts. This did not seem practicable – then they did not have any papers either.
The captain grunted. “Your papers, or you will be detained immediately.”
“Oh, we wouldn’t want that,” Gaspar said slowly. “Look at those tasty, just-cooked lamb chops. What a waste. Can you smell them?”
The captain’s eyes and those of his fellow Ghouls were diverted to the table. The pile of lamb chops, dotted with garnish, had barely been disturbed. A wisp of scented smoke circled from them. Gaspar moved with such speed that Jack almost did not see. While the captain was distracted, he lashed a fist across his head, and while he was falling backward, Gaspar already had another fist into the face of the nearest Ghoul. At the same time, Odo had moved from his seat, and with both hands, using the table as support, he had thrust his legs into the air in an acrobatic move and kicked two of the Ghouls in the stomach before they had time to drop a hand for defense. The dog jumped at one of the falling bodies. Amblard collected up the rucksacks with one hand, held the cat with the other, and moved for the door. Hoston posed like a boxer and then struck his fists with short jabs into another of the Ghouls.
Jack shakily stood, not sure what he was supposed to do. The Templars seemed perfectly coordinated. Hoston smacked a Ghoul in the face, who fell back with a groan. Something broke with a crack. A Ghoul suddenly loomed in front of Jack, tossed from the conflict, and with an angry face aimed at him. He slashed the air with a loose cutlass, briefly stopping Jack’s heart. He felt the displaced air. Behind he could see that Hoston was plowing his fists into the fallen Ghoul, Gaspar was busy with the captain, and Odo had a leg on one Ghoul who was on the ground while squeezing the neck of another. In their unspoken planning, they had left one out. This one had steadied himself after his futile slash and was preparing the cutlass for another thrust. Amblard called from the door for them to run. The dog barked. The tavernkeeper and his workers had come out and screeched while holding their heads. A tray clanked to the stone floor.
The Ghoul who was angrily eyeing Jack would not have been too much older than he, he guessed. His cheeks were dark crimson, his eyes small and uncertain. He slashed the cutlass horizontally. Jack ducked underneath, feeling the blade against the strands of hair that lagged behind as he lowered. The Ghoul had put too much effort into the strike, overextended, and his midriff was exposed. Jack hesitated a moment before clenching his fist and crashing it into the gut of the young Ghoul. His hand immediately ached. The Ghoul cried out and dropped the cutlass before sprawling on the ground. Jack looked up to see that Gaspar had seen what had happened, nodded, and delivered another blow to the captain.
“Let’s get out of here,” Gaspar called out. Hoston looked at the lamb chops. He had in his hands a wooden baton he had seized from one of the Ghouls. He moved energetically and clobbered the young Ghoul whom Jack had punched and who was moving to lift himself off the ground. The Ghoul threw up a hand in futile defense. Hoston mercilessly clobbered that too. Odo was moving for the door. Hoston followed, his head facing into the tavern and his body rushing the other way. Gaspar checked that all of the Ghouls were on the floor and then reached out and grabbed Jack by the arm. “Come on, boy.” The tavernkeeper watched openmouthed as they hurried out. Amblard waited at the door with one hand holding the collar of the dog, which wanted to go back in for the chops. Once they were outside, Amblard pulled the tavern door shut, and they sprinted away.
They remained on the gravel road only for a short time. Hoston, going ahead, indicated a track that led into a forested area. Each of them followed his signaling. They formed a pack again and moved in a line.
Gaspar spoke. “You were supposed to take two.”
Hoston replied, “I thought you were taking two.”
“I had the fat captain. You left one for Jack.” Gaspar turned to Jack. “You did well.”
They moved through an eerie grayness that was ghostly quiet. It was an uneven, zigzagging path, with tightly packed, sickly looking, thin, leafless trees on each side. Jack could not imagine the captain and his men following them on this course. The dog weaved and dodged between the Templars, tail wagging, as if playing a game. The path steepened, and rocks jutted out like steps. They slowed as the forest thickened, and skeletal branches poked into the path from either side. Jack heard the heavy panting of the Templars and became conscious of his own exhaustion. They reached a flattened area. Gaspar put up his hand for them to stop and then rested it on a tree trunk. They all leaned forward, Jack with his hands on his knees, and took long breaths.
“Damn those bastard Ghouls. I can still taste those lamb chops,” Hoston said.
“We cannot be stopped.” Gaspar puffed. “No matter what. Now let’s rest.”
They sat on the rough ground. Odo laughed. “That was fun – quite an effort.” He rubbed Jack’s neck. Amblard put the cat down, and it began sniffing the ground. The dog watched it and did the same. “We really need a name for our team.”
