Wixon's Day Page 12

  The whir of the propellers slows and the volume of the machine decreases for its second approach. It heads directly for the boat, not slowing enough to stop before reaching it, and skims over the top once more. Marquos yells out at the driver, shaking a fist. The vehicle spins above him, passing over the boat one more time before reducing its speed enough to make a landing. Marquos jumps off the boat onto the bank of the canal and paces towards the vehicle as it bounces onto a nearby rock. It’s a gyrocopter; a mix-match of metal framing and exposed pipes, connecting an open seat to a messy engine and a jagged propeller above the driver’s head. A second smaller propeller juts out the rear, barely decipherable within the cloud of thick smoke that the vehicle emits. The driver quickly unbuckles himself and clambers out from under the still-spinning propeller, rising to his full height just before Marquos. His head is concealed by a metal helmet, round goggles and a cloth mask, but the armour on his torso is unmistakable. It is caked in smoke, and the black is almost faded to a grey, but it has the fine panelling that only the Border Guard offers. Without a word, the guard gestures one arm towards the boat, waving the other trying to clear the smoke that the gyrocopter is still spluttering out.

  Marquos leads the guard back to the waterway and stops at the Hypnagogia. The guard goes to step onto the boat, but Marquos puts out a hand to stop him and snarls “You’re not touching my boat.”

  The guard looks at Marquos, expression hidden, and pauses. He takes the cloth from his face, revealing a stubbled chin, then removes his helmet and shoves the goggles up into a head of wiry grey hair. The guard looks older than Marquos, his skin is weathered and eyes darkly overworked, and he speaks in a rough Metropolitan accent, “I need to.”

  “No chance,” Marquos replies firmly. “Your men already went through it two days ago, I’m not inclined to repeat that kind of courtesy so soon.”

  The guard glares at him, rigid. He says “Are you travelling alone?”

  “With a young girl,” Marquos says. “It’s not your concern.”

  “There’s no one else on board?”

  “What did I just say?” Marquos’ voice grows more hostile as he leans towards the guard. The guard does not back down, holding his gaze without emotion, and responds “The night before last, a man of your description apprehended three Kandish rebels.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Maybe there is someone on board, but you don’t feel safe telling me?”

  “I feel safe telling you what I already did. I don’t feel obliged to prove it.”

  “Very well. Who searched your boat before?”

  “Men led by Commander Retical. You know him?”

  The guard finally looks away from Marquos as though his suspicions have been met. He steps back, scanning the Hypnagogia. He says “I need to check your boat. If you’re harbouring fugitives-”

  “You have no right to accuse me of anything.”

  “If you’ve nothing to hide, then let me check the boat.”

  “This boat is all I have in the world. I have a right to defend it from anyone. Just because you have that uniform doesn’t give you access to my life.”

  The guard stares at Marquos again. He paces from side to side, and says “Where are you headed?”

  “Thesteran, where else?”

  “If you won’t let me on the boat, I want you to wait here.”

  “I’ve no need to.”

  “Commander Retical will want to speak with you.”

  “I’ve told him everything I know already.”

  The guard stops pacing and stands with his fists clenched, “You need to let the Border Guard onto that boat.”

  Marquos spreads his own legs, clenches his fists too, and holds the guard’s gaze. The guard is taller than him, armoured and with the face of a brawler, but Marquos shows no fear. He snarls “You’re not getting on this boat.”

  The guard looks back towards the gyrocopter, and Marquos follows his gaze to see a long metal tube with a wooden stock harnessed by the saddle. A rifle. Marquos does not move. The guard takes a few steps towards the vehicle and Marquos calls out “I’ll die before I let you on! I don’t care who you are! This is my damn boat, it’s not open for everyone! You people have no power over me!”

  The guard paces over to the gyrocopter and looks down at the weapon on its side. He contemplates his options for a moment, then pulls his goggles back down, throws the helmet on and jumps back into the seat. He hoists a lever and the engine lets out a loud ripping bang before pistons turn and smoke starts to billow out of it again. The propeller begins to spin. The guard shouts out, barely audible over the vehicle, “Stay here! This isn’t over!”

