“It gets better.” He peppered the pipe’s bowl with tobacco. “If we disconnect from the greenlands, there’s no way we can rely on the redlands to fight for us. And some whiteland cities are going to be commissioned to train their own militia, in case those riots try coming up here. And guess which mayor volunteered his services?”
Several weeks had passed since his conversation with Charles about whitelands independence, but life in Haid continued as it always had. The loggers worked in the western woods hacking away at pine, the shop workers were busy with their daily routines of commerce and stocking, and the children were out enjoying the tail end of their summer play. The sheriff seemed oblivious to the news of secession, that or he wasn’t bothered enough to comment on it.
The sheriff and Samuel were spending more time together than they had before. When Samuel would come in for the evening, the sheriff would be sitting at the kitchen table with an extra glass of liquor poured and ready. Samuel wasn’t fond of drinking, especially after the night he got so drunk he passed out on the side of his cot in a pool of his own vomit. But he would have a glass or two with the sheriff anyway. Sometimes the sheriff would talk about random things: how getting older was making it harder for him to move, his disdain for the cold weather, his peacekeeping tactics, and how it’d been years since he’d had a good lay. Other nights the sheriff wouldn’t say much of anything as they sipped on their alcohol and stared into nothingness.
Before heading to the jailhouse, Samuel visited the butcher’s shop. The bell above the door dinged as he stepped inside. No one was in the front room, so Samuel went by the display counter and waited. A few seconds passed before the swinging doors popped open and Claudette walked out. When she saw Samuel, she went over to him and hugged his neck.
“Hey,” she said in a sweet but low voice.
“Hey.”
Claudette released her hold and went behind the counter, wiping her forehead. “Did you need something?” she asked as she tossed off her bloodied apron.
“No. I just … I missed you. Wanted to see how you and your mom were doing. See if there’s anything I can do to help.”
A seemingly forced grin escaped her lips. “There’s nothing you can do.”
“He could help with the shipment,” Laura called out from the back room. “The train should be arriving in the next twenty minutes.”
“Sure. I don’t mind.”
Claudette turned on her heels to face the door. “He won’t know what to do or where to pick up the shipment or—”
“Go with him, then.”
Samuel put his gloved hands inside of his pockets, unsure what to do.
Claudette thudded back behind the double doors and returned with her jacket and a tiny leather purse. They left the shop and made their way over to the rail depot. The building was nearly as big as the mayor’s estate, but its only decoration was a large black sign hanging above the pavilion that had Haid painted in fading white letters. Claudette sat on the empty bench, her eyes looking south along the railroad tracks. There was a crew of loggers waiting by their parked truck, their boisterous conversations nearly audible from the far distance. Samuel squinted as he scanned down the track. There didn’t appear to be anything approaching.
“Must be running behind today,” Claudette said. “I’m sorry.” She kicked her legs back and forth, the ends of her dress flowing. “I don’t want to take you away from your important job.”
Samuel shrugged. “You’re more important to me.”
“No, I’m not.” She pulled her braid over her shoulder. “I don’t like you working there. I don’t like what patrolmen do to people.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What happened to him, Sam? What did they do to him? Why didn’t you stop them?”
Samuel rubbed his throat. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t. I—”
Claudette’s eyes watered, and she wiped them aggressively. “You would’ve stopped them, right? If you could have? I know that he was stealing, but he didn’t deserve to die. He was only trying to help us. I saw his body, Sam.”
Samuel nodded stiffly. He hated that she was in pain, and he hated lying to her. He hated how Zei had turned into the mayor’s butcher. He hated the mayor for making her that way. Most of all, he hated himself.
Claudette dug her fingernails into the wood underneath her. “My mom is going on like nothing happened. All she talks about is work. And how now we’ve got to figure out better ways to cut down on spending. I don’t understand her. Why is she so heartless? Doesn’t she feel anything?”
“My dad was like that too. About my mom.” Samuel slouched back into the hard bench, his stomach bubbling. “My whole life. He never wanted to talk about her death. She was executed because of me. Because she had a child with a cleric. I wanted him to explain it to me. Tell me what happened to her. How she died. If he tried to save her. If he even cared. But he never told me anything.”
Claudette looked at him. “That’s terrible.”
Samuel breathed deeply. He wanted to see his father again and hold him to the promise he’d made in the woods. His father was never one to break his word. If he said he was going to do something, he’d do it. Every night Samuel went to sleep imagining what information his father might share. He didn’t know if the truth about his mother would bring him any fulfillment, but he wanted to know more than anything. It’s what he’d always wanted.
And yet he was holding back the truth from Claudette because he didn’t think he could bear the weight of her pain anymore. He couldn’t risk losing her. Fear had strangled him to silence, and the guilt continued to swallow him whole.
“Maybe that’s all he could do,” he mumbled. “Try to forget. Maybe it’s the same for your mom.”
Claudette nodded.
The bench underneath them began to tremor, and soon after, the entire structure around them was quaking. They both turned their heads to the south, noticing the faint black machine chugging its way toward them. The railway worker came out from his station, joining them on the platform. He was a tall gentleman dressed in a black coat and corduroys. He was the only other person in Haid Samuel had met who wore glasses, but his frames were much thinner.
