Ruin's Wake

by Patrick Edwards

  After the stew, both men found easy chairs by the fire that had burned low in the stone hearth. Aulk added a thick chunk of wood and poked at the embers until little flames licked at its sides. The log sizzled, spat, then settled down to a slow burn, its cracked underside glowing cherry red.

  ‘I need to get back to Keln,’ said Cale.

  ‘Roads through those hills are still bad,’ replied the fisherman. ‘No buses. Trade runs won’t start for a few weeks when the landslips are cleared.’

  ‘A ship, then.’

  ‘No boats going any further than a few klicks. It’s not what it was, this place. Big berths have all rotted. Ships go across the bay.’

  ‘I have to find a way.’ Cale was about to go on, but the thought of Bowden cut him short. He lowered his head, finding distraction in the calluses on his palm.

  Simple tools for a simple job. Then, What if I’m not there in time?

  Aulk watched the fire for a few moments, silent. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘There’s a market. We might find a man, and he might take you.’ He yawned and stood, fishing out a heavy blanket and tossing it over. ‘You’ll be warm by the fire.’ He grunted, then nodded his farewell. Cale thanked him and watched the old fisherman disappear behind the curtain to his bedroom.

  Sleep crept up on him sooner than he thought it would but his night was full of endless climbs up steep hills as the rain made the mud worse, both sticky and slippery, and every inch was a battle, and then he was at the top and Aime and Bowden were there together, waiting for him, smiling at each other though they’d never met, and no matter how hard he tried to run to them the mud held him in place.

  * * *

  The market crowd murmured as breath misted the morning air. There was anticipation, a gentle susurration of waxed coats brushing together and low conversation. A few dozen men had gathered in a corner of the marketplace; fishermen mostly, a scattering of fishmongers and other traders. They milled, swapping greetings and gossip, complaints about the weather and the size of the last catch. Feet shuffled and stamped and hands were thrust deep into warm oilskin pockets; ruddy cheeks puffed out and blew into cold, laced fingers.

  The marketplace was roofed but open-sided and stood at the intersection of the town square and the main road. The square had been used for a festival recently, judging by the withered, flapping remnants of bunting, but now it was being used as parking, the flat gravel pan half-filled with utility skimmers and old, wheeled trailers.

  Cale and Aulk stood at the back, waiting for the auction to begin. In front of the crowd, lying in neat rows, was the morning’s catch. Each grey torpedo had been de-tailed, beheaded and gutted. Smaller fish rested in crates of ice but the still-frozen naru – some as long as a man lying down – rested on the wet concrete floor. A powerful brine tang came from the carcasses, though there was no rot. The catch, Aulk had told him, would have been pulled from the ice-holds only an hour before.

  Last night the fisherman had told him this was the best place to find sea captains that would take cash and turn a blind eye, though there seemed to be few men here from outside the community. What had once been a thriving fishing town had visibly withered – the marketplace could have held four times this many people.

  An elderly man with a wrinkled neck dragged a footstool out in front of the crowd and mounted it as conversation died away. He closed his eyes, and after a moment of silence began to call out in a low, rolling chant.

  ‘Allzooooo! Naru-meskan. Allzoooo! Kandak merek…’

  Cale didn’t know the words, but it was clear the auction had begun. The chant waxed and waned; in the pauses others from the crowd replied in the same lilting dialect. It seemed rehearsed, like a ritual, a chanted prayer led by the old man perched on the stool as the high priest. Amid the noise fingers pointed and stock moved – somehow, deals were being struck. A number of the men began to walk up and down the rows, stopping to dig a fingernail into this head or that tail stump, bringing the flakes of frozen fish to their mouths or rubbing it between their fingers.

  ‘Checking for quality,’ said Aulk, answering the unspoken question.

  The monotone rolled on, regular, punctuated by the shouts from the crowd. The noise broadened until Cale wondered how anyone could single out an individual voice. Through it all the old man on the stool’s face was serene; occasionally he would glance at one of his helpers and they would go to speak with individual buyers, but his chant never faltered.

  ‘How does anyone understand what’s going on?’

