A Veteran Returns Home: Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
His heart pounded louder than the chatter of the crowds. Ears filled with the sound of his own blood burning in his veins. The screaming and laughing of the people around him dim behind the wall of his objective. The largest hunt he had been on. Unsavoury types were his bread and butter but always outlaws never a law maker. Though both were often unsavoury. It just depended on how far you dug. And he had to do it without a sword at his side. His hand swept over the gap in his belt. His heart beat faster.
The crowd flowed around. He stood still. Watching. Waiting. Young men and women jostled to the front, to the line of soldiers marking the edge of where the procession would pass. Small children sat on their mothers’ shoulders, waving the flag of Thesus. Small, cheap, white cloth stamped with an owl and mountain in blue and stuck on a stick.
Nemo’s heart ached for a brief moment for the flag of old. The flag of the Free Cities and Union of Free Peoples. Is two months so long as to forget your history? He saw a man, one of few, force a smile. He hoped that the smile remained fake.
Halberdiers were stationed along the rear of the crowds either side of the roads and streets. Blocking entry to buildings and side alleys as they saw fit. Offering directions to newcomers to the city. All while resisting the urge to abuse their positions. At least Nemo thought so. Why else be so well behaved standing in the armour and colours of Thesus if not to leave a favourable impression to take advantage of later.
He checked his wrist. The bow was still there. Ready and eager. Four bolts sat in the loops of the leather strap. If he used more than one he was a dead man. Even using one and he could wind up in a dungeon for months on end. He checked inside his jacket and found his long knife strapped out of sight. He calmed knowing it was there even though it was useless against a halberd. Even against a sword.
The procession had started from the palace, nestled deep in the west of Tanussi. Away from any gates and where the city walls were thickest. The commoners had been barred entry from that spectacle. A privilege for the remaining merchants and nobles of the city. Bought or forced to accept foreign rule. Many had fled Nemo had learned. Fled to the sea to try distant shores. Fled south and found the same thing. Or fled east and attempted to open the doors to Dohanlu that had remained sealed for centuries. All three seemed certain death to Nemo.
Stipi was a governor who understood one thing at least. A liberal use of coin convinced more people than the best of intentions ever would. The sheer cost of new armour, tabards, and, weapons for the guards and soldiers would make the previous merchant rulers choke. Yet there, in the crowds, were thousands of Thesusian flags, maids with platters of food and ale, confetti for throwing, and who knew what the procession consisted of. Musicians? Dancers? To feast a city for a day required a cities wealth to do and Governor Stipi did so for those who no more than two months prior were the enemy. Coin bought loyalty.
Long triangular flags hung from balconies along the streets. White with azure trim, an owl its body sideways, its face turned outward, stared back coloured in the same azure. In one outstretched claw it held a sword by the blade, in the other a scroll. The main stays of Thesus, war and democracy, justifying one with the other and accruing enormous economic benefit all the while. Granting the people a say in the running of their lives for a small sum of money or produce every three months or year. A cheap bill for such power, some might say.
Nemo scanned the length of the road and saw those pointed flags on every building both sides of the road. Tanussi was of the Republic, that was unquestionable now, what good would killing a governor do? Their army was here, their support increasing readily amongst the populace swayed by peace and feast. What good was resentment when it would lead only to more bloodshed?
Get home and think later. The towns will be far from all this, he thought as he always had. Towns and villages were rarely influenced by city life. Laws unto themselves the few decisions to be made a concern for the Elders’ Council. Those eleven fixed everything. Though Nemo wondered how many more cycles would it be till he sat on that council. He flexed his hand noticing more veins and tendons than before.
A new sound broke over the din of people. A crashing rhythm keeping a beat for whatever frivolities coincided. Drums and not just regular drums but military drums. Enormous two sided drums carried on wagons and beat incessantly during a battle to communicate en masse.
Nemo snapped his neck to the sound coming far down the road. As did many others. Men mostly around his age. The lucky few. Scowls passed over their faces in the crowd. An unpleasant reminder of the past. Many would have said unnecessary. Nemo closed his eyes and settled himself. Blood still raced through him but he could at least focus on his task. As futile as it may be for the Resistance, to him it was the path home.
