Wixon's Day Read online

  “It’d keep our children out of the Mines, for a start,” the commander counters at once. “Make someone else’s people suffer for us.”

  Marquos goes quiet again. The commander salutes him and thanks him for his time, jumping back onto the military boat. Its engines start up again, and the Hypnagogia bobs up and down on the disrupted water as the military vessel trundles away. Marquos watches it disappear into the fog, the search light darting back and forth, then climbs back onto the Hypnagogia and takes Red back to the stern.

  “Was that a floating castle?” she asks him, referring to the most elaborate of Border Guard constructions, entire towns housed on warships that float at sea.

  “No, honey,” Marquos replies quietly. “That was just a command boat.”

  “Have you ever seen a floating castle?”

  Marquos closes his eyes. He runs those words over in his mind again: make someone else’s people suffer for us. “Once.”

  “Tell me about it!”

  Marquos smiles at her, opening his eyes again. He waves a hand to the cabin, “Let’s get moving again, then I’ll tell you all about it.”

  8

  The fog lightens as the Hypnagogia chugs by the increasingly erratic terrain of the countryside. The hills in the distance are now visible, their green more grey in the decline of the afternoon’s light, with distant shadows of trees a reminder of life beyond the waterways. It is just possible to spot the occasional countryside buildings, grouped in small clusters. They are mostly abandoned now, but at least a handful of shapes can be seen working in the fields.

  Marquos invites Red to his knee as he pilots, beguiling her with tales of the Border Guard and their many fascinating machines. They are a force that domestic residents should never see. The floating castles are magnificent seaborne war-machines, housing hundreds of people, with wild arsenals of weapons attached. The one Marquos has seen was powered by a dozen steam turbines, and had enormous catapults hidden behind its walls. It was capable of firing large streams of fire and was fortified against the most powerful assaults. He has never seen anything as powerful as that fortress.

  After he finishes, Red asks, “Didn’t those men want to take me back?”

  “They’re not so bad,” Marquos tells her. “It’s the men in green armour who we don’t like. The men in black armour aren’t interested in us.”

  “Who are they interested in?”

  “Other people. People not from this country.”

  “Why were they in the canal?”

  “They’re needed elsewhere. They were trying their new machines, too. What did you think of that thing that lifted them out of the water?”

  “It was weird. It didn’t look big enough to lift the whole boat.”

  “It did, though, didn’t it?”

  “I know, I saw it. It had about twenty different arms, holding the boat. And it was steam-powered, did you know that?”

  “Was it?”

  “Yes. And they added wheels to it, so they could move down the canal. Did you see the engine at the back turning? That was because they had the engine in the water on, and the two engines are connected, so that one was turning too.”

  “You are an asset to this boat, Red,” Marquos gives her a light hug. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  She squints up at him, “What’s an asset?”

  “It means you make the boat work.”

  “But you make it go.”

  “We’re both assets,” he ruffles her hair.

  “Will you stay with mummy and daddy, when we get back?”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Yes you can. You can sleep in my room. It’s small, but so is the Hippo.”

  “I have other places to be. I’m sorry.”

  “Can’t I come?”

  “You’re going home, honey. You don’t want to go where I’m going.”

  “Then why are you going there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then why don’t you stay with me?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes you can,” Marquos pauses, staring ahead of them. Red looks up at him and presses for more, “You can, Marqy. You can stay with me and my family.”

  “Could you pass me my flute?”

  “Marqy!” Red jumps to her feet in protest. “You can work in the Meth Fields. Daddy will give you a job.”

  “It’s not what I’m meant to do, honey.”

  “You could stay with me, though. Don’t you want to stay with me? I like you, Marqy, don’t you like me?”

  “I adore you, Red,” Marquos looks into her doleful eyes. “But it’s not my place, your home. That’s where you belong. That’s your family. I belong elsewhere.”

  “How do you know? You said you don’t belong with your family.”

  Marquos pauses again, trying to recall when he said such a thing to her. He mutters, “I’m not sure where I belong.”

