The sun rose over the distant sand dunes and began to shed its punishing heat on rice fields east of the city. Long before the sun was fully in the sky, the farmers and slaves had already been long in the drainage pools, their stooped shapes scattered far across the flood plains bordering the main canal. Most were human, but a few were bird brains, and their slender forms strode effortlessly as their machine arms worked the water plants.
In the main channel, the largest barge of The People’s Army sat nestled against the village mooring stone. From here, the Western City and The People’s Army that surrounded it was a mere speck on the horizon. To the men on the barge, the grand pyramid was yesterday’s memory, and the tether that ran straight up from its top to point into the sky was only evident when it glinted in the sunlight like a strand of spider silk.
That tether was the last remaining one of three. For the younger soldiers, it was the first time they had ever seen one. And they had left the army behind them, along with the Field Marshal, to finish their work on bringing that last city of glass down.
A long, narrow woven reed bridge reached out across the water from the village to the mooring point. The tied up barge was piled and stacked with both straight and bent metal girders. The remains of the ambassador's airship and its docking tower. Or, since the assassination of her father, the Empress’ airship now, wherever she may be.
The Warrant of the barge was a tough man. He wanted to join the men below for the morning breakfast, but instead, stood with a sheaf of papers in hand, watching the shoreline along the village. Waiting. He was the captian of a rowdy gang of hooligans. To be assigned to this barge you had to be sick, lame, or crazy, and he had plently of all three types of men. Too ill or mad to be part of a normal troop. Men that were disruptive or unable. His boat was part hospital ship, part jail. He had been assigned as Warrant of the barge when his predecessors had failed, eventually sucumbing to these wild men, but he had never been replaced.
He watched now as a young man sprinted along the shoreline and jumped onto the footbridge. He rushed towards three bulky men who were just leaving the ship, stevedores from the village who had delivered their supplies. The men jostled and grumbled, but the young man slipped past them showing starting agility.
The cool morning air over the bridge was full of nippers and dragonflies, but the searing heat from the morning sun could already be felt on the skin, and the bugs would not be long in disappearing. The warrant waited, the dispatches clutched in hand, his foot on a gunwale, and his forearm on his knee. The other hand he had on his pistol.
The young man reached the barge, placed a hand on the stone plinth and doubled over to catch his breath.
The warrant, his face scarred from a childhood pox, gave the young man a moment.
“Stand up there, laddy-buck, and get to it. I ain’t got all day. I’m about to shove off.”
The young man stood, still trying to catch his breath.
“I’m glad I caught you, Sir…,” he began, trying his best to speak through the gulps of air. “I'm a new recruit for The People’s Army… reporting Sir.”
“Warrant.” The scar-faced man said.
“Sir?”
“Look Recruit. You don’t call me Sir. I’m not an Optio. An Optio will have a command ridge on their helm and shoulder. The taller the ridge, the higher they command. You call any of them ‘Sir’. They ‘think’, the rest of us ‘do’. I’ve got a warrant of execution patch on my shoulder. You call me Warrant. An Optio has warranted me the power to execute a soldier, a trooper, a lancer, or even a new recruit like yourself if I see fit. That’s your first lesson as a recruit. Now, get lost. I’ve got stragglers that haven’t shown up yet. And I barely have room for them, so I don’t have room for you.”
The young man squinted up at the warrant. He took in the light black hidecloth sailor’s uniform and a very rare tec-blaster in a custom quick-draw holster.
“But you’re the last boat sailing east.”
“That’s right. I am. Now get lost, kid.”
“How am I supposed to join up, then? I can’t walk. I don’t have a pack.”
“Don’t care.”
“You say you wait for stragglers. If they aren’t here when you shove off, then you’ll have room for me, and then I can go with you.”
The warrant chuckled. “You didn’t wake up on the slow side of the fire, now did you? Speaking of, where is your pack?”
“I never did have one Warrant. That’s why they sent me to ride your boat. The Army will give me all I’ll need once I get there.”
The warrant chuckled again. In a lighter tone, he said, “Well, that sure is true. Keep those wits about you, kid, and come back in a year or two. You’re too young anyways.”
“I’m not, Sir, sorry, Warrant. I just turned sixteen.”
“You’re tall but too skinny. I don’t think you could march under an army pack at an army pace for one day, let alone fifty. Now git. Go find yourself a girl back there in the village. We’ll take you in another full run of moons. Go pull rice for a year. The People’s Army ain't goin' nowhere.”
“I want to train up now Warrant. It’s the last tower fall. That’s historic. I want to be part of that. And I’m wearing the black already, Warrant,” the youth said, slapping his chest—an oversized brigandine chest piece.
“Ya, I saw that as you were running along the shore. The only reason I’m still talking to you. Ive heard of them but never seen one of the old armour before. Must be about a thousand moons old. It won’t last you long out here. The sun will kill it. It must have been left somewhere cold and dark for a long time.”
“Yes, Sir! Warrant. My grandfather’s. It has his mark. Says who came with it could join on his word. So here I am!”
“You’ve got gumption, kid. I’ll give you that…” And shifting his gaze beyond the youth, the man straightened up, “Now, what do we have here? One of my stragglers?”