Appearing at the bend in the road was a unit of Thesusian soldiers. Five wide and ten deep. A full battle ready unit. The man front and centre would be the commander and his men would go everywhere with him on the battlefield.
Nemo could only see the bristling halberds of the unit behind. The weapons dancing in the sun. The snap of iron boots on compacted sand drove those few in the crowd to silence that had not been quietened by the drums. Which came next. The first drum on a wagon pulled by two horses beat by one man. A large man with arms as thick as tree trunks. Expected to drum for hours on end, or for only a few minutes, however long as required. Sweat ran down his brow and his bare arms. His sleeveless tunic cut low to his stomach drenched in sweat from the heat and continuous drumming.
This was not a procession for the governor. But a triumph for the troops, for the commanders, and captains, for the peons. A job well done. Another nation added to the fold. Another couple of senators to be elected to the Thesusian Senate to increase its ever insatiable appetite. A show of power. The stick, as it where. But what, and where, was the carrot?
Behind the drummer and his padded sticks of thunder was a platform on wheels. Pulled by twelve horses. That wealth alone sent shudders down Nemo’s spine. It had taken him years to buy one horse, and that he lost at the Plains of St Iseltor the Stained. Atars, waiting patient as ever at a Resistance stables, was a lucky find. Twelve horses was more than his village of Beargarth claimed.
Upon the platform, the size of six good carts with low sides, were women dancing. Their trailing sleeves swirling in the air as they spun, jumped, and swayed. Three women, dressed in red silks, either side of the platform. All had the same waist length hair held back and bound in three sections. Each wore the same lithe dress that finished above the ankle and swayed, and teased, along with their movements.
Girls with curled hair stood at the corners of the dancer’s platform throwing flowers over the crowd. Their cherubim faces smiling incandescent over the new peoples of the Republic.
Nemo stared over the spear tipped helmets of the leading unit, over the glistening halberds, passed the drummer, and the dancers, to the person standing. Waving to the crowds. Hands the size of a bears with none of the strength. His grin all teeth and gums. Plump cheeks reduced his eyes to beads. Hair pulled to a tight bun on top of his head, held in place with a pin the length of a knife, pointed at one end and one the other hung jewels that grazed the top of the governor’s ear.
Stipi’s beaded eyes floated from one side of the road to the other. His arm never ceasing to wave as it swayed from right to left and back to right. His eyes settled each time, for a split second, on the dancers. He welcomed new faces to the city, smiled at a child waving a Thesusian flag, swam his gaze over to a dancer’s behind, dragged his eyes to the woman pointing up at him on the other side of the road, and then back again. With all the rhythm of a ship in dock bobbing with the tide.
His gown of gold bulged at the waist. The belt fastening the two sides pulled as tight as possible. The crimson collar rose around his neck, causing the skin and fat to pool over the sides, the two sides meeting over his chest, the left line of crimson carrying on, under the belt, and down his right leg. Intricate lacing in blues and reds covered the golden gown, etching out an entire landscape image of lush forests and snow capped mountains. It was an image of home, of Stipi’s home. The view from Thesus or another of the northern cities of the Republic. In the centre of the belt, wide as a forearm long, over his stomach, was a circle of white, azure blue edging, and that by now all too familiar owl sitting atop a mountain surveying the world. Hunting the world.
There was his target. Just another man that had done wrong to others. Like any other Nemo had hunted. Save this man, this Governor Stipi, had been successful. Excessively so. With his golden gown, legions of soldiers, and dancing women all for him. He shared them now but for how long? This was Stipi’s bandit raid. His justification. A honeyed sword was still a sword no matter who or what flocked about its razors edge.
The dancers passed by on their platforms each of the women seeming to lock eye contact with everyone and no one. Powdered eyes and rouged cheeks beaming to all who simply surrendered their gaze.
Such sugared sights were replaced by the sickly sweet image of the governor. His smile all teeth and joy. How do his cheeks not ache? Stipi’s hand waved to-and-fro with lazy gracefulness. A well rehearsed movement. How does his wrist not hurt? So practiced his smile and intermittent laughter at a child waving back. A break in the routine as he greeted a child sitting on the shoulders of her father personally. The jewels hanging from his hairpin jostling as he leaned forward and waved to the child again, making eye contact almost with Nemo. The black beads staring out from creased skin concealed deeper plans.
