by Clare Smith
Tingallent could see the driver was suspicious, so he hurried on before the man could drive away and leave him there. “Thank goodness you’ve come by. My wretched horse broke its leg and threw me so I had to finish it off, but I think I broke my arm when I fell. Please, I need your help to get back to Phillos.”
The driver glanced at the dead horse again, still wondering what was wrong with the scene. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“My name is Superior Jalan and I was on my way to Delmar with a message for Lord Hallaman.”
Lord Hallaman was an important man and it didn’t do to antagonise him or the superiors for that matter, if he was indeed a superior. “Can you prove who you are?”
Tingallent shook his head, clutched his arm tighter and grimaced as if he was in pain. “No, my papers are buried in my saddle bag beneath my dead horse. Please, I need your help.” He staggered slightly for good measure.
The driver still hesitated. Something didn’t look right, but if the man was injured then he should help him. He’d never told anyone, because he would be in trouble if he did, but he was a secret adherent of Jurro, the good god, who would expect him to show compassion to the sick or injured. “All right, climb up into the wagon and I’ll take you to Phillos.”
“Thank you.” Tingallent took a step forward and then staggered against the side of the wagon with a groan. “I don’t think I can climb up there without your help.”
Cursing under his breath, the driver climbed down from his seat already regretting his decision, but he’d told the man he would help, and Jurro was never pleased with those who went back on their word. He walked around the back of the cart to the Superior’s side, glanced at the dead horse and stopped. Now he knew what was wrong with the scene. If the Superior had been taking a message to Delmar then the horse was pointing in the wrong direction.
On top of that the horse’s blood should have pooled around its cut throat but instead it had splattered across the ground although it looked like some attempt had been made to hide it. The blood was all over the man’s clothes too, but beneath the dirt from the man’s fall and not on top of it. He glared at the Superior and went to question him again but only managed a grunt of pain as Tingallent’s knife, which had been hidden by his cloak, came up beneath his ribs and cut into his heart.
Tingallent watched as the overseer’s eyes went wide with shock, and then pushed him off his knife whilst the man was still gasping out his last breath. He had to work fast now in case the driver’s spilt blood spoiled his papers and spread too far over the clothes he wore. Quickly he rifled through the man’s pockets until he found what he was looking for, and then stripped off his outer clothes.
There wasn’t anything he could do about the shirt which was soaked in blood, but the rest of the driver’s clothes were sufficient to make him look like an overseer, as long as no one looked too closely. He rolled his own clothes up and put them and the other things he’d brought with him beneath the driver’s seat and scuffed dirt over the blood in the roadway. Finally he dragged the body into the trees, pushed it beneath some low bushes so it couldn’t be seen, and scattered leaves over the forest floor where the soil had been disturbed.
The horse would have to stay where it was and would undoubtedly attract attention, but hopefully it would be a long time before the driver’s dead body was found by which time he would be far away. Now all he had to do was drive his cart into Phillos, gain entrance to the Enclave and find the people he was looking for.
*
Up until that moment things had gone better for Tingallent than he could have ever hoped for. Despite being concerned about the dead horse, which he’d left behind in the middle of the road, he’d decided to stop for a couple of nights on his way to Phillos. He figured that if anyone found the body of the dead Superior, it was better they overtook him on the road where he had a chance to see them pass by, rather than having them chase him all the way to the city gates.
As no one of consequence had galloped past in a hurry, he guessed that the body hadn’t been found yet, so he timed his arrival into the city for early in the morning. That would give him plenty of time to get into the Enclave, talk to his friends there and drive away again before the city gates were closed for the night. Everything went to plan, and soon after the sun had risen, he’d driven through the city gates without being stopped, and then into the centre of Phillos.
The place was packed with guards from across the six provinces and more overseers and superiors than he’d ever seen in one place. Fortunately very few of them were from Phillos so they were unlikely to recognise him, but all the same, he kept his hood pulled as far over his face as he could without looking too suspicious. He had an anxious moment when a bored city guard asked him for his papers, but he only gave them a cursory glance and pointed in the direction of the Enclave.
From there he drove on through the crowds until a superior from Tarmin ordered him to join the queue of carts waiting to enter the Enclave. His cart was the tenth in line and so for a while he sat on the driver’s seat munching his way through the food store which belonged to the cart’s previous owner and watching what was going on. There was a lot of activity around the gates where several men were fixing extra supports and an additional locking bar to increase its strength, which didn’t bode well.
It wasn’t the only thing which was concerning him. On his previous visits to the Enclave there had been no traffic passing through the gates, only pedestrians but now it was the other way around. Of course he knew that food was being delivered to the people who were no longer allowed to go to the market, which is why he’d stolen the cart, but he’d no idea there would be so many carts or so many guards. It couldn’t be helped though, so when his turn came, he drove his cart through the Enclave’s gate and that was when things started going seriously wrong.