The young man turned with the warrant to watch a small boat. The single occupant was awkwardly flailing at the oars, attempting to make their way as quickly down the edge of the shallows toward them.
“Seems someone else is in a hurry to catch you, Warrant.”
The man grunted his reply.
The oars were flung every which way in a ferver of thumping, splashing, and cursing that sometimes caused the skiff to kick off in the wrong direction and tangle in the reeds, which evoked even more cursing.
“Well an absolute blaze of boating skills they bring. Definitely must be somebody that I’m going to have to take care of along with all these others on my ship of fools.” As the boat drew closer, they could see the figure at the oars was small. Nearly childsize, but someone who obviously possessed a man's strength and vocabulary. They watched as the little man rowed through the shore reeds to just miss the mooring stone to thump into the side of the barge. The warrant had moved to stand over the man. The youth took this opportunity to cross the gangplank and join the Warrant. They both peered down into the boat.
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The little man dropped the oars and spun to face them. As he moved, the boat tipped and nearly slid out from underneath him, and he caught the edge of the barge. “Permission to come aboard, Captain!” The man said, grinning as his boat drifted further away to carry his feet ever backwards. “Got important news, Sir! Great and immediate news if you’ll give me a hand!” His tone became as rushed and grasping as his grip on the edge of the barge. The expanse of water yawned open below his belly, and the Warrant could only crouch and grab his shoulders. The Warrant stood, lifted him in the air like a child, and set him on the deck. The man stood there grinning up at him and sketched a salute as his boat drifted away.
“Thank you, Captain. I'm much obliged!” He saluted again and then bowed. The man wore nothing more than rags and sun-dyed leather. He was short and stocky, the size of a large child with stubble, a gruff voice, and an old scar of a ‘T’ carved into one cheek under a bright new gold ring.
“I’m not a Captain. I’m a Warrant, little thief.”
“Recently pardoned thief.” The little man flicked at the gold hoop that ran with blood from where it pierced his cheek. “With a note to board Captian Warrant Sir! Me and my mates Sir who’s be needing help they does.”
“You’re one of the three mentioned in an Optio dispatch. The traders just delivered this dispatch with my stores. You're a thief. Most thieves are tech-savvy lock breakers. Are you?”
“What, Sir? I, we, they need help, Sir. There is this confounded situation, Sir... My mates are stuck. It's a total misunderstanding, Sir. Why I was in such a hurry Sir, we must save their lives!”
“I asked you a bloody question. Are you tech-savvy? I lost my last tech in a storm. Can you handle repairs, or are you just a breakdown man?”
The short man snatched a black piece of cloth from his pocket and grinned, “Why, of course, Sir. That’s why I’m here. I’m your tech man all assigned proper like, Sir. I got the note colour of The People right here from the Optio himself. Such a kind young lad he was too, Sir. Said he’d send you that letter to the last boat Sir.”
“So you swear you can handle tech? Cuz if you cannot, I’ll drown you for the lying thief that you are.”
“Yes, swear to it, Sir, sure as I’m golden. I can fix tech, I can Sir or you’re right to throw me overboard with the dead chaps in the bottom deep.”
The Warrant raised his sheaf of papers and thumbed to the middle of them to check something. “Three were pardoned. Where are the other two?”
“It’s my mates, you see as I’ve been tellin. They have run into this evil witch of a young Sister…”
The little man caught himself at berrading one of the Cloistered. He realized may have spoken too quickly and was now wondering if this man he talked to, this man in charge, was a believer. His tone became apologetic, “I don’t mean no crossing of the Sisterhood, Sir, it's just…,”
“Never mind that. Tell me why they aren’t here.
The tall, young, handsome lad wearing the old-fashioned brigandine chest piece was running again. Back along the bridge, through the flood plains, and between the drying racks and smouldering mud kilns at the edge of the village. He broke through the smoke into an assortment of hovels, leaped a shallow ditch with children playing in it, and ran up a gentle slope to a low mudweave fence. Beyond was a two-story rough-hewn stone building.
He ran along the fence and up to the front gate, where a small crowd had gathered. He came to a stop beside an older man in a heavy apron.
“Are you the shopowner, Sir?” the youth asked, gasping for air once again.
“Nope. Blacksmith. The owners are inside. Most likely hiding.”
“I’m looking for a Sister.”
“Well, you’ve found her lad. She’s inside there, about to gut two former slaves with the lodgeman’s blunderbuss. He keeps it loaded and working fine. Should know. Recently put a new tension arm in it. Two nasty men she’s got in there. Some soldiers came through and freed our slaves that had skills. Freed three of the branded. Nasty dealings, I’d say. But what do I know, I’m just a blacksmith…”
The youth put his hand on the gate latch, but the blacksmith dropped a big meaty paw over top.
“Now, son, you’ve got no business getting yourself killed. Let the Sister have her judgment and good riddance to them. Best not interfere. She’ll come out when she’s done.”
“I’ve got to go in, Sir. I’ve been commanded by the barge Warrant.” The young man ducked and slipped through the gate.