Stipi’s carriage was open. Lacquered wood in blues and whites pulled by four horses. At the rear a couch fit for one in rich red-brown leather.
Then he was gone. The next unit of soldiers marched onward in the governor’s wake. A second war drum. More dancers. Musicians. Actors performing on horse drawn platforms. A testament to the city no doubt.
Nemo focussed firmly ahead. Governor Stipi aboard his open topped carriage. Brave for an invader. Reckless also.
The procession marched on. Following the path the Resistance had chalked onto their map of Tanussi. The first possible stop lay ahead. A stand built over a pool of clear blue water. Teh water rippled out from the centre where the spring gurgled out of the ground.
Stipi did not stop. The triumph continued. The city celebrating its own invasion. Forced to do so with a sword at its back. Crowds clogged the square encircling the water spring. Armed troops stood guard at either end of the floating dais. Speaking over water. Quite the significant claim, Nemo thought. Water, bringer of all things. To be associated so closely worked to paint Thesus in the right light. A bringer of something rather than taker. Or would it be seen as a poison to the source of all things? A knife’s edge of difference. Stipi’s carriage curled around the ring of the pool of water bubbling from its spring and turned onto the next stretch of crowded street.
The hundreds of people pressed shoulder to shoulder in the square suddenly lurched as one. All flowing in the wake of the governor and his parade. A valve had opened and the crowds gushed towards it.
The guards lining the street had broken their lines to march in units behind the parade opening up the street for inhabitants again. The march of visitors and inhabitants swept Nemo along. All eager to hear what Stipi would say. Of what would happen under Thesusian yoke.
Nemo pressed himself as close to the edge of the river of men, women, and children as he could. Wanting an escape when the time came. Missing his target while he was trapped in the centre of the audience was not his idea of a successful mission. Nor Humaya’s or Frya’s he suspected.
He was swept around the spring by the bulging crowds of the excited and the merely curious. The hopeful and the pessimistic. The cacophony of voices was quick to drown out the beating of the war drums ahead. The ground still vibrated with the thud of the drum and marching steps of the troops. His knees shook with the tremors of the army. He gritted his teeth and waiting for the war cries. For the shrieks of horses. The twang of bows snapping arrows into the sky.
That never came.
The citizens of Tanussi and the visitors too began to march as one. Not in ordered lines or units but each step synced with the beat of the drum. Nemo relaxed his jaw and wormed his way through the snake of people, nearer to the edge, near to the guards, nearer to the side roads.
At the edge of the procession huddled the less enthusiastic. The slower of pace. The shorter of stride. Children, elderly, people who cared little, or simply the mildly curious. Those excitable, wowed by the prospects of politics, the details of rulership, the easily entertained, the lovers of other people’s problems. They crammed to the centre of the road and pushed ahead to the steady beat of the drum. Arguing over what would be announced, what would be said, what the future would be. As if it mattered.
Nemo paced with those at the edges and listened to the concerns of hungry children, tired veterans, or skilled tradesmen concerned about missed orders. Real concerns. Problems they themselves could deal with.
Guards stood watch at the entrance to side roads with halberds twice their height. Soldiers paced along balconies with arrows nocked to bows strings.
Overly prepared or knowledgable of something, Nemo hoped the former. Otherwise he had been ratted out. Betrayed. He prayed that was not the case. He touched the ring hanging beneath his shirt, hoping it would bring luck. The knife pressed hard against his ribs. The wristbow heavy on his arm. The next spring, near to the north east gate from the day before, was close. The pace of the crowds eager. The pace of Stipi’s parade eager still.
Nemo approached a side alley. A guard in new, clean, regalia acknowledged him but not speak. He stood quiet and out of the lane of traffic. Nemo stretched his leg and sucked his teeth rubbing his thigh with his right hand.
‘Are you alright?’ The guard spoke, his voice booming in his helmet. His accented Tanussi gave him away as Thesusian. Or somewhere north. Somewhere not Tanussi.