The railway worker leaned out to face the oncoming train and cupped his hands over his head, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. “I’m hoping this will be a big one. Our shipments have been delayed for a while now.”
Claudette stood, and Samuel followed suit. As the train drew closer, the wooden deck underneath his feet shook more rapidly, and the squealing of the metal wheels running along the track was enough to force Samuel to cover his ears. The circular steel front of the locomotive churned down the track like a sluggish bullet, the smokestack pushing out gray clouds and the bell behind it dinging loudly. The squealing grew as it got closer to the depot. The train was slowing. The crew of loggers made their way alongside the tracks, their heads watching the carts pass by. One of the loggers turned back and waved for the loading trucks stacked full of lumber to move closer.
When the train came to a halt, the conductor popped out of the cab and trudged out onto the platform. He was an elderly man with gray hair, a thick beard, and bare arms stained with soot and dirt.
The railway worker walked over to the conductor, who was now up on the pavilion. “Shipments have been late. Not to mention the carts keep getting smaller and smaller. Anything to do with those riots I keep hearing about?”
The conductor shook his head, wiping his hands with a filthy rag he’d stashed in his back pocket. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, but perhaps the furnace from the train’s engine kept him warm enough.
“I just drive the thing,” he said in a cracking voice. “It’s chaos down there, if that’s what you’re asking. Damn near got raided by a crew of starving greenies in Borem. Getting too old for this.”
“Aren’t we all?” the railway worker countered as he received the necessary paperwork. He looked at Claudette. “Yours
is on two. One crate of chickens and a goat.”
The conductor guided the crew of loggers to the empty carts near the rear of the train, warning them he wouldn’t be able to fit the usual haul. Before Samuel and Claudette could make their way to collect the shipment, another man emerged from the cab of the locomotive. The man was shorter than most northerners. He was dressed in dark pants, black boots, and a tan shirt that fell to his knees. His hair was black, like Samuel’s, and his bangs fell down his cheeks. His body was lean yet exceptionally toned, and despite a smaller stature, his gait commanded a certain level of respect. Claudette scooted herself a bit closer to Samuel as the man marched up the wooden steps, stopping directly in front of them.
“Greetings,” the man said in a warm voice. He bowed low, but he held out one of his arms as if he were extending a gift. Samuel and Claudette bowed in response. When he came up, he poked out his chest slightly. He was handsome, and his high cheekbones made it hard for Samuel to approximate his age.
“My name is Mikael. Would either of you be able to offer assistance?”
He spoke in an accent that Samuel had never heard before. It was almost as if every syllable he spoke was smoother, more drawled and rhythmic than what he was accustomed to hearing. His olive-toned skin left Samuel with the assumption that the man was from the redlands. Claudette said nothing, perhaps waiting for Samuel to respond. He was too enamored of the stranger to speak. He’d never met someone from the redlands before, and his skin reminded him of his mother’s photograph.
The stranger sighed. “The rumors are true. Whitelanders are cold.”
Samuel pushed up his glasses. “Sorry. Forgive me. How can I serve?”
“I am looking for the mayor of this town,” he said. “It seems he is too busy to provide an escort for his guest.”
The town square was packed to the brim. The loggers had been sent away from their work sites, some of them still lugging around their hatchets and gear. A few men griped about having their day interrupted, but most seemed relieved to have the unexpected break. The blacksmith had been commissioned to set up the makeshift stage in the center of the square, and a few bored loggers helped him haul out the broken pieces and reconnect them with temporary nails. Shop owners gathered directly outside their businesses, as all work in Haid had been canceled for the rest of the day. Patrolmen had been posted around the congregants and near the stage, their weapons exposed in case of any unruly activities.
Samuel rested his back against the butcher’s shop, scanning for the sheriff. The large crowd reminded him of the festival, and this time he had no intentions of policing anything. Claudette and her mother stood beside him. Their deep breaths turned to fog the moment they left their mouths.
“Must be important,” Laura commented.
“Do you think it’s about the foreigner?” Claudette asked.
Samuel put his hands up to his mouth, blowing hard. He had some ideas about what the mayor might announce. He would probably give news about the greenland riots and share how the whitelands were, in all likelihood, breaking alliance with the other states. But what would he tell the citizens about their livelihood? Would he guarantee the loggers that their income would remain unaffected and that the politicians had already reestablished trade with those across the seas? Or would he only make a declaration of independence?
“I don’t know,” Samuel said dolefully.
Before helping Claudette unload the crate of chickens, he had directed the foreigner in the direction of the mayor’s estate. The foreigner thanked him for his assistance and strolled off to the mayor’s house. Who the man was, and why he had been personally summoned by the mayor, was beyond Samuel’s reasoning.
Another hour passed before the stage was ready. More families had made their way out from the neighborhoods, most of them women and children searching for their husbands and fathers. Samuel listened to the conversations around him. Some worried about the severity of the news, since it required an immediate announcement, while others were annoyed that it was taking so long for the mayor to arrive.