  “We all belong together. You and my family, and Tojo, we’ll all be so happy together. Where is Tojo, Marqy? Did he go on ahead of us?”

  “Tojo,” Marquos winces at the name. He picks up the flute himself. He hesitates, but Red is looking at him intensely, and he has to answer. “Tojo’s gone, honey. You know that.”

  “Tojo’s gone home?”

  “Red, please.”

  “Tojo is waiting for us, Marqy, you’ll see. I don’t care what you say.”

  “Red. Please.”

  “It’ll be you and me and Tojo and mummy and daddy and we’ll all be so happy together.”

  Marquos suddenly gives her a fiery look, growling “Stop it, okay? That’s enough.”

  Red glowers back at him, unflinching, clenching her fists in annoyance. She huffs and storms away, into the boat. He calls out after her but doesn’t follow. He rolls his eyes to the darkening sky. In case she shouts out to him, or in case she starts sobbing below, he keeps quiet for some minutes before turning to the flute.

  There it comes again, the haunting melodies. The mist seems to dance about the boat as he plays, enchanted to movement by his performance. He plays the tune once, twice, three times, before slipping the flute back down and floating on against the sound of the pumping engine. The steam is thinning from the exhaust pipe. He sighs, rising to head down and throw more coal on the furnace, but is interrupted as he stands.

  “Brother, you have to help me,” a voice says from the bank of the canal. Without looking up, Marquos knows the man is Kandish; the accent is unmistakable, with its high tone, pronounced from the roof of the mouth. The man goes on, “I heard your tune. You are a brother. You have to be a brother. I need your help.”

  Marquos twists his head to see the Kand pensively pacing alongside the Hypnagogia. The man is clad in filthy rags, his waistcoat riddled with holes, his face dark from soot, his flesh thin. His hair is long enough to create a tangled mess, and the man can be no older than Marquos. Certainly not as old as Commander Retical had described. Moreover, his nose is long and sharp.

  “What’s the problem?” Marquos asks. The Kand is glancing about himself, twitching nervously, and insists “Can I come aboard? I’ll explain everything, but please, can you get me out of sight?”

  “I don’t want any trouble,” Marquos says. “I have a child on board, and there’s no chance you’re putting her in danger.”

  “Danger?” the Kand exclaims loudly, then quickly lowers his voice, “There is no danger for you friend, if I am out of sight there is no danger! You cannot turn your back on a brother! Please just let me aboard, I will explain everything in a matter of minutes, you can make up your mind to help me or not then! But please at least give me a chance!” Marquos takes a moment to think, but the man is moving faster, agitated, and adds “Don’t put me to this, I’ll leave right now so soon as trust myself to a man who hesitates to help his kin!”

  Marquos leans on the tiller, drawing the boat closer to the bank, and releases the throttle valve. Steam gushes from one of the exhausts, and Marquos thro
ws the man a mooring line. He calls out, “Tie her off, to that tree there. You can tie a knot?”

  “Yes! Yes!” the Kand gasps with relief, fumbling the rope and hurrying to tie it. The Hypnagogia comes to an unsteady halt.

  “Come on,” Marquos nods to the door, “Let’s hear your story then.”

  The Kand immediately jumps onto the Hypnagogia and slaps Marquos eagerly on the arm as he rushes through the doorway, saying “You are a lifesaver, friend. This boat is a marvel!”

  Marquos follows him in, looking the man up and down in the light of his cabin’s gas lantern. The Kand is frail, and his clothes are too ragged to conceal any kind of weapon. Marquos is confident he could overpower him, but his curiosity has already overwhelmed his fears. Still, he pushes past the Kand to shield Red as she rises from the sofa.

  “Honey, stand back a moment. This is my girl, Red. I’m Marquos,” Marquos blocks the Kand’s path, “Who are you, and why shouldn’t I hand you straight over to the Border Guard?”