‘Just an old wound,’ Nemo lied. ‘Actually,’ a plan formed in his mind, ‘I need to relieve myself,’ he approached the guard making sure to limp a little. ‘Mind if I head down there to do so?’ He pointed down the shadowed alleyway.
The guard turned to look. ‘Not today.’
‘Please, there isn’t anywhere else to go,’ Nemo rubbed his thigh again.
The guard peered out of his expressionless helmet masking his entire face. He glanced down. ‘Go on. Be quick about it,’ he said stepping to his right.
‘Thank you. Thank you,’ Nemo repeated and darted down the alley as fast as his fake limp would allow.
He glanced back to the see the guard turn away and focus once more on the marching crowds before him. Nemo pressed himself against the left wall of the side road and stopped limping. Sliding down the first off-shoot he found. A long, winding, side road that at first glance ran parallel to the parade-laden main road.
The side road was empty. As expected. Too many alleyways to patrol and too few soldiers to do so. Better to seal them off along the procession roads. Much to Nemo’s advantage. He glanced back every few steps to check he was not being followed. Darting over the entrances to other alleyways, watched by numerous Thesusian’s, leading back to the main road.
Nemo hopped over the blade of sunlight piercing across the side road from one alleyway to another. Avoiding any potential glances from the Thesusian guards. He ducked behind a stack of wooden crates to catch his breath. He held his breath for a moment to hear for followers. Nothing. He turned and knelt on the ground and peered through the slats in the crates. No one. He released his breath and listened for the parade. The raucous cacophony of the crowd, the beat of the drums, and the lyrical music played for the dancers and actors. He found it, a shallow din not far off. A mess of voices, drums, and trumpets. He was, at least, on the right track still. The next spring, the enormous Pool of Tranquility, near by.
He strode further down the side road with its tall buildings either side maintaining a cool air that whistled into wind unpredictably. Glancing down onto the main road as he passed an alleyway he saw the crowds had stopped marching. Instead shorter heads jostled for a better view.
Governor Stipi had stopped the parade.
The Pool of Tranquility was near.
Nemo carried on along the side road and stole glances down every alleyway he could. Noting the end of the crowds and the beginning of the soldiers with their halberds gleaming in the sun.
He rushed passed another alleyway entrance. His shadow flitting over the walls of the buildings either side.
‘Who goes there?’ He heard shouted in that echo that only came from a certain type, a Thesusian soldier.
Damn it, he thought. He ran a short distance to the next alleyway and pressed himself up against the wall. He watched the guard at the end and hoped, for there was nothing else, that he did not turn around. Or hear him.
Nemo looked straight ahead and saw a window. An open window. A curtain fraying at the base and rolling in the breeze caught in the alleyways and side roads. Nemo climbed into the building expecting to be hit by a pan or chair leg. Neither happened. Instead he found himself, alone, in a house. Chairs neat against the table. An empty kettle, its lid laying upside down beside it, and a stack of bowls. A broom stood against the wall and a pile of dust and straw at its side. Interrupted by the parade no doubt, Nemo thought as he pushed through a curtained doorway into the next room.
Three beds lined the wall all pushed up against one another with only a sliver of space between. A chest sat at the foot of the middle bed. Balanced on its curved lid sat a straw doll with painted face.
‘Did you see anyone go through here?’ Nemo heard from outside the window.
Nemo hurried to the opposite window, also open. He climbed out and into the next alleyway. He crouched low to the ground and saw the war drum from the parade. Stipi was close. He checked his wristbow, fingering the bolts in the leather cuff and running his thumb along the string.
Opposite him was the next set of buildings. And a door. Closed. But a door still. Nemo stepped across the alleyway soundlessly and twisted the handle. The door popped open. Is it a trap? He thought and pushed the door wider.
Inside was dark. All the curtains pulled too. He entered and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Along the right hand wall stretched cabinets and a solid work surface. To his left where more cabinets but in the centre a large stone basin. A jug of water sat on the wooden top. He closed the door behind him. A kitchen?An inn, perhaps, he thought and traced his hand along the left side cabinets as he ventured into the room.
He soon reached the next wall of the kitchen. It was not a big space. No building in Tanussi could be said to be spacious. Only buildings before the city walls where roomy and most of those were owned by the wealthy. Or, apparently, clandestine Resistance operatives with unknown, but generous, funding.