“Why must you name everything?” Gaspar rubbed his hands together.
“Look at that,” Amblard said in his soft voice.
Jack saw that Amblard sat with his arm resting on his knee. He followed his gaze. He was looking at a tree mound, which was ash white, gripped by cold. Between the trees a wolf was standing, its fur puffed, its breath shown by the iced air in front of it. It calmly watched them, its head still, regal and wizened in its stance.
“Ha!” Gaspar smirked.
“That settles it,” Odo said. “We are to be known as the wolves.”
Chapter Two
“You are guilty of your intentions,” the strange girl-like woman had said. Ida stretched and looked over her shoulder to get a better picture of her. “In this place, you are guilty of your intentions
,” she said again, as if to elaborate.
“Sorry.” Ida relaxed. “I don’t know who you are.” She looked at her closely. Her face was square with round sea-blue eyes and long, curly golden hair that fell long past her shoulders. “Who are you?” Ida had thought she was alone. She was in a reading room that was in the basement of the Forum complex. She had found it so as to be away from the endless people above. The session was due to commence – it may have already commenced. She wasn’t reading anything, nor preparing. She had sat with her head on the wooden table, thinking of Pierre. She thought that she had locked the door.
“I am Dagni Mathilde Bascom,” she said, taking the seat next to Ida and holding her hand up and out. Her eyes were eager. Ida touched her hand and diverted her eyes to the shelves of leather-bound books that covered the walls of the dusty-smelling room. “I came in to practice my speech.”
“Speech?”
“I am a new councillor. This will be my maiden speech.”
“I thought I was the only new councillor,” Ida vaguely said.
“For your group, yes.”
Ida nodded. “Oh, I see.” She kept her face plain. “You are a Traditionalist. I didn’t know there was a new councillor.”
“Councillor Goldin died. He was found one morning short of breath. He never improved. He was buried last week.”
“I’m sorry to hear. For him.”
“You want the room? You are probably practicing your speech.”
“No. I haven’t given notice of my speech yet, so it is not scheduled. If you want to practice, I’ll listen. First, what did you mean when you said – that you are guilty of your intentions?”
She had an outdoors face and a sturdy body as if toned by a pick, a furrow, long days, early mornings. “Something I have thought about,” she said, leaning toward Ida. “In this place, it doesn’t matter what you do, how you do it, or what happens. It is what you intended that you are guilty of.” Her voice was full bodied, seeming to come to Ida from all parts of the room.
“In this place, I think, we’ll find that you’re guilty of everything.” Ida considered for a moment. “And, well then, who decides on those intentions that we are to be judged by? I mean they may not be publicized. In fact, unlikely to be widely known.”
“The guilt is judged in yourself, no one else.” Dagni smiled and gave a warm, friendly chuckle. “It seemed like something clever to say that would get your attention. I am an admirer.”
Ida replied with a wary frown, “All right, let’s hear what you have to say. Let’s hear your intentions.”
The youthful lady stood elegantly with her chin placed confidently like a natural orator. She looked away from Ida, toward the shelves, as if there were an audience there. Her hand brushed through her cascading hair. “It would be remiss of me not to commence my speech without words for Councillor Goldin, who graced this forum for decades,” she said, addressing the bookshelves before her eyes were attracted to Ida. She paused, lowered her voice, and spoke to Ida. “Are you interested in Councillor Goldin?’
“I’m not, and I doubt anyone else would be. He had his time. This is for you.”
“Perhaps I should reconsider my start.” She glared back at the bookshelves and took a long breath. “I am a girl from the farthest reaches of the valley – where the Metropolis has finally ended. I am from where the hills turn from green to brown.” She hesitated, looked down again, and chuckled. “No, that seems wrong too. Sorry, I had this until I was faced with my audience of one. I must appear to be unsettled.”
Ida leaned toward her and touched her arm. “What does your audience want to know?” She eased away and crossed her arms. “I am wondering how you will vote. The audience will be wondering the same and not care for any of the rest.”
Dagni stiffened and pointed her chin. “In my most contemplative times, I understood I would be pulled to the Forum. I understood that it was the way of a will much greater than my own that I stand where I am standing now.” Ida placed her hands firmly on her knees and straightened her lips. “This brute force, powerful current, yanked me out of my humble existence.” The girl-woman turned to Ida. “These are troublesome times, it told me. Time to journey from the haystacks and barns to the center of the beast that we call the Metropolis.” She hesitated, not because it was part of the speech but because she was looking at Ida.
Ida moved her head slightly with encouragement to go on.