  ‘Old language,’ answered Aulk.

  ‘The Factor knows about this?’

  ‘We don’t speak it when he’s around.’

  Cale acknowledged this with a nod. We, not they, he thought to himself. Old ways still clung on this far from Karume.

  He began to spot patterns amid the chaos now – they were there if you took the time to watch, like whorls of rainbow oil over water. Each time a deal was struck an assistant pinned a yellow strip of paper into the flank of the fish, then the buyer would hook it at the gills and drag it away; the big frozen naru skidded and clattered after their new owners on the wet concrete. Other men walked off carrying crates of the smaller fish, heading for their trailers.

  Just then Cale noticed the outsider. He was dressed differently, in clothes that looked newer, his bright yellow coat standing out from the leather and sackcloth. Under his jacket he wore a crimson shirt and grey trousers tucked into black rubber boots. He looked unsteady on his feet and his face was flushed under thick stubble; he stood with his arms crossed, watching the sale, seeming to take no part in it. After some minutes, Cale saw him scratch his cheek and beckon one of the assistants over.

  The man in yellow indicated around a dozen big naru with a sweep of his arm. The assistant’s eyes went wide and he mirrored the gesture as if to confirm what he’d heard. This earned an impatient nod, then a large bag changed hands. Whatever was inside it quickly wiped the uncertainty from the assistant’s face and he turned to gesticulate at the auctioneer. The bag was spirited off as more men in bright jackets arrived to take the naru haul away. Cale watched them take the frozen carcasses over to a large skimmer parked right at the edge of the market.

  ‘Him,’ said Aulk, leaning in. ‘Over there. That’s the captain you want.’

  ‘I see him.’

  Yellow Jacket waited for his men to remove the last of the naru before following them out. Cale watched him, now only distantly aware of the buzz of the auction around him.

  Aulk tapped him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll talk. Easier. Met him before.’ He indicated that Cale should stay where he was and headed for the heavily laden skimmer.

  As Aulk weaved his way through the crowd, one of the big carcasses slipped off the trailer and hit the road with a loud crack. The youngest of the crew, a red-haired boy standing on top of the truck, had let the big fish slip out of his grip; the boy’s face flushed with embarrassment. The captain bellowed, brandishing his fist, then flinched as Aulk tapped him on the shoulder; the curtness of the captain’s reply was apparent from the way the old fisherman’s head jerked back. There was a brief verbal altercation, then the situation appeared to be diffused.

  They spoke for several minutes and, once, the captain shot a glance in his direction. The conversation ended with both men shaking hands.

  Aulk pushed his way back to Cale’s side. ‘He will take you to Keln, but he wants a lot of money.’

  ‘He can have it.’ With Brabant taking care of the bills for supplies, Cale had barely spent any of the money he’d brought with him ten years ago. It would be enough, and if not then there would be more when he got to Keln where old accounts lay dormant, the relics of a more complicated life.

  He can have the whole damn lot, he thought, if he just gets me there.

  ‘I told him that already. He’s moored at the fishery up the coast, taking on bulk stock. This is all special order. Sells for more, apparently.’ He indicated the auction still going on behind them. ‘He sai
d he’d pass near tonight on his way to Keln. I can take you out, but we have to be quiet.’

  The captain’s men had finished retrieving the naru from the road. Some stray largs had gathered and were eying up the loaded truck, sniffing the air with wet noses. One of the crew yelled; a lobbed stone scattered the pack, sending them yipping away into the nearby alleys. The captain went over to the youth who’d dropped the fish, clipped him behind the ear, then climbed into the cab of the skimmer.

  ‘He’ll do,’ said Cale.

  Aulk shifted, his discomfort writ large. ‘Listen, last night. The Factor. When you go, there’ll be questions. It could be difficult.’

  Cale saw the worry in the old man’s eyes. He was asking a lot of this man who owed him nothing. ‘If it was your son, what would you do?’ he asked.

  Aulk nodded at the ground. ‘I would go.’

  ‘I will make things right. I’ll see him now. Your family will have nothing to worry about.’

  Aulk didn’t meet his eye, grunted.

