Will smiled a little at this.
“I think it was a good idea.”
“It put you in danger.”
“I might have been arrested, yeah, and they beat up Martin because he wanted to read them, but as long as you send the leaflets, someone might read them, and the truth might start cracking through. It’s funny because it creates curiosity. No one in my village actually got to read the leaflets. The soldiers showed up and took them away before we got the chance to read them. But maybe it’ll be different one day, and everyone will be more curious next time... because they think to themselves, ‘I wonder what could be written on those leaflets that’s so bad the army doesn’t want us to read them?’ Attaching money to them was a clever idea too. Some people really need money, so they’ll pick them up.”
“What do you think about the famine? And the social developments you saw related to it? The market and the homeless boys?”
“I don’t think it’s likely to threaten King Edward, if that’s what you’re asking. Ms. Diane - or whoever was giving her orders - made a mistake last time, when she asked us to go up to the mountains and forage, then give part of our scavenged food to the military. That was a stupid thing to do because no one wanted to do it and people got mad at the military. But King Edward salvaged the situation when he started distributing rations again. I think he’s clever, and the famine won’t threaten his rule in the future unless it’s somehow seen as his fault. I did see the markets start to thrive as a result of the famine. The markets are outside the state’s control, so they’re a social change, but I don’t see how they would impact the regime. And as for the homeless boys,” he thought of Brandon. “I think what Ms. Diane told us once was true. It’s our responsibility to look after them, and I just hope that they really do build enough orphanages or schools to take them in and give them something to eat.”
“And I have one last question for you, Will. Do you have any vision for the reunification of Vermark? How it might happen, or what the nation might be like afterwards?”
Will shrugged. “As long as King Edward remains in power, it’s impossible for the country to be reunified. Maybe it’s true that you might be able to retake West Vermark militarily, but you know-” he saw a flashing vision of the soldiers chopping up his airplane with an axe “-it’s hard to build and it’s easy to destroy. I think King Edward has been building all these weapons you’ve talked about so he can destroy as much of East Vermark as he can. And a lot of West Vermark would be destroyed in the fight too, and I don’t think there’s any guarantee you’d win. People are raised to believe an attack is coming in West Vermark, and they’ll fight hard against the rebels. It’s exactly what they’ve been expecting all these years.”
“What about a peaceful reunification?”
“People in the DPRV don’t even know that the ROV exists. All I knew was that there were rebels in the forests. I don’t think a peaceful reunification is possible as long as the people in West Vermark are so isolated.”
Lt. Norris nodded. “Thank you, Will. That’s all of our questions, but now I have to ask you to make a choice. You can either stay here, or we can repatriate you to the DPRV-”
“I want to stay here,” Will said without hesitation. “My parents are dead, my friends are dead, and I’ve been lied to all my life. I’d much rather stay here.”
Norris’s face curled into one of his wry smiles. “You didn’t let me finish. You can stay here, but you won’t be at liberty immediately. You have to attend a school - I hesitate to say a re-education camp - for defectors, which for you will take about a year and will train you in basic skills and rudimentary knowledge of life here in the ROV which is... very different from the DPRV. I have to warn you that defectors have historically faced discrimination here. Your accent will immediately mark you as a defector. And a typical defector’s salary is less than half the national average. The state will pay you a small stipend which will partially cover the difference.”
“It doesn’t matter how much I’m paid as long as I can afford food and water and a roof over my head,” Will answered.
“It’s also... not unheard of for the DPRV to try to assassinate defectors in the ROV.”
“That doesn’t matter to me at all.”
“In that case, we’ll start taking you to classes tomorrow.” Norris rose and opened the door.
Will walked out into the lobby of the building, where Harry was sitting there waiting for him. Harry looked very odd indeed in a typical t-shirt and slacks rather than his usual coveralls. He was chewing gum to replace his usual length of straw.
“Hiya Harry,” Will said, sitting down next to him. “Did they finish with you too?”
“Yep,” Harry answered. He paused. “Will, I told them I want to go back home. That’s where I belong. We’ll make do without a mechanic, but we need farmers to eat. If they get some rain this spring, they’ll need all the help they can get. Besides, I’ve got to explain what happened to the tractor. So I’m going back.”