  Marquos stands firm as the gyrocopter unsteadily rises off the ground. It spins a few times before lining up along the direction it came from, then speeds away over the hills. Marquos spins on the spot and watches it until it has completely disappeared from view. Only then does he slump, swinging a hand to the side of the boat to stop himself from falling, and lets out a huge breath.

  19

  Marquos rouses Goreth onto the deck, to help him open and close the gates of the coming locks whilst Lian continues to stoke the fire. Red stands attentively at the tiller, as stout a pilot as the situation demands. They dip down towards the shroud, hoping for some concealment in the fog, but as the mist fades the grim weather and dark day are all the cover on offer in the plains below. At the second lock, as the water rushes through the gate and the boat starts to descend, Goreth shouts over the spilling water, “Is there no way of making these things faster?”

  “My boat cannot jump down hills,” Marquos fires back, hurriedly spinning a ratchet to pump the water. Goreth shoves him aside and winds the ratchet with stronger strokes. The Kand shouts “There is a copse of trees, only two kilometres from the turn to Chapel Way. Can you see it from here?”

  Marquos looks out across the plain. There are occasional trees along the bank of the rivers, none more apparent than the others. He replies “I see a lot of trees.”

  “How many more of these?” Goreth demands, “How many more locks before we reach the turn?”

  “Two, maybe three,” Marquos shrugs, “There’s no way of telling how quickly the Border Guard might catch up to us.”

  “They won’t return in gyrocopters,” Goreth grunts, releasing the ratchet as the lock lets out a clank of completion. The pair hurry to haul open the gates and shout to Red to bring the boat forwards. As it passes them, the pair leap back onto the Hypnagogia, and Marquos pushes Red aside to return to the controls. The boat moves quickly now, steam and smoke spilling out of its various pipes as it churns water out the rear.

  “I’ve never seen them in the air before,” Marquos tells Goreth, “In all my time, I’ve never seen these flying devices work.”

  “You’ve got a lot to learn. Whatever that man came in, that’s just a light flyer, they have bigger airships. He’ll bring them straight to us.”

  “And you think a copse of trees can save us?”

  “Get us there, and they’ll never know we were on board.”

  Marquos looks down to Red, the girl trembling with concern. She is trying to hide her fear, quietly turning her head to the floor, but he sees her hunched shoulders and puts an arm around her. He whispers, “It’s okay, honey, it’s just like a race. We just have to get to the finish before they catch up to us.”

  “But why?” she looks up with pleading eyes.

  “For fun, dear,” Goreth lets out a deep laugh, patting her shoulder. “To show that we are the best pilots of these waters.”

  “But what about the giley-copter? It moves fast.”

  “He gave us a headstart,” Marquos gives her a smile, “Don’t worry, we can move faster.” He points to the next lock, “Let’s show them.”

  Progress down the hills is painfully slow, even taken at the Hypnagogia’s full speed, but by the time they reach the turn from Chapel Way the Border Guard have shown no sign of return. Marquo
s and Goreth still look apprehensively to the sky. Slipping onto the plains, they move faster with the locks behind them, and the structures of Thesteran grow clearer in the distance. No longer a cloud of polluted smoke, it is now apparent as towers and spires, functioning buildings in ominous rows dotted across the horizon. Before they can head towards the city, however, Goreth instructs Marquos to head towards a tributary, just after leaving Chapel Way. A small stream leading further west, overgrown with weeds and trees hanging from its banks, it is barely wide enough to take the boat. Mere minutes after turning off, the sound of engines thunder through the sky.

  “Over the hills,” Goreth points back towards Chapel Way, where the rocky hills climb up into cloud, joining the sky. The noise is distant, but distinct. Dozens of propellers, throbbing through the air in a disorganised symphony. Goreth says “Whatever it is, they won’t be able to see us until they come down to the plains. We have a few minutes.”

  “How far now?” Marquos says.

  “I think there is another bend up ahead, then it is just beyond that.”

  “More, Lian!” Marquos shouts, “Give it everything it will take!”