He strode to the front of the trader’s lodge and slowed. Glancing back to the few villagers and catching the concerned look of the blacksmith, he turned and steeled himself and placed a soft boot on the first step of the lodge. He climbed the stairs slowly and approached the open door at an angle.
He peered around the edge of the stone archway, taking in the counter with the table and chairs in front and the shelving and barrels behind. He continued to ease cautiously sideways to take in more of the open room.
“The curious die just as easily as the guilty.” It was a woman’s voice that spoke. It was a strong voice. A young, clear voice that held power.
“The Warrant sent me, Ma’am. From the barge. The ship’s captain some call him.” The young man edged clear of the archway to stand in the open door. In the center of the room, in a chair, was a heavy-set woman wearing the white robes of a Sister and the thin mask of a new Accolade. Her red hair was shorn close to stubble. She wasn’t much older than him.
Across from her at the round table sat two men dressed much the same as the small man in the dinghy had been: rags and leather. The young man walked slowly into the lodge hall and approached the table. As he did so, he could make out the markings on these men’s faces. Each had been cut deep and wore old scars of an ‘R’ on a cheek, and both wore bright golden rings newly pierced over them. Between the Sister and the two men, there was a broken lock box and an assortment of credit chips, tech, and gold on the table.
“Warrant says he’s about to shove off, Ma’am. His messages say you, Ma’am, and these two are to be leaving with him.”
“These two here need to come up with the rest of their thievings. Or they die. I’ll catch the next barge.”
“There ain’t no more barges, Ma’am. That’s the last. The Warrant says all the rest stay in siege of the city and work in pullin’ down the tower, Ma’am. Theirs is the last barge, with the Ambassador’s wrecked airship on it, Ma’am, for repair in the east and all that, Ma’am. Says he’s bout to sail away.”
The Sister continued to stare at the two men, who began to shift restlessly as they took in the news.
“Now see here, Sister,” the man to the left said. Both men looked well-worn. Not too old yet, but they had sun burnt skin and lined faces. “We're supposed to be on that boat. Freedmen now and recruits.” He dipped his head to the items on the table. “We had no part in that. You have no right…” The men were restless but also tense. They didn’t try to rise from their seats.
“You two aren’t going anywhere until all of the money you stole is accounted for.”
The young man crouched, ever so slowly, to peer underneath the table. The sister was holding a blunderbuss, and it was pointed at the two men, their midsections in line with the muzzle. The weapon was one of the largest he’d ever seen. It would kick like a bulllizard, but the sister looked strong. She had the heavy-muscled hands of a man. He straightened back up.
The man who had been pleading with the Sister spoke to him. “Sisters ain’t supposed to be so violent as this now, are they?”
“Nope.”
“Does it look like she’s goin’ to pull the trigger, lad? She’s got her hand on it and all that? Holdin’ the gun real ready like bracing for a wicked kick?”
The young man gave a severe and slow nod.
“OK, Sister. We admit it. And that’s all we have of it. Their ain't no more.”
“That’s not all of it. Put the rest on the table. Now. Lad. You better leave. This gun will scatter them across this room. I don’t want to get any on you.”
“Oh, geeze, Sister.”
“Ma’am.” He said, “There are three of them. One is down at the boat already, a little man. I’d guess he snuck out of here the back way in the lodge skiff. He most likely has the rest of what was in the lockbox.”
She sat up with interest. “Is that true? Was there another one of you? Another filth of a rapist?”
“That little rat Scrab!” They both began to nod. “Yes, that’s where it’s gone! Scrabber’s got it, that’s for damn sure!”
“A slave like you?”
“Former slaves, Ma’am. He’s a thief—well, of course, he was a thief. Pardoned just like us,” he replied with an earnest grin.
“You have known where the rest was all this time. That’s what this was about. Delay to let him get away. You thought you could talk your way out of here and still get a share.”
“No, Ma’am. That ain’t it whatsoever.” They both shook their heads. “We hardly know the little rat. He’s a new one to slavin’ the rice, Ma’am. Didn’t know him but for to hates him.”
“The Warrant says you must go to the barge now, Sister.” The young man interjected. “And the little man’s ‘T’ brand looks old like theirs, and he’s telling the Warrant that these are his pals.” Both men shot him mean looks.
“Right then. You two take those scraps of black cloth off.” Both men did as they were told. They removed the knotted cloth from their shoulders and dropped it to the table.
“And the gold rings.”
“Now Sister! These are pardoning rings straight from the Optio’s hand! We’re free men now! Recruits! We’re freed and pardoned men! Pots here is a cook.” The man who had yet to speak nodded. “And I’m an old boat hand. Scabs is a tech. You have no right to take these rings. You do; we’ll be back in the rice fields…”
“That’s right, Sister.” The other man, Pots, finally had the nerve to speak. “You are a Sister. The Cloistered don’t harm others.”
“The broken lock box is evidence that you men haven’t changed.”
“We already explained that, Ma’am. That vile Scrabber did that!”
“Well then, in a moment, I’ll pick those rings off the stone wall behind you.” She stood and raised the blunderbuss to point at their heads. “Or you’re free to lay them on the table, go back to the rice, and I’ll go to my boat. You choose.”