The Cartographers Diary
Page 13
As he began to panic he begged me for forgiveness and my aid. When I simply refused with a polite smile, he was aware of my stance on the matter. It was I who helped expose him. I could follow his thoughts then, like a trail in the woods. His eyes darted to where my rapier once hung. Then to my belt in search of a firearm, then to his desk, where he kept his own. At the exact same time we both made a grab for the drawer. He was closer so he opened the drawer with his left hand and reached in with his right. His fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun, just as I had leaped over the table. I slammed the side of my fist on the drawers exterior. Forcing it shut. His hand cracked as I did so, I heard the bones in his arm and hand shatter seconds before me fired the weapon. A hole emerged on the side of his desk, the bullet embedding itself in the stone wall to his right. He let out a scream and was then silenced by the toe of my boot. He fell from his chair onto his back, his large, fat, rolled body, struggled on the ground as he rolled to try to get to his side, clutching his broken arm. I lifted the gun from his drawer and holstered it in the belt of my robe. The once great leader, a man of power and a leader in industry, lay on the ground in front of my, like a baby fallen from the high chair it once sat in. This man had held everyone down, through secrets, blackmail, fear and money. Now he was a broken, lonely, sorry excuse of a creature. Death would be an easy escape for him. He deserved to suffer.
I left him there. Broken.
Once I exited the office, through the destruction falling around me, I was free. My adventure was only beginning then. I have so much more to see. I wish to trace the footsteps of the man who created the “Winged man” persona. The little information I have found points to a man from the dead world. He walked through pages but now resides in a dimension far from here. A land some call Northland. A place I wish to discover for myself.
The last words I said to him, and the words I will leave you with are these.
Let nothing control you. You control your own fate. Put faith in others. Time and time again, you may be let down, but you are only broken once you lose hope. Smile at diversity, never get comfortable with normality. If things need changed, change them. If things are broken, mend them. Do not see life as a storeroom. There is no limit to what it can hold. Keep filling it with experiences, sights, memories, love and laughter. Time is wasted worrying If there is a God. Why ponder the question, if there is an architect of everything would it not want its creations to learn, expand, blossom and grow? Or fight, destroy and kill? The Great What if!
I hope this sticks with you, reader, the way I hope these words stuck with Sir bleakly.
Your decisions are your own, your actions are your own. No created divine being or invented deity can justify your actions. For they are carried out by you. Remember this in all things, good and bad.
Bill Ironforn
July 10th
Year of the Ferret
This will be my final entry. I write this as I take a break from scribing the inaugural speech for Maria. She is to become the president of New Sub-York. I have worked for months now, rebuilding and restabilising the great city. Things have returned to a sense of normality. Maria his transformed this place from a city of fallout, rubble and battle worn ruins, into a place of hope, development, growth and sustainability.
When she informed me of how the events in the courthouse transpired and unfolded I felt guilt. I had Hated George Thomas, plotted revenge in my head for hours until I heard the truth. He knew that if he let Stephen follow through with his plan, that Cogburn in its entirety would fall. Innocent people would go hungry and die. An entire civilisation would be thrown into turmoil. He did the only thing he could. For that I am grateful to him and proud to call him my friend. I have not seen him since then. I heard however that he managed to gather a crew from the shipyard in Cogburn and commandeered the “Tods Vengeance” which he renamed “The Captains Sacrifices” A truly beautiful and fitting name for that Zeppelin. The guns were removed and from what I have heard he peruses the man behind the winged man story. I do not know what he will find, but he is, and always be a cartographer and a true adventurer.
I have settled here in sub-York. I may never return to Cogburn. I left part of my soul there.
Before I returned here with Maria and her crew, I spent time trying to return to civilian life. A year to be exact. The changes in Cogburn were exciting at first. New ideas were sprouting, new technological advances. I was excited to get behind electricity. A technology that Sir Blakely’s reign supressed. It was easier to tax coal than power harnessed from wind and sea. The new council had green lit many ideas of renewable energy. I had engendered a turbine that simply uses the tide to generate enough electricity to power Cogburn in its entirety. I also have patents and designs of power storage, for reserve and emergency. In the spirit of growth, I have release these patents and designs to be royalty free blueprints, meaning all the young inventors and engineers can take my foundation and create things more elaborate that I can even imagine. MY business grew quickly and successfully. I could employ over two thousand staff and give the told needed for many to set up shop themselves. Times were great. I felt I could settle in Cogburn until one morning, while commuting, I shared a cabin on the metro line with the infamous Sir Bleakly. He was a broken man. Skinny, old and pale. He sat alone. Reading a paper. His clothes were tattered and old, stains dotted him like a pedigree Dalmatian. A wiry, thin and sparse beard covered his face and he smelt of urine and dust. I never saw him again. We parted from each other eyesight as we left the station, I was heading to the Shipyard and he to the docks. I like to imagine he sailed and found redemption. When I saw him I knew his punishment had been fulfilled. He had suffered enough for two lifetimes, to lose everything is a terrible thing, justified but terrible. I could have killed him, but then I would have robbed him of his chance to make peace. He may have been a tyrant but his lies and transgressions caught up with him. He lost his entire life, but worse yet, he lost his son. I heard that once he heard that news, he left the office and his home and stayed with a relative in the country.
I hope the waves brought him comfort and peace. I wish a life without purpose on no man.
I made the decision then to return to Sub-York. Maria and I had become good friends in the year I was in Cogburn, exchanging ideas and discussing ways to stabilise Sub-York’s society and economy. It was she who invited me to live here. A decision that was made easy for me by my new wife Alaina. A Sub-York native. One I had met on my first visit here during the clean-up. A Nurse and a single mother of two beautiful girls. I was invited into the family and here I will remain.
This story may be complete, but I am sure there will be many to follow, recorded or not. I Will leave this entry, and the others I managed to collect in the safety deposit box I have opened for George Thomas. I hope he continues his adventures and compiles these journals in a compendium. Our way of recording true history for ages to come. I must return to my speech. Maria will make a great leader; of this I am sure.
Let me leave this with an invitation. If you are reading this George, let me extend my hand and heart out to you, the ceremony will be on the turning of the new year. The entire remaining crew of the Anabelle and I would very much like to see you in attendance as we honour Maria but also as we honour all those who made sacrifices in the name of peace.
May the winds and tides lead you to what you desire, but may they lead you home again once you find it.
Your dearest friend
Bill Ironforn.