He’d planned to drive the cart straight to Cow Court and leave it in the tenement’s court yard under the supervision of a family he knew there. In exchange for the supplies on the cart, which the family would distribute after seeing to their own needs, they would guard the vehicle until he returned. When he’d finished speaking to those who had some influence inside the Enclave, he’d expected to either drive the cart out of the gates, or leave the Enclave as a hero at the head of the rioting populace.
Unfortunately he’d completely underestimated how crowded the Enclave would be. Instead of the open streets with the occasional ragged figure slumped against a crumbling wall, the space was crammed with people living together in the worst conditions imaginable. The lucky ones had erected shelters from old bits of wood or waxed cloth, but most just sat or lay on the cobbles wherever they could find a space.
Considering there were so many people, there was very little noise apart from the wailing of hungry children and a constant murmur of despair. The smell on the other hand was overpowering and he wasn’t surprised that the circle of guards, who kept the crowd at bay, all wore scarves over their faces to keep out the stench of unwashed bodies, raw sewage, and sickness. Conditions had always been bad in the Enclave, but it seemed to him that the place was waiting to die.
The only clear area was in front of the gates where a barrier had been erected to hold the starving people back, and guards, armed with spears, ensured that no one was tempted to break through. Even that place was chaotic with carts coming and going and overseers, who were desperate to be away from the place, demanding that their carts be emptied first. To reinforce their demands several were using their driving whips on anyone who wasn’t quick enough to respond to their commands.
There were Assimusians there too, unloading the carts and piling the produce into heaps to be taken away. They weren’t guarded as there was no way to get out of the gates without being stopped, although he did see one man dive beneath a cart in the hope that he could hold onto the axles long enough to get to the other side of the gates and freedom. If he were caught he would die, but perhaps that was better than being trapped i
nside this place. It gave him an idea of how he might get out of the Enclave if things went wrong, but it was only one he would use as a last resort.
On the other side of the courtyard where the provisions were being piled and the guards stood three deep, the Assimusians gathered in a crowd to collect their allotment of food. Most of them were women, some of whom had babies strapped to their backs, and they pushed and shoved so that only the strongest made it to the front for their ration of bread and over ripe fruit. Beneath their feet were those who had fallen or had been beaten back by the guards and would never rise again.
The whole sight sickened him beyond belief, and if he’d ever had any doubts about freeing these people from their oppression, then they were stripped away by the misery around him. Appalled by what he saw, he decided that his original plan wasn’t going to work and this called for drastic action. When his turn came to back his cart into position he pulled hard on the long reins making the horse shoot backwards. Then, instead of stopping the wagon where a Superior pointed, he continued backing it up until it ploughed into the guards at the edge of the courtyard close to where the provisions were piled.
A shout of warning made the guards leap out of the way, but it also alerted the waiting women that unguarded food was within their grasp. There was a sudden surge from the side of the crowd closest to him and, within moments, the covers had been torn from his cart and the crowd began to clamber all over it. More guards and Superiors ran to push them back and, in the shouting, screaming chaos, he grabbed his bundle of clothes from beneath the driver’s seat and pushed his way into the crowded streets.
It had seemed to be a good plan when he’d been backing the cart up, but it only took him a minute to realise he’d miscalculated. Clearly someone who was on their own and dressed like an overseer wouldn’t last long in the midst of thousands of desperate Assimusians. What he needed was somewhere to change into the rags he’d brought with him, so he looked as if he belonged there and could merge with the crowd
Unfortunately the places he knew in Cow Court and Slug Lodge, where he would be welcomed, were too far away for him to reach in one piece. The only thing he could do was find a shadowy corner close by where he could change his identity without anyone noticing. That was going to be difficult to find in the overcrowded conditions, particularly as he was being pushed and shoved further into the Enclave.
In desperation he ducked between two shelters which had been built across the open road, scuttled under another on the left hand side and stepped into what he thought was an alleyway. He was wrong though. Instead of the relative safety of an alleyway, he’d stumbled into the courtyard of one of the tenement blocks, although it didn’t look like any that he recalled seeing before.
The decaying buildings, which formed the four sides around a cobbled square, were still there, looking as old and as grim as ever. However, they now propped up rough, wooden shelters made up mainly of old tables, mattresses and anything else which would keep out the weather. The shelters stood four deep, so that where there should have been an open area in the centre of the courtyard with a water pump and a waste pit, there was just room enough to hold the hundred or so people who stood there glaring at him.
He instantly realised his mistake and tried to back out again, but his exit was now blocked by a line of women holding batons in their hands, which looked like they had once been chair legs. As they advanced he held up his hands to show that he didn’t mean them any harm, and when that didn’t stop them, he did the only thing he could think of and drew his knife. It was clearly the wrong thing to do as there was a shout of anger and the line of woman charged towards him.
As there was no way his knife was going to keep them all at bay and he didn’t want to hurt anyone, he threw the knife away in a sign of surrender and held up his hands. That didn’t slow them one jot, so he crouched into a ball with his arms over his head hoping that they would take pity on a defenceless man. They didn’t. The first blow caught him in the ribs making him grunt with the pain and the next across his back making him yelp.