“It is no longer the time to hide in the woods. It is rather the time to confront enemies. I am here to confront the forces of darkness.” She lifted her hands and spread her fingers as though holding an invisible orb. “These forces have been unchecked in the first decades of this century.” The muscles in her neck tightened as if lifting a weight. Ida herself was conscious to show only a deadpan expression. She tried to look through the girl-woman and prevent her nostrils from flaring. The girl continued unimpeded. “This place of darkness is dominated by these forces. I was called here because there is no one opposing these forces. You will stare, blank faced at me, and hold your sniggers for later. Yet the people of this city know how these forces have manifested. I am here to defend a world that is being eroded daily. Hit by wave after wave of forced change. Although I am not a mother, I will defend the family and love of God. There are those here that have claimed they have undertaken to do this.” She allowed for a long, thoughtful sigh. Ida imagined that it was scripted. “Progressives view government as a benevolent force, but it is not and never will be. It is the human condition to factionalize, and from that comes persecution. The only effective government is one that is stripped of its powers. Government is the one that will always stick its nose into the affairs of others. It takes nothing – a barroom brawl will be enough – for them to declare the need to preserve world peace, and you have become their wayward child.” She flung her arms like a theater actor and then settled, her steady breathing returned. “Here I am in the largest city in the world. I am invited to dinner to meet fellow councillors. I found my way to the restaurant, a Qing Kingdom restaurant, with large fish tanks at the entrance. I noticed a dead fish floating. Then I saw a sign saying that the tank contained a type of fish that, when it slept, it looked dead. Of course, I thought, but for no reason I didn’t believe it.” She allowed a thoughtful pause. “I look across the Forum, and I ask the same question of the Traditionalists. Are you asleep or dead?” She increased the intensity of her words. “These are tragic times, when we watch carnage unfold in front of us. On every street corner, crazed, pretend politicians know this. I can read this on a hundred pamphlets thrust into my hands as I find a coffee stall. Yet in this place, in the Forum, which is supposed to mirror the tumult outside, nothing, only a placidity, as we comfortably stroll to oblivion.” She paused, looked up, and fortified her face as if hundreds of angry, hostile faces were glaring back at her. “You will say that I am exaggerating and using rhetoric.” She paused again. “Well, this is who I am.”
Ida let the silence linger, not sure if the speech was over or if it was a speech that was intended for the Forum at all. “You are dangerous, very dangerous. You know we will be enemies. Sit down. Please, tell me why you have appeared in the same room as me.”
Dagni curled a part of her lip as if she had been caught in a jest. She loosened her stance. “I am genuine. I am an admirer. I would value the feedback, if you would tell. There is more, but what would you say of what you have heard?”
“If you give that speech, you will be on the front of every newspaper the next day. So I would say to give that speech exactly as you did a moment ago.”
Dagni blushed.
“There is more?” Ida asked.
“Yes, there is. Which you would not like.”
“I will mark delivery then, not content.”
“I will declaim against the Templar dissolution bill being debated and the censure of the Montgisard Corporation. I have not mast
ered my words for this part of the speech yet. But I intend to use inflammatory language. This will be part of my stand against the forces of darkness.”
“Hmm. I’m not insulted, although that bill bears my name as a writer.”
“I am aware.” Her round eyes focused on Ida. “You would like me to leave now.”
“No, sit down. Tell me about yourself. I am not interested in the arguments against the bill. I have heard them. You sound like a Luddite.”
Dagni smiled like a child and sat down with her back professionally straight. She joined her hands on the wood of the table. “Yes, I would be branded a Luddite. But I may be one, or I may not be – that is for others to decide. I am a no one really. My family name is not part of the four hundred.”
Ida did not move as she picked up the calmly delivered reference to her family name, which was part of the four hundred named families of the Metropolis who made up the supposed ruling class. Pierre’s Revel family was not part of the four hundred. It had been once, but that was generations ago. It was her first thought of Pierre for some time, and she realized that Dagni had distracted her from them.
“I grew up with only the light of stenchful oil lamps at night and a trip outside if you couldn’t hold your water.”
Ida studied her pondlike eyes. She was mostly relaxed but was starting to feel unease. Noticing how deep they looked unsettled her.
“Yes, I am from the valley, where the peaks of the Metropolis can no longer be seen. Where people walk to their place of work. Where a gentleman will tip his hat to a lady. If you are late to church, you will have to stand on the porch. Any business that you walk into, they will know your purchase. We are called Luddites because we don’t like the encroachment of the Metropolis on our ways. People tend to think this is to do with technology or modernization. I believe it is more to do with the morals.”