  Cale put a hand on the fisherman’s shoulder. ‘I’ll deal with him.’

  That made the fisherman look up. ‘I don’t like your voice when you say that.’

  * * *

  The Factoriat was a short walk from the marketplace. The buildings in this part of town were stark concrete and barred windows, a world away from the driftwood huts by the sea. The office building itself was squat and angular; from the approach it looked more like a fortification, the dark, narrow windows flanking the main doors like gun ports. Cale fought down the nagging urge to find cover as he walked up.

  Inside, a functionary with bored eyes pointed him to an empty row of seats along the wall. Cale sat and waited, his eyes playing over the low-lit room that even in daylight conspired to be gloomy and oppressive. The walls were thick with deep crimson tapestries bearing the gold-stitched profile of the Seeker. The hangings muted every sound and the place smelled stale. He wanted to push the doors open and let the air in, but forced himself to sit still and wait for his turn.

  This is how they did it. It was all part of how they kept you in line.

  The Seeker’s portrait hung in pride of place above the reception desk, red and blue garlands adorning it. Cale thought of all the festivals he’d missed. Was this the year of the Quincentennial? Or had that been the year before? He couldn’t be sure.

  A little further away, on the same wall, hung another painting. A tall, bald woman with sharp green eyes stared from a gilt frame. Her mouth was set in a proud, narrow smile. Fulvia arc Borunmer, Venerable Guide, Chief Marshal of the Seeker’s Military and Holder of Keys. She’d acceded to her office the same year he went into exile; this new Factor and this new, oppressive building had all the hallmarks of ambition and spreading influence. She’d not been idle.

  After what felt like an age he was summoned through another set of doors and down a corridor to a large office. The room was rounded, the walls lined with wood panelling and polished to a high sheen. The floor had been lowered to allow for a higher ceiling, so he had to take three steps down before his feet met thick carpet. Unlike the rest of the place there were tall windows here bringing in daylight. In the centre of it all, behind a large wooden desk, sat the young Factor, writing with his head down. He didn’t look up as Cale approached but dismissed the functionary with a flick of his wrist.

  Cale remained stone still while the Factor’s pen darted over the page, waiting him out. It was an old trick, meant to put him at a disadvantage, one he’d used himself in another life.

  Be patient. Look at the wall. Don’t allow the itch to set in.

  After several minutes, where the only sound was the scratching of pen on paper, the Factor raised his head. His voice was tinged with annoyance. ‘Ah. You.’

  Cale didn’t speak, drawing out the game.

  In the light of day, the Factor looked even younger. His uniform seemed oversized, as if he’d had to borrow it. ‘What can I do for you, citizen?’ he snapped.

  Cale placed his papers on the desk. ‘You wanted to review these. So, I’ve brought them.’

  The Factor pulled the papers over but left them in their wallet. ‘What’s your business in Endeldam?’

  ‘I’m passing through.’

  ‘Most come here for three things: drinking, fishing and fighting. You don’t seem like you want any of those, so what is it really?’

  Cale kept his tone neutral. ‘It’s as I said.’

  The Factor tutted, exasperated. ‘This isn’t a port. This is a shithole broken fishing town. How are you planning to get anywhere? No vessels here are sanctioned to go beyond the bay, by my order.’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll go by land.’

  The Factor gave him a long look. ‘We’ll see about that.’

  Cale cleared his throat and summoned all the humility he could muster. ‘I have something important I have to do and I have to leave tonight. I am asking you, with all respect, to allow me to pass through your district. Sir.’

  The Factor sat back, steepling his fingers under his small chin. ‘I’m sorry, citizen, but that won’t be possible.’

  ‘Factor, you must understand—’

  ‘No, you must understand. This is my district and I say who comes and goes. I like order. Now some fat old man turns up and says he’s lived unmonitored for years and I want to know how this happened. It is unacceptable—’

  ‘Your predecessor, perhaps—’

  ‘Don’t interrupt me! I won’t have it.’ His face flushed, red splotches spreading out from his nose like wings. There was a moment when Cale thought he would go on shouting, but he took a breath and gave him a thin smile.