  The Kand shuffles on the spot, running one hand through the other and shifting his smile from one side of his face to the other, uncomfortable in his own skin. He holds out a grubby hand, then takes it back, then holds it out again. He drops it before Marquos can shake it and says “I’m sorry. I’m on edge. I’ve been on the move for days now. It’s so good to find a brother, you have no idea.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Red says.

  “Don’t call me that,” Marquos says, shifting Red back to the sofa. She sits back down, eyes fixed on their new guest. Marquos goes on, “I’m no brother of yours. Can’t you tell by my voice?”

  “Sure you’re not pure Kand, but I can tell it’s in your blood, of course,” the Kand cannot keep still, his nerves conjuring his movements. He points to Marquos, he grins, he pulls a straight face, he grins again. His eyes shoot about like rolling die.

  “No, I’m Estalian, through and through.”

  The Kand takes a step back, biting his lip and shaking his head, “No, no. No that’s not true, you were playing the song. You played Wixon’s song. That’s Kand.”

  “I just like the tune.”

  The Kand turns on the spot, twisting to the door. He changes his mind, looking back to Marquos, but his eyes are fearful.

  “Just tell me your problem,” Marquos says. “You’re a Kand rebel?”

  “Ha! Oh heavens no!” the Kand steps forward again, “Do I look like a rebel? Good heavens, no. I am not a fighter. But if you are not Kand, you will not want to know it, you will not…I should not have boarded, I’m sorry, look, I’ll-”

  “Calm down,” Marquos tells him, “Just calm down.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Red asks.

  “I’m – I don’t know,” the Kand shakes his head again, catching his head in his hands to stop it spinning. He moves forwards, “Can I sit? Can I sit?”

  “Please do,” Marquos gestures to the other chair in the room. The Kand drops into it and clutches onto the arms. Marquos sits next to Red now, a barrier between the guest and the girl. The Kand starts laughing, saying “Oh but you played Wixon’s Day so beautifully. I thought there was no doubt you were my kin.”

  “Honey,” Marquos turns to Red, “Would you run into my room? I’d like a word alone with this man?”

  Red, shaken by the presence of this newcomer, jumps up and does as she is asked, dragging her crayons and papers with her. She closes the door quickly behind her.

  “Are you on junk?” Marquos shoots at the Kand, who jumps back into his seat, shaking his head hurriedly.

  “No, no, I’ve never touched the stuff,” the Kand raises his hands defensively, “Honest. I’ve been on the move too long, I haven’t been safe in forever.”

  “Okay. Okay, just calm down. You’re safe here.”

  “Thank you, oh thank you so much.”

  “I met with Commander Retical earlier. He said there’s a large manhunt on at the moment for a Kand rebel,” Marquos watches the Kand’s eyes carefully, “But if it was you, his description wasn’t especially accurate.”

  The Kand closes his eyes, shuddering where he sits, and whimpers back “I’m no rebel. I’m not a rebel, I’m not a fighter, I don’t know who you mean.”

  “As if you’d tell me if you were,” Marquos replies. “Retical said he knew the man personally, though, so I don’t see how he could’ve got the description so wrong. It’s a bit of a coincidence, though, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, you’re right, but I’ll tell you exactly why it is,” the Kand leans forwards, nodding repeatedly, “But it’s not how it seems.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The man they want must’ve been on the same boat as me. We were being transported south, to the Towers Prison. There were Kand rebels aboard, yes, it must be one of them they’re after. They’re probably after all of them! Horrible bunch!”

  “You were on a prison ship.”

  “It’s not how it seems! Some of them were true criminals, rebels of the most violent nature. Not me, though, I didn’t belong with them. I’ve done nothing to provoke the Estal Nation. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Will you hear my story?”

  “Go on.”