Will nodded.
“I kind of figured you would. I told them I wanted to stay.”
“Yeah, I thought so.”
There was a pause.
“They’re taking me in about an hour,” Harry said. “So I guess this is goodbye.”
“It’s like Nate said all those years ago. ‘Some of us are soldiers, some of us are farmers, some of us are doctors, and some of us are scholars.’ You’re a farmer Harry.”
“Sure am.”
Will cuffed him on the shoulder.
“You’re a good man, Harry. I just said a lot about the truth and lies to some of these questions... but do yourself a favor, and keep your trap shut about this place. Maybe that’ll keep you safe.”
Harry nodded. Someone called for him and he stood. Will shook his hand, then, without another word, Harry walked out of the building.
Lt. Norris emerged from a nearby door.
“I’m going to go with Harry to see him repatriated,” he said tersely. “This might be the last time we see each other, Will, so I just wanted to say that it’s been a pleasure knowing you.”
He offered Will his mechanical hand. Will shook it, the cold chrome pressing against his palm.
“Good to meet you too,” Will said.
“Before I go, I have one last bit of news,” Norris said. “I was talking to one of the government employment agents... people still use propeller planes - turboprops - for short flights and one of the domestic carriers has a job opening for an aircraft mechanic. Would you be interested in that?”
Will could only smile.
Chapter 23
The truck trundled across the demilitarized zone. For all the worlds of technological difference between East and West Vermark, their trucks weren’t much different: army olive green fabric strung over a cargo bed.
“There’s a safe corridor across the DMZ,” Lt. Norris explained to Harry as they went. “We’re going to take you as far as we can.”
A few minutes later, the truck stopped.
“End of the line,” Norris announced. He led Harry off the back. A dozen of the King’s soldiers, in the crisp, clean uniforms of the Royal Guard, were waiting for him. Norris waved goodbye and got back into his truck. The truck drove off, the Royal Guardsmen staring stolidly at it as it retreated.
They went the rest of the way on foot. The treeline soon broke and Harry could see he was on the outskirts of the army base. There was the village in the distance, and the mountain, and the ocean, all as he had left it. The Royal Guardsmen led him into the army base and abruptly stopped in front of a pockmarked solid concrete wall. One of them grabbed him by the arm and brought him right up to it.
“Yeah, I kind of figured,” Harry said calmly.
The soldier wordlessly offered him a cigarette.
“No thanks.” Harry spat out his gum, reached down, and picked up a length of straw. He started to chew on it.
The soldier spun him around, such that his back faced the wall, the
n drew out a length of white cloth and blindfolded him, then pressed him against the concrete.
Harry kept chewing his straw.
Twelve gunshots rang out, and he crumpled to the ground.
***
At the next town meeting, after the usual chorus of “All Hail King Edward,” Ms. Diane rose to speak.
“I have some very sad news. William Gurnsley and Harry Brier were killed in a rebel raid on the village. William Gurnsley was a distinguished member of our community, the first person to study at the capital. Harry Brier devoted his whole life to farming and working hard to feed the hungry. We salute them.”
The hall was abuzz with the whispers of the villagers, outraged at the villainy of the rebels who had killed two such good people.
“Let this serve as a reminder,” Ms. Diane called out. “We all must continue to sacrifice for the sake of the King’s War.”
Message to the Reader
Dear reader,
Thank you very much for taking a chance on an independent author. I am normally a murder mystery writer, so The King’s War - a political conceit - represents a significant format experiment for me. In the original draft of this book, a few technical notes on the authenticity of the conceit followed this message. However, I removed them in subsequent editions because readers reported they were unhappy with the notes.
If you feel so inclined, I’d very much appreciate it if you rated and reviewed this book or shared it with your friends. I rely on writing for my income, and I have struggled to get the word out about my novels, and just a little help from you could mean worlds to me. Since reviews are my only potential source of feedback, I also find them invaluable for my future writing.
I have written a number of other books in various genres, mostly murder mysteries. They are all available on Amazon, and you can find them by searching my name.
Best,
--Andrew Stanek
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