Brushing his hand along the corner he felt the ridges of the wall. Not wall. He squinted. A door. He knocked with one finger knuckle. It returned the dull thud of wood. He could make out the brass door handle near the corner of the room. He reached for it.
Listening for the fateful footsteps of his trackers. Hoping they had given up. Someone coughed. The guard had not given up and there was a second with him. The pad of footsteps too many for one person.
Nemo opened the door an inch at a time. A crust of light peeled around the door from an uncovered window. He opened the door enough to slide through the space between frame and door.
His eyes stung from the light. Spots floated over his vision. Spots in the shape of a square. He squinted through one eye up to the window that plagued his vision. Stairs. He turned and pulled the door closed. The brass lock clicked into place. Too much noise, he knew but it was too late. He headed up the stairs two at a time. The staircase reached a window and turned to the right following the wall of the building. The front wall.
He crouched and from the window he could see the parade. The drummers had ceased. The musicians continued with their trumpets and strings. The governor’s carriage was empty and surrounded by two units of the Thesusian army.
The citizens of Tanussi milled about the road. Unable to advance or retreat. Guards had opened up part of the square and allowed people to fill the space facing the Pool of Tranquility. Nemo pushed himself against the wall to see the water spring. There was no platform built over it, not like the last one. Instead a simple three step podium had been erected in front of it facing the ever burgeoning crowds.
Nemo ducked beneath the window sill and continued up the stairs to a room at the top of the building. Empty. Save for the thin white curtains hanging over the glassless window overlooking the Pool of Tranquility and another overlooking the alleyway.
His palms were slick with sweat. His heart pounded, it always did right before a kill. Other bounty hunters claimed to be used to it. Nemo was sure they lied to feel better. Ending another life was never easy unless you viewed them as less than human. But if they were less than human their actions would be forgivable as animalistic. Justice required Nemo’s bounties to be human.
He approached the window overlooking the Pool of Tranquility. The arms of the wristbow snapped into place as he pulled the release loop around his middle finger. He twanged the string. Still tight. He pulled one of the four bolts out of the leather cuff and slit the curtain with it. Making a gap in the fabric that he could aim and see out without being obvious. He fitted the bolt to the wristbow as he would have a crossbow. The bolt sitting in a groove in the wood with the string pulled taut against the bolt.
The empty podium within sight. Now all he had to do was wait for Stipi to show himself. The square was almost full. Small heads of black and brown bobbed at the far end like a murky swamp.
All he could hear was his heart pounding in his throat. How am I getting out of here? He thought seeing no other exits in the bare attic room. His mind focussed on his three room home in Beargarth. The well in the centre of town. The village elders meeting around it each day at midday. Delara’s rolled up sleeves as she learnt to knead the bread dough under her mother’s watchful eye.
He cleared his throat and the world blurred into place, becoming crisp and clear. Aiming the wristbow towards the centre of the podium as a test he held his breath for a count of five, pursed his lips, and steadied his breathing.
A ripple of corralled silence spread across the crowds of people. The pushing and pulling ceased. Nemo could not see if the guards had caused this but he could see a plump man in golden gown step out of a guard house and into the sun on the far side of the square. Four guards walked with him, two ahead, two behind.
Governor Stipi flashed his smile for the few people in the front rows that could see him passed the ring of guards holding the masses back. As soon as he was out of sight, or thought he was out of sight, from view of the people his smile vanished and replaced with a cynical frown and darkened brow. Stipi approached the steps of the podium and without stalling returned to the happy governor all too eager to aid a waning populace. Smiling and waving to the, now, silent crowds hushed by suspense and firm suggestion from armed and armoured soldiers.
A crash of splintering wood echoed through the building. And likely out into the Pool of Tranquility with its glassy surface save for a thin trickle and ripple on the north side. The pipe feeding the pool from deep under ground. Nemo listened for the rumble of footsteps. There were none. Not yet. But they would come.
He took aim down the iron sights of the wristbow. A short fork of iron at the tip of the bow and Nemo placed Stipi in the centre of it. Holding his left arm steady with his right and resting his shoulder against the window frame he waited for the Governor to stand still.