  The Kand finally paused for breath, took a moment to compose himself, thinking of what to say, then began quietly, “There has been war in Kand over the past few decades, as I’m sure you are aware. So many minor conflicts emerged, countless tribes claiming the country for their own. Like any other Kand you will meet today, I am a member of one of those tribes, and I will defend our right to leadership to the grave. We are not the largest tribe, but by the Goddess of Justice we are the most noble, the most honest. For twenty long seasons, the tribes were fighting for supremacy, until the Estal Nation finally returned to Kand and we were driven to unite against a common enemy once more. Outsiders seem to think there are two types of Kand, now. Those who support the Empire and those who oppose it. This is so far from the truth it hurts me. Most Kand’s do not give a damn about the Empire. Anyone who does is not true to his brothers. The Kand’s fight is not for or against Estalia, it is for freedom. Everyone wants to be free, and it does not stop with the Empire. It stretches to our very neighbours. I want to be free from the actions of the brutal Dread Clan as much as I want to be free from the Estalians, as much as I want to be free from the very lowest, weakest of tribes.”

  With his animated talk, the Kand has grown more stable in his seat. The passion in his eyes and voice have supplanted the nerves that controlled him before, and he is leaning forward, imploring sympathy.

  “I belong to the High Breath tribe,” he goes on, thumping his chest, “I am Lian, from the lands of Fretop, in the North West, where the grass is greenest and the sun still shines as it did in the days of our forefathers. The people of High Breath are a breed who believe in education as well as emancipation.”

  “You told me you weren’t a rebel,” Marquos says carefully, and the Kand responds with instant emotion, leaping from his seat and swinging a fist to the air, shouting “I am not a rebel!”

  Lian sits back down, checking himself, and bites his hand, twitching again. He shakes his head, animal eyes locked onto Marquos. He lowers his voice, “I am not a rebel. To rebel is to accept that someone has power over us. No one has power over the people of Fretop.”

  “The land where the grass is green and the sun still shines?” Marquos says.

  Lian nods slowly.

  “The grass is no greener in your land than mine,” Marquos snorts, “The North West of Kand is as desolate as the North of Estalia. The sun doesn’t shine anywhere as it did for our forefathers, and it never will. Oppression hasn’t caused that and hope won’t bring it back.”

  “Think what you will,” the Kand replies. “I don’t expect everyone to appreciate the beauty of Fretop. If they did, I would not be in the mess I’m in.”

  “Which is?”

  “Right,” Lian takes a deep breath, then pauses for a sign to begin. Marquos raises his eyebr
ows. “I was driven from Fretop by the foulest of politics. Knowing the glory of our tribe, a local vizier encouraged my own family against me. Through his charms, he managed to seduce my poor mother, and there planted seeds that my siblings and I were plotting against her. He singled us out, one at the time; I saw my eldest brother dismissed from court as a Dread Clan sympathiser, and am ashamed to say I believed it, until it was my turn to be victimised. The foul man laid false letters in my desk and paid paupers to claim that I had been seen talking with Gentar soldiers. He stirred up such anger in my own people that I had to flee for my life. They believed I was a Gentar underling. They believed my brother a Dread! They then turned on my sister as an Estalian spy! Such a thing sounds fantastical, but this man had such wicked powers of persuasion, and no morals to speak of.

  “For myself, I was cast out, alone. I did not want to fight, as my brother did, and bring a rift of violence to the High Breath tribe. I thought to bide my time, to wait for sense to return to the people. I took to wandering the nearby lands whilst I waited. I trekked across Kand, encountering the struggles of my brothers and pledging that I would correct all the wrongs of our nation, so soon as I return to my tribe, and my tribe be rightfully recognised. My treks brought me to the east coast, and unfortunate circumstance brought me into a terrible battle between the Border Guard and some Kand rebels, as you would describe them. I feared for my life, and hid aboard a boat, not knowing where it was bound. When I got to Estalia, I did not know what to do with myself. I headed to the great city of Thesteran and fell into great vice there. I debauched and debased myself for two moons straight, and might well have entirely lost my way if not for the divine intervention of my countrymen’s recent attack there. The city was in turmoil for some time, and I had no choice but to flee, again persecuted for no cause of my own. I trekked back West.