The people on his boat, both male and female, are blood-stained and blackened from soot, clothes torn and battle-weary. Marquos shouts to the nearest one, “What are you fighting for?”
“Ask the damned guard!” the man yells back, louder than is necessary. He has a broken plank of wood in his hands, which he shakes violently in the direction of the guards, “They’re trying to tear down our homes!”
“Let us off up ahead, we’ll flank them,” another man offers, pointing to a second broken bridge, this one quiet.
“Thank Kail you came along,” the first man shouts.
Marquos shouts back, “Are there any Kands amongst you?”
“Kands?” the first man spits aside, “What do I know?”
“Marquos?” a Kand voice shouts from down the boat. Marquos shoves the nearest man aside for a better view, and sees someone scrambling through the crowd. The man quickly makes his way to the deck and jumps down in front of the pilot, another frail figure with ragged clothing and a filthy face. He smiles, white teeth shining against his dirty flesh, and says “It is you! Thank the stars!”
Marquos eyes the man warily, not recognising him, as he slows the boat down for the next bridge. He calls out “I’m not stopping, pile off quick!”
The first man raises his plank of wood and yells “This way, men, we’ve a town to take back!”
He jumps off the boat onto the bank and starts running away, emitting a loud war cry. The rest of the boat passengers roll off after him, scrambling over the bank and up onto the broken bridge, sprinting down the road with their weapons raised and their voices booming. Marquos watches them all charge back into battle, then turns back to see the Kand has stayed on board.
“Vilce,” the Kand suddenly holds a hand out to Marquos, still smiling, and the pilot warily takes it. Vilce shakes hands with violent enthusiasm, then backs off, catching his breath from the fighting. He leans over, hands on his knees, and lets out a short laugh, before rising and saying “You’re heading to Elzia, right? It’s not far from here, if you take the left canal into the ruins you can moor alright, there’s nothing out there.”
“Do you know what they’re planning?”
“It’s a warzone, there’s no room for plans.”
“Elzia has one,” Marquos replies bitterly, but Vilce is already shaking his head. The Kand raises his voice as a building nearby audibly cracks and tumbles, “This is the fall of the Guards, right here Marquos! We’re a part of it!”
Marquos looks ahead to where the canal splits off, out towards the ashen plain. He looks back over his shoulder, aware that the fallen tower now blocks his retreat. He asks, “What were you doing back there?”
“What did it look like? The people are up in arms, we’re lending a hand.”
“Did you start it?”
“I wish!” Vilce exclaims. “No, I came to help. We’re spread thin, there’s little pockets of resistance all over the city and we’re trying to lend a hand where we can.”
“Resistance against what? Why isn’t everyone trying to put out the fire?”
“Because the world ain’t a perfect place, scavenger,” Vilce turns away and points, “Here, turn here, come on.”
Marquos takes the Hypnagogia into the dark side-canal, targeted towards the flame that touches the sky. It heads into the waste of the burnt ruins, now flanked on both sides by the flat ash of fallen buildings. Moving towards the flame, it becomes steadily hotter, and the water shines with the fire’s reflection.
“There’s a jetty just up ahead,” Vilce leans over the edge of the boat, “Least there used to be.”
There is nothing in the water, and the Kand tuts with irritation. He waves for Marquos to slow down and jumps onto the brick bank of the canal. He rushes along, until he kicks some ash aside and shouts for Marquos to throw a line. The pilot complies, and together they moor the boat to random debris. Vilce turns to the smouldering surroundings and waves an arm back in the direction they came from, saying “This way, it’s not far.”
“My boat…” Marquos says worriedly, but the Kand assures “It’ll be fine.”
Marquos gives the Hypnagogia another upset look and hurries to follow Vilce down the bank. They trot alongside the water for a short distance before Vilce cuts away into the ash, and Marquos follows him unsteadily, finding the ground unpredictably chaotic and warm. They do not have to go far before Vilce jumps down into the dark ground and disappears. It takes Marquos a moment to understand that there is an opening, and that the Kand has not simply been swallowed by the earth. He follows cautiously, and sees a small patch of light below. A series of steps leads down into a tunnel. Marquos follows the light that bounces off the brickwork, down and down in a spiral until he finally catches up to it at the bottom. Vilce stands waiting with a flaming torch. He grins, saying “Pays to be prepared. Now let’s get going, not far to go.”
Vilce walks ahead, lighting up a wide low tunnel that stretches off into the distance. Down here, the sound of the roaring fire and chaotic rioting is finally muted.
12
Highness Elzia holds a council in an open room under the city, lit by a couple of gas lanterns. She is surrounded by men, all ready to run away into the numerous tunnels that lead out of the rooms, and is giving rapid, precise orders. As Marquos enters, following Vilce, he can hear some of the people speaking to her have Estalian accents, some Kandish. They all obey her. She tells one man to assist near the clock tower, and he runs. She tells another to start tearing down the Ro Bridge, and he runs.