“Do you have any answers?”
Samuel turned. The doctor maneuvered around a few shuffling children, her hands tucked underneath her armpits. She got closer to the butcher’s shop, giving a nod to Samuel.
“You’re a patrolman, aren’t you? Why aren’t you gathered with your posse?”
Laura Litten patted her bloodied apron, her nose pointed out as she watched the stage. “He knows as much as we do.”
The doctor tucked a wild strand of silver hair behind her ear.
“Figures.”
The hardness in the doctor’s expression made Samuel uneasy. She was there the day he’d refused to pray for the dying logger. And she was the only citizen who knew about Zei. What did she think of Zei? Of him?
“Damn it, people,” the sheriff’s distinguishable voice yelled out into the masses. Samuel spotted his balding head near the front of the stage. “You all need to move back. Come on, now. Move it!”
Heads and bodies turned as people stepped backward, their bodies pushing against one another. The mayor’s jeep rolled through the path made by the citizens. The vehicle parked next to the stage, and the mayor stepped out from the driver’s side. He blew into his smoking pipe as he strolled up to the wooden steps. The side door swung open, and the foreigner came out. He followed the mayor, his gait long and relaxed. Charles exited last, but he seemed unsure about where he was supposed to go. He awkwardly moved to the end of the platform, choosing to stick beside the sheriff. The patrolmen eased their positions, and the crowds quieted of their own accord, nearly every head facing the stage.
The mayor surveyed the citizens, his hands by his side. He stepped to the front of the platform, his pipe writhing back and forth. He eventually removed his pipe and spoke loudly, his voice reverberating across the shop buildings.
“Citizens. I want to thank you for gathering here today. I realize that this is an inconvenience to your schedules, but I have important news regarding the welfare of our town, of our whitelands state, and of the future.”
Samuel reached inside his pockets, allowing his fingers to graze the end of his knife.
“I’m certain many of you have heard of the southern unrest. Some of you may have even heard that ruling greenlands politicians, men who’ve long aided in maintaining the stability of our alliances, have been savagely overthrown by a crew of mad dogs. In light of this, Governor Bloom and the ruling whitelands mayors have decided it most appropriate to begin terminating our relations with the greenlands. Soon we will cut off all trade and commerce with them. We have voted, and decided, that secession from the states is the best option for our citizens.”
Low whispers buzzed from the citizens, but none dared to project their concerns. The patrolmen held straight faces, their eyes scanning the crowds. The foreigner seemed almost bored by the mayor’s proclamations, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.
“The heinous actions of those greenlands criminals will not be condoned by this great state, and we will do everything to ensure we have no more affiliation with those animals.”
“I have a sister in the greenlands,” the doctor muttered. “Is she an animal?”
The mayor paced the stage. “Now, let me ease your fears. As your mayor, I have and will continue to make your wellbeing my highest concern. Trade with the greenlands will be phased out in a reasonable timeframe, as we work to build new alliances with the Others. Our aim is to leave your daily lives as undisturbed as possible.”
The doctor rolled her eyes.
“Deershit. There’s more to it than that.”
Samuel gave a curt nod, allowing his disdain for the mayor to slip out.
“I also realize that any adjustments with trade will inevitably cut profits in the beginning, but fortunately Governor Bloom has commissioned Haid as one of the towns responsible for training our own militia. Additional state funds are being allocated to help w
ith military supplies, training, and of course, additional pay. This is an opportunity for ordinary citizens of the whitelands to serve our state in extraordinary ways. We do not want a war. But if those greenie dogs think they can bring their greed north, they are sorely mistaken.”
The mayor gave a nod and took a step back. The foreigner brushed his hair back, and he lackadaisically made his way to the front of the platform. The murmurs from the crowd were growing, but the foreigner spoke as if he were unbothered by their confusion.
“I am no politician,” the man called out emphatically, his accent thick. “I am a soldier. I’ve been hired by your mayor to train every willing and able-bodied man to serve in the whitelands’ new militia. I know most of you lack basic understandings of military tactics and combat weaponry. I don’t expect any of you men to become experts of war. But, under my tutelage, you and your families can be ready and armed to face an untrained mob.”
Once the mayor had returned to the estate with the foreigner, the citizens discussed the news with one another. Most seemed to support the mayor and the actions of the governing politicians, especially since he’d promised their livelihoods wouldn’t be affected. “A job is a job,” was a phrase uttered over and over again. A small group of citizens did voice their concerns. Those who griped seemed averse to any sort of change, and a few shared their fears about being a part of any sort of war.
Samuel stood by the butcher’s shop, quietly observing the masses discuss politics and the future of the whitelands. Claudette and Laura had gone inside to continue their work, but he opted to stay put. He held his bunched hands up near his lips, blowing warm air onto his fingers. The children seemed oblivious to the discussions of their parents, many of them finding ways to play chase amid the masses. The other patrolmen held their positions throughout the square, observing the crowd and waiting for further instructions. The blacksmith worked to dismantle the stage, removing nails and dragging parts back inside of his shop.
Demon in the Whitelands Page 18