Fortunately, as the women were crowded together, they didn’t have enough room to swing their clubs and hit him with much force, but he was slowly being pummelled into the ground. Another blow caught him in the kidneys making him gasp and feel sick with the pain, and the next glanced off his head knocking him dizzy so that he lost his balance and rolled over. Now his ribs and his stomach were exposed and when a chair leg crashed into his side and he felt a rib snap he guessed he was going to die.
It was a miserable way to die, being beaten to death by those who he’d come to save and he would have liked to have told them so, but another blow to his head knocked him almost senseless. For a moment it made the noise around him fade into an angry buzzing, and he was so numb that he couldn’t feel the blows raining down on him anymore. It was a moment of blessed respite, but then he thought that his head was being torn from his body as he was dragged to his feet by the back of his collar.
For a second or two he struggled to get his legs to hold him steady and for his vision to stop swimming, but then he realised he was being firmly held by the back of his neck. It was like being held in a vice, but it didn’t stop him from looking around and wiping a trickle of blood from his eye. The women were still there glaring at him and they still had their batons in their hands, some of which had his blood on them, but next to him stood a man he recognised.
He was tall for an Assimusian and as thin as a spear shaft, as they all were, but he had a look of determination which had been beaten out of most of his people.
“What in hell are you doing here, Tingallent?”
Tingallent smiled weakly. “Hello, Dogavin, I’ve come to rescue you all and lead you to freedom.”
Dogavin gave a harsh bark of laughter. “At the moment you don’t look like you could save a moth from a spider’s web.” He looked across at one of the women. “Della, get the man a drink and a cloth to clean himself up, and get the rest back on guard in case the Superiors have followed the bloody fool here.”
He put his arm around Tingallent’s shoulder and guided him to a seat in one of the shelters. “You know that the stunt you pulled with the cart is going to have the guards swarming all over this place looking for a turncoat overseer so they can pin his hide to the city gates?”
Tingallent nodded and then wished he hadn’t.
“It was a damned foolish thing to do but there again you never did have much sense.” Dogavin picked up the bundle of clothes which Tingallent had dropped and threw them at him. “If you change into those and look like one of us you might just live through the day.”
Tingallent muttered his appreciation, and then changed into the grey tunic he used as a disguise whenever he came to the Enclave. By the time he’d finished he felt much better, and the pot of home brewed spirit Della gave him helped no end. She stood by the open entrance to the shelter until he’d finished it, and then took the pot from him but didn’t leave. He would have liked to have asked Gav who she was, as she definitely wasn’t his wife, but guessed that might have been a sensitive subject so he asked something else instead.
“What are you doing in this place, Dogavin? I thought your home was up in Slug Lodge.”
“The city guard came and tore it down. They said they needed the wood for another building project and we’d just have to sleep on the streets, but you can see how it is in the Enclave. There are too many strangers fighting to survive and not enough room, so some of the families decided to group together, and in exchange for a bit of space we help the people in this tenement block defend the place as their own. I lead the outsiders whilst Della is the head of one block and Kimeron over there is head of another.”
He indicated to a small woman with an ear missing. “Callowem and Brigsome are the other heads, but they are both on work detail unloading carts, as I was until you blundered into the Enclave. So, Ting, what’s this all about? Why have you brought trouble down on our heads this time when we have m
ore than enough trouble as it is?”
Tingallent took a deep breath. “You’ve heard the rumours about the Passonians castrating all the Enclave’s men who are over the age of fifteen?” Dogavin nodded. “Well it’s not a rumour, it’s true, and not only that, but the bastards are going to burn down the Enclave with every other Assimusian locked inside it. They are going to slaughter every Assimusian, except for those who they keep as breeding stock and a few helpless buggers who will provide slave labour. Assimus will burn and New Passonia will take its place.”
“They wouldn’t do that,” said Della. “Who would do all the work if we weren’t here?”
It was a good question and up until now he’d never really thought about the detail, but now the Passonian’s plan became clearer. “The Passonians have a problem. They have too many sons and bastards who have nothing to do and are becoming a nuisance. So I guess they will take charge of things instead of the overseers, and it is the overseers who will end up doing most of the work.”
Dogavin shook his head in disbelief. “What about the Superiors, where do they fit into this New Passonia?”
Rabayan’s concern at the way the Superiors were being treated and his desperate need to find the gold in order to survive dropped into place. “I don’t think they fit in anywhere. Once they have done the Master’s dirty work the Passonians will turn their attention on them.”
“A good riddance too,” put in Kimeron.
“It still doesn’t make any sense,” said Della with a frown. “I can’t see a Passonian or an overseer scrubbing the streets or cleaning out the shit carts.”
“They won’t have to. The Assimusian slaves who have been cut, beaten and starved into submission will do that, and when they drop dead from exhaustion, their places will be taken by a new generation of slaves, purposely bred and raised in breeding pens to be meek and mindless.”
There was silence for a few moments whilst those present thought it through, but then Dogavin shook his head. “I know the Passonians are bastards, but even they couldn’t come up with something like this, I think you must have got it wrong.”