  ‘There is nothing about you on file,’ he continued. ‘I checked already. You are a surprise to me, and I’m not accustomed to surprises. They reek of inattention. So, here’s what’s going to happen, citizen.’ He slid the papers back over the desk but kept his slender hand on top. ‘I want to know everything there is to know about you, like I know everyone else in this place. This may be a lowly posting but I will not allow that fact to erode standards, as my predecessor did. You and I are going to have a chat.’ His eyes flashed in the pale light from the windows. ‘I’m afraid that will take quite some time. Whatever you had planned will have to wait.’

  Cale looked down at that smile. He thought of Bowden lying in a bed, in pain. The Factor’s hand was pale, almost blue at the knuckles, the skin soft and unmarked by hardship.

  Somewhere else, Bowden bled.

  His heart beat in his chest, blood charging his ears, pounding. He knew what was coming; this time he made no effort to stop it.

  The Factor was halfway over his desk before he knew what was happening, Cale’s grip fast on his wrist. The official gave a startled yelp, immediately silenced as Cale took him by the throat and slammed him against the heavy wooden foot of the bureau, pinning him. The blotched face twisted, eyes bulging with terror. He struggled to shout for help but Cale pressed harder against his windpipe so only a gurgle came out. He leaned in close, so their noses were almost touching.

  ‘Listen to me. I am not here for trouble. You will let me pass on.’ The Factor’s face was going a shade of purple, so Cale slackened his grip just a fraction, allowing him to suck in a breath.

  ‘You’ll die for this,’ he rasped, fear vying with murderous rage. ‘I’ll see you burn.’

  Cale placed his other hand on the Factor’s cheek, cupping it like a lover. He settled his finger in the small hollow behind the ear. ‘No,’ he said in a grating whisper. ‘You won’t.’ With a sharp motion he jammed his finger upwards between ear and skull.

  The Factor’s mouth flapped and his eyes rolled back. He whimpered, his feet scrabbling on the floor as he tried to push himself away from the source of the pain, but he was held fast.

  Cale kept his finger on the pressure point for a few seconds then pulled away. The Factor gasped, and this time the fear was naked on his face.

  ‘I used to be good at hurting people,’ said Cale. �
�So you are going to listen. I’m leaving and you’re going to let me. I’ll make no more trouble for you and leave town tonight. You can pretend I was never here. Understand?’

  The Factor’s eyes were red. Cale could see he was a stranger to pain or threat. Just a little boy in a cheap uniform.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Please, stop.’

  Cale continued. ‘I was never here, so no one else saw me. If I find out anyone had trouble from you on my account, I’ll come back in here.’ He applied a tiny amount of pressure with his finger and felt the Factor squirm.

  ‘I won’t!’

  ‘No questions?’

  ‘No questions!’

  Cale waited, just a breath, then released his grip. The Factor curled into a ball on the floor, sucking in gasping breaths. He looked more like a child than ever, and for an instant Cale felt a pang of remorse. Before it could take hold he turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

  As he made his way back down the hill to Aulk’s house, the impact of what he’d done hit him. He’d felt a spectre of old pride surface in that office, satisfaction at watching the jumped-up little man squirm. It was the kind of conceit that had brought him here, to this isolation, and now even the scent of it sickened him.

  This is taking care of it? Old fool. You think he’ll keep quiet when you’ve gone?

  There was a good chance the young Factor would retaliate out of pride, no matter how scared he’d been. Aulk and his family might still suffer because of him.

  He should stay, straighten things out. Aulk had opened his home to him, helped him.

  But Bowden was over the sea, dying.

  Bask 28 – 498

  The seals on the laboratory failed yesterday, meaning we had to evacuate to the canteen section of the habitat until they were repaired. The damned things weren’t properly fitted and the outer layer was letting in enough wind to cause contraction on the inner, or that’s what they tell me. I told them to conduct repairs as fast as possible but I know they took their sweet time getting about it. Maddening, that crew of muck-rakers. ‘We’re excavators, not maintenance!’ they bleat, as if there’s some sort of idiot hierarchy I should be referring to.