  The sounds of the Kand’s shuffling below filter up through the pipes, his grunts and squeaks showing all his effort is being employed. The smoke and steam rises in larger clouds and the boat propels forwards, water splashing over the sides.

  “Get in there and help him,” Marquos says, leaning heavy on the tiller to keep the vessel steady. Goreth jumps down the steps. The Hypnagogia hurtles beneath trees, forcing Marquos to duck as low branches threaten to crash into his face. Between avoiding their surroundings the pilot steals glances back to the sky. The sound of the propellers is getting louder. The waterway bends, just as Goreth said, and the copse of trees comes into view; no more than a dozen dying trunks stand beside the water, their branches entwined like a giant basket. As Marquos takes the boat over the last open stretch, a rush of air above announces their pursuers’ presence in the sky. Marquos looks back to an enormous metal structure that fills his vision above, slipping out from amongst the clouds. He instinctively ducks, though it is high above the ground. Red, alongside him, cries out with amazement.

  “What is it Marqy!” she has to yell at full volume to be heard over the airship. The metal slips through the cloud, slowly revealing its full shape, dropping behind them. Marquos shouts back “I don’t know, honey! But we’re going to beat it to those trees!”

  The airship drifts down to just above the plains, barely clearing the trees below it, and the rush of its propellers forces the vegetation below almost flat against the ground. It is a magnificent network of metal caging and pipes, all held under an enormous balloon that expands high above the main structure. To the sides of the balloon, massive metal arms stick out in all directions, host to the noisy propellers that hold it up and guide it. The airship moves with the slow deliberation of a lumbering giant, turning in the sky to face their boat.

  “They’ve seen us,” Marquos whispers to himself, not losing a moment in piloting the boat towards the trees. He looks back, up to the front of the metal caging, where he can see the glint of reflection that shows glass hidden somewhere in the framework. That must be where the cockpit is. Transfixed by the sight, he lets up on the tiller and the Hypnagogia slams into the bank of the river, rocking with a loud boom. Marquos and Red are tossed to one side by the force of the crash, both tumbling to the floor. Marquos scrambles back to his feet, looking from the airship to the trees ahead. They are mere metres away. He pumps on the tiller, giving the boat more throttle, and forces it back off the bank with a loud cracking sound. He winces at the thought of the snapping timber. Snatching a look back to the airship, he sees a cloud of smoke shooting out from one side of it, the gyrocopter taking flight from somewhere within. Letting out an anguished yell, Marquos drives his boat on, splitting away from the bank, and slips it into the small patch of wiry trees, their blanket of branches finally hiding them from the sky.

  “We’re here, we’re under the trees!” Marquos yells out, and Goreth immediately bounds up the steps. The pilot tells him “You’re too late, they’ve seen us! They’re on the way!”

  “It’s no matter,” Goreth grunts. He turns back to the stairs and shouts down, “Get up here you wretch! We’ve got to go!” The Kand turns to Marquos and briskly shakes his hand, saying “You’ve done us a great service. We won’t forget it.”

  Goreth leaps over the side of the boat, clearing the small distance to the bank, and sprints into the tree line. Lian runs up the stairs, flits from the edge of the boat back to Marquos, unsure what to say, then decides to say nothing and stumbles off the boat after his kin. The pair of them disappear amongst the tree trunks, hidden somewhere in the shadows. Red waves goodbye to them with loud shouts, but is roundly ignored. Marquos steers back to the middle of the water and propels the boat on, letting out a shout as they steam out of the other side of the copse. The waterway swings back to the side, past the trees, and he can look back to see the airship descending in a distant field, the only area sparse enough to house it. The gyrocopter comes to a rapid halt just beyond the trees, its black smoke spreading out in a thin cloud above, and it drops down to the grass beyond. The guard jumps off, tossing his helmet and mask aside and whipping up his rifle. Seeing him ahead, Marquos releases the throttle and slows the boat down.

  “Get inside, honey,” Marquos whispers.