“Marquos, your Highness,” Vilce announces with a short bow to the high leader. Elzia bows back to him and says “Very good, head back to the south-east district.”
Vilce nods and hurries away.
Elzia gives Marquos a quick scan up and down, her soft face hardened with the seriousness of her task at hand. Still standing a head shorter than him, the low ceiling and her focal point amongst these men gives her a larger presence, and her eyes are alive with commanding passion. She is dressed in armour, like the Border Guard’s but trimmer, jet black except for a small blood-red smear of a symbol Marquos does not recognise. The high leader does not address Marquos immediately, though she is looking at him, instead responding to other men in the room. One relays information about a fire spreading west through the markets, and she gives commands for two men to organise extinguishing it. Another asks about the riots in the north-east district and she tells him to delay them as long as possible. Finally she points to the pilot and asks “Did you bring back Copin?”
“He’s in the city,” Marquos replies, “He left me in the outskirts, about half an hour ago. You can’t go through with this, Elzia.”
The high leader raises an eyebrow, then says “What do you mean?”
“The bomb,” Marquos growls, “You’ve done enough damage here. You’re mad if you think it’ll help.”
“It will,” Elzia replies calmly.
“Just like that?” Marquos snarls, “Is that all you’ve got?”
Elzia looks at him carefully, and gives a conciliatory shrug, “I have some explaining to do, but now is not the time. Do you have your boat? We need to get to the Construction Frame.”
“I’m not helping you,” Marquos shakes his head, “Not with that bomb, not-”
The high leader puts a hand on Marquos arm and tells him in a soft voice, “We have to move, give me a chance.” She looks over her shoulder to an aide and says “Find Goreth, tell him to be at the Construction Frame’s eastern canal as soon as possible. I’m heading there now.”
“My lady, there’s-” one of the Kands tries to interject, but Elzia raises a finger for him to be silent and says “You stay here and start instructing everyone that at the end of their tasks they are to start a general evacuation. We’ve done enough here, we’ll regroup at the situation camp. Understood?”
The occupants of the room give a general consensus of approval. She turns away from her men, lifting a lamp and taking Marquos by the arm. She walk
s down the tunnel, and the pilot trips at her side, reluctant but complying. Before he can speak, Elzia says “Please don’t question me until we’ve got the boat moving. We’ve got to get there fast.”
Marquos remains quiet, and picks up his pace to match hers as she begins to trot down the tunnel. They climb the stairs back out into the blazing city and Elzia runs towards the boat. Marquos remains quiet right until he is throttling the Hypnagogia back into motion, with Highness Elzia stood at his side looking ahead of them. Then he shouts, to combat the sound of the enormous flame ahead, “You can’t set that bomb off, there’s no telling what it will do!”
“Look around you, Marquos! It’s a wasteland already! They’re killing their own people as it is!”
“It’s not going to help anyone!” the pilot yells, “You’re going to provoke more death than you can imagine! There will be nothing left!”
“I can see the North agreed with you!” Elzia pats his arm reassuringly, giving him another smile. Marquos stares at her for a moment, aghast, before looking away.
“Rosenbault had given up trying to save the world, Elzia.”
“Well I haven’t,” she replies quickly. “Listen, Marquos, this fire has been going for almost three days now. I don’t know how many people have died, all I know is that the Guard aren’t prepared to tackle it. They have all the technology in the world, and it’s dedicated to weapons of war. They’re put into this hellish crisis and that’s all they’ve got, so that’s what they’re forced to use. They started turning cannons on the houses, trying to destroy people’s homes surrounding the fire in an attempt to contain it. But the cannons are too powerful, and they weren’t able to move everyone in advance. They’re not organised to evacuate the city, and when their first efforts failed they resorted to the only method of peacekeeping they know.”
“Then use your people to evacuate!” Marquos pleads, “Do what they can’t! This is no time to try to cripple them all!”
“It’s the perfect time,” Elzia says. “Trust me, Marquos. I know exactly what I’m doing.” Marquos keeps driving forwards, compelled to movement but desperately trying to find a solution in his head. Elzia continues, “For what it’s worth now, Red is safe, Marquos. My men brought her back only hours after you left us, and I sent a messenger to the canal to let you know, in case you wanted to turn back. He got there too late, though.”
“How am I supposed to believe that now?” Marquos shouts back, “You used me, to go up there. Tricked me about your purpose, you never cared about what Rosenbault might have learnt.”
“I care,” Elzia tells him without emotion, “But it doesn’t change what’s happening right now. I understand your problem, Marquos, but this is the situation we find ourselves in, moving forwards. It’ll all make sense in the end.”
He looks down at her, eyes of rage, “I won’t let you set off that bomb.”
“You didn’t come all this way to stop me. You’re trying to convince yourself that you don’t believe in what we’re doing, because if you do then it would make you a part of it. You know what the Border Guard and the Mine Guard have done to this world. How they’ve pillaged all of our lands, killed at a whim and stolen all that we’ve worked so hard to create. They want you to believe in anarchy, in a world without laws in which we are responsible for our own, but it’s a myth. Everyone is being oppressed by them. From the annoyance of having them search your boat to the brutality of their murders.”