Stipi reached the centre of the podium his guards standing at each of the corners. Two facing the crowds, two facing away, their heads swivelled and scanned for dangers. Stipi was a high priority target and being in public flagrantly so soon after the invasion was a risk.
‘Ladies and gentlemen of Tanussi and the surrounding regions. Greetings to travellers, merchants, and anyone else who has been lucky enough to catch this wonderful day in Tanussian history,’ Stipi spoke with a rolling gravel. Rough and consistent. A voice of authority. Of the practiced orator.
‘This will not take long and once I am done the real festivities can begin,’ he paused pressing a finger to his lip. ‘I have come to partly make an offer and partly to welcome you into the fold of the Republic. The second rests on the answer to the first. And so, I will make it plain,’ he paused again searching the crowd with beaded eyes.
Nemo saw his head turn slowly over the crowd. His hair pinned atop his head with a gold hairpin adorned with hanging jewels. He aimed for the mans prodigious neck. Soft and fleshy for a sure kill.
‘The Senate is willing to make each and every inhabitant of Tanussi and its surrounding regions voting citizens. The details of what you can and can’t vote in and for depending on station, occupation, and property ownership will be laid bare when you answer. A vote means control of the direction of your nation, as part of the wider Republic,’ Stipi held his hands out wide welcoming the hordes.
Nemo lined his shot in between Stipi’s rehearsed lines. He pulled the slim string round his forefinger and the bolt shot with the lightest of hisses from the wristbow.
‘What do you want?’ Someone shouted from amongst the crowd. A fair question.
Stipi turned to face the heckler, ‘A good question.’ Stipi had turned his head and leaned out to his right. A bloom of red tarnished his golden gown and the tapestry of Thesusian history sewn into its body. Stipi fell to one knee. The bolt standing proud in his left shoulder. His arm limp against his thigh. To his credit he only winced and blubbered in silence.
Pounding boots rattled up the staircase.
Nemo, wide eyed, fumbled for a second bolt. His heart raced. His palms slick with sweat. Suddenly his hair was too long, his beard itched, his jacket tight across his shoulders. He bit into the bolt as he pulled the bowstring back.
‘Good question,’ Stipi bellowed from one knee. ‘I want the names and locations of every soldier who fought for the enemy, for the Free Cities, every home they lived in. I want to know every weapons stash the rebels have in this city. Who their leaders are and who is funding them. Give me this,’ he hissed as two of his guards helped him to his feet, ‘and you will see peace and prosperity for a thousand years.’
The door burst open. Nemo pressed himself against the corner of the room and slotted the bolt into the slot on the wristbow. He aimed it at the walking iron statue drawing a sword. He fired. The bolt struck the man in the under arm. One of the few areas lacking stout protection. The man cried out and fell backwards. The second soldier dove out of the way and let him fall down the stairs. Nemo drew his knife from inside his jacket knowing it would not help.
The chatter of the crowd grew.
Stipi had gone. Alive.
Nemo lunged at the soldier. Knife half the length of the sword. The soldier coated in iron and leather. Nemo with trousers and a leather jacket. Woefully unprepared.
The soldier slashed methodically pushing Nemo back into the room. Behind the guard charged three others, each with swords at the ready.
Nemo panicked turning from one adversary to the other. They had him surrounded. In a small, empty, attic room above the Pool of Tranquility and a mere two days ride from home. Not here. Not now.
‘The governor wants him alive,’ one shouted to the others.
How did Stipi already know I was here? The governor was not a man to allow something to go unknown Nemo realised.
Nemo launched himself at the soldier nearest the door and felt the heavy steel pommel of a sword hilt strike his head before his knife even clashed with a blade. Darkness swept over him. He was on the floor. He pushed himself up only to slam back down into the floor boards. His arm ached. He reached for his knife. Gone. A bolt. He fumbled to his left wrist. Gone too.
They grabbed at his arms. He pulled back and felt a boot dig into his spine. His shoulders twisting painfully backwards.
Rope. His wrists bound. Legs too. He saw the boot of a guard step over him and then felt the dull thud of metal. Then blackness.
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