  “But I want to see-”

  “Get inside!” he says, shoving Red towards the stairs. She looks back to him with a hurt expression, but accepts his will and rushes down the steps into the cabin. The guard strides towards the stream with his cumbersome weapon raised, pointed at Marquos.

  “Off the boat, now!” the guard shouts. Marquos raises his hands defensively.

  “Let me tie it!” Marquos shouts back, but the guard roars at him “I said off!”

  Marquos pushes the tiller, knocking the Hypnagogia into the bank and bringing it to another crashing halt. He winces at the sound of snapping wood. As soon as the boat swings within range of the river bank, Marquos jumps down and turns to the guard, hands raised. The guard has stopped a short distance away from him, however, rifle steady. It is the same silver-haired man from before.

  “Stay still,” the guard says calmly. Marquos twists his head, looking back past the boat, past the trees, to the airship. Even as it is still coming to a halt, something is exiting the flying machine. A large object, disentangled from the network of metal at the base of the machine, starts to roll across the field towards them. At this distance, it looks little more than a moving metal box. As it grows close, it is clear that though it has slits for visibility and a series of wheels beneath it, presumably housing a hearty engine somewhere within, it is indeed a moving metal box. Its exhaust pipes lie somewhere beneath it, puffing a cloud of smoke out behind. It approaches fast, chugging to a halt near the boat. A door opens at the rear and dozens of Border Guards jump out, running into the field. They are all armed with clumsy weapons, some with rifles and others mere bludgeoning devices, all armoured in the typical dark attire. A half dozen go running into the copse of trees whilst the rest run to the Hypnagogia.

  “You can’t go on there!” Marquos yells at them. They do not listen, and he does not dare move as the gyrocopter pilot covers him. The guards jump onto the Hypnagogia and clamber through it, Red’s screams rising out from the cabin. One of the guards returns to the deck, Red squirming under one arm, and Marquos yells out to her. He turns to run back to the boat, but the gyrocopter pilot jumps forwards and slams the butt of the rifle into the back of his head. Marquos is flung to the floor, immediately clutching the site of the blow, his vision blurring.

  20

  Pushed, shoved, dragged and struck, Marquos is taken to the back of the wheeled-vehicle and it trundles away with the rear doors still open. He can see the guards weaving through the copse of trees, leaving no space untouched. He can see one of the guards crouched in front of Red, holding he
r shoulders and firmly saying something to her. She tries to break away and run across the field, to follow Marquos, but the guard grabs her from behind and holds her steady. The vehicle bounces over the ground and jostles Marquos from his seat. One of the guards with him shoves him back against the wall.

  The vehicle careers to a stop beside the airship and the guards jump out, pulling Marquos after them. They use such force that he trips and scrapes his hands across the grass. They pull him back to his feet and he gets a glimpse of the airship up close. It looms high above, the balloon swaying in the wind on a series of girders and metal panels, barely discernable as a single machine. Marquos is given no time to appreciate it, as Commander Retical steps into his view and immediately snaps “Have you no damned respect for your country? Do you even call yourself Estalian?”

  “What – what do you mean?” Marquos replies warily, still dazed from the blows he has taken. He sways on the spot, trying hard to focus on Retical’s face.

  “Where are the fucking Kands?” the commander roars back at him. Marquos reels back slightly, holding up a defensive hand. One of his escorts steps forwards and answers “No sign of them on the boat, Commander.”

  “You checked the smuggling hole?”

  “Yessir, it’s empty. No one but the girl.”

  Commander Retical takes a long-distance eyeglass from his belt and aims towards the boat. One of the guards by the copse of trees is looking his way and pivots a mirror, signalling code in short flashes. Retical drops the eyeglass back to his belt and sneers. He turns on Marquos, “You did not message me. You made no attempt whatsoever to contact me. You turned on us the moment you saw those miserable fucks. Why?”

  Marquos looks from the commander to back across the field, trying to spot Red. He replies quietly, “You checked my boat before.”

  Retical commands a guard with a nod, who steps forwards and slams a fist into Marquos’ gut. The pilot drops to his knees with a wheeze, weakly trying to support himself. Retical snarls “Three Kands dead and you didn’t think anyone would notice?”