022 - Dark Heart

Jacob ran along the stone corridor, his feet unintentionally hitting the ground in time to the pounding of the machine. His rhythm broke as he ricocheted around a corner, bouncing off the wall in his panicked flight. A glance as he turned showed the black-cloaked figures still behind him, their shapes distended and demonic in the fluttering torchlight. Then he was running again.

Hours earlier he had been unexpectedly and unceremoniously released by the Ironguard. He had found himself looking over the immense city of Ironhaven. It was crammed with buildings and crawling with people. There was an intensity and vibrancy of life that seemed to be trying its hardest to contradict, or deny, the dusty harshness of existence beyond the walls.

He had been bewildered, by his interrogation, by his sudden freedom and by the heaving claustrophobic vista before him. He had no idea what had become of his companions. Then he saw, rising from this chaos, the calm might of a cathedral. It had stood proud and clear, reaching to Heaven, offering him familiarity and sanctuary. He had steeled himself and pressed though the city, keeping the spire in view until he reached its hard, cool stone.

The vast interior still echoed with a little of the city’s clamour, but it was muted. He found himself a pew in a quiet vestry and sat down to think. Occasionally a priest would walk through to the adjoining room, where Jacob heard brief, murmured voices, and then nothing. He saw no one come back out.

His curiosity had got the better of him. He pulled his hood up, looking once more like the priest he was no longer sure he deserved to be, and walked through the doorway.

Two Ironguard sat on either side. They looked brutish, and bored.

One on the right spoke, “Your wrist, brother.”

Jacob was suddenly glad he hadn’t re-bound his wrists after his imprisonment. The guard pushed Jacob’s sleeve up to reveal the overlapping circles of his tattoo; he spat on his finger and rubbed the ink, grunted, then waved Jacob on.

At the other end of the room was an arched corridor. He came to a door, wondered whether this was such a bright idea. Then he tried the handle and discovered it was locked.

He tried again. What if he couldn’t go back, if the guards would only let him pass one way?

Then he remembered the key. Oh he had thought himself so clever. He held his breath as he tried it in the tiny keyhole and, sure enough, he felt the mechanism catch, the bolt slide back. He had cautiously opened the door onto a flight of stone steps leading downwards and descended, locking the door behind him.

He descended into darkness. And deep beneath the cathedral, beneath the city, he had seen the machine. He had looked down into a pit and witnessed the gaping mouths of fire and the soot-stained wretches that fed them. He had felt himself sweat with the cloying heat, felt his breath come short in the barren air.

Mighty pistons pounded a rhythm like a thunderous pulse and