“This-” Marquos goes to protest, but Elzia raises a finger to his lips for quiet, leaving it there as she continues, “This is the only way we’re ever going to have a chance of stopping them. Their main power rests in the Metropolis, but this is their backbone. Whatever damage that bomb might do, this monstrosity of an institution has to be brought down. It’s already started, we have a chance to heal the world, and you have to choose a side.”
“That’s insane,” the pilot shakes his head, calmer. “Do you have any idea how insane that is? You could kill everyone!”
“We won’t.”
Marquos lets out an angry snarl, but has no more words, gritting his teeth and leaning heavier on the throttle. Both he and Elzia are profusely dripping now, sweat streaming off them onto the deck. The high leader bites her lip and looks up at him, saying “I never meant to use you, or to mislead you, Marquos. I thought you were acting on something you cared for.”
Marquos gives her an angry look in return, but as he holds her gaze he finds himself believing it. He shakes his head, saying “We don’t know how much damage that thing will do. Rosenbault was creating world-beaters.”
“There’s no-” Elzia pauses, head jerking alertly to one side, and Marquos pricks his ears to the same sound that has distracted her. Somewhere behind the roaring of the flames, a more rhythmic noise sounds. A beating engine, a roar of its own. Elzia looks west, out across the ashen plain, to where some of the sporadic flames are twirling.
“Get down,” Marquos warns her, following her gaze and noting the ominous shadow in the dark sky. The airship is booming over the city, its propellers pressing the fire back down towards the ground and twirling smoke in magnificent arcs around it. It is heading in their direction, its canvas and metal shining in the light of the fires, and it flies dangerously low.
“It makes no difference, they cannot risk landing,” Elzia keeps her calm, “Even if they see us, it will be hours before they can organise anyone to get to this location.”
“Is Retical on that ship?”
The flying fortress hovers towards them, as though directly aiming at the boat, but starts to bank to the side, away from the sky-high flame, and back towards the broken bridges. It turns, with slow grace, towards the untouched slums on the other side of the canal, and hovers above them. Elzia and Marquos cannot make out the men hanging out of metal caging that makes up the airship’s undercarriage, but they see the flashes clearly enough. Rifle fire, down into the streets. Judging by the speed of the flashes, a torrent of bullets are being rained on the people. The airship floats in position, a long cylinder under its metal framing rotating slowly in the direction of the houses. The cylinder lets out a huge blast, just audible from this distance, and the ground below explodes in a dirty cloud of rubble.
“There’s no way,” Elzia finally finishes her thought, “That Rosenbault built anything like as powerful as he wanted. At most, we will level these factories of destruction.”
Marquos does not reply, turning away from the airship to concentrate on the Hypnagogia. The outer limits of the Construction Frame are rapidly approaching, evident by enormous cubes of metal looming over them up ahead, and the canal angles towards one of the buildings. It has a huge opening, tall and wide enough to fit an ocean liner through, which leads into exactly the sort of warehouse that could construct such a vessel. Marquos steadily takes the Hypnagogia through, awestruck by the size of the structure. Their small lanterns barely light the building’s entrance, the light of the fire cut off by the walls as though they have dipped back into the void of night.
“Keep going through,” Elzia instructs, pointing ahead to where the canal exits the building at the other side, some distance away. Marquos pilots on, craning his head around to try and take in the details of this vast building. There is nothing to be seen, as though this is a vast empty shell of a hut. Only as the canal heads back into the open roar of the fire, with the light dancing off the terrain, does Marquos catch a glimpse of the floor inside the building; ashen as the outside. The fire swept through here too, and whatever infrastructure might have been housed in there was completely destroyed.
Beyond the building, the rest of the Construction Frame starts to come into view. They are flanking the sky-high flame now, keeping it to one side as the canal drives down amongst numerous buildings of similar size to the first, some with more intricate designs of gangways and observation huts, but most little more than inhospitable hangars.
Someone shouts from a way off, their voice little more than a whisper against
the fire, and Elzia darts her eyes around, looking for its source. The shout comes again, and she grabs onto Marquos’ arm, saying “Slow down, slow down. Here’s Goreth.”
Marquos does as she says, twisting around to see Goreth emerging from some of the rubble and sprinting towards them, waving his hands above his head. One hand holds an industrial axe, nicked and battered through use. He yells above the fire as he approaches, “My Lady! You have made it! And Marquos, I did not expect to see you again!”
Elzia leans over the edge of the boat and gives him a hand, hauling him onto the deck as he runs alongside it. Goreth takes a moment, panting from this run, and smiles to Marquos. The Kand’s face is charred black and dripping. His clothes are stained dark red all over, his axe clearly soaked with blood that starts to trickle onto the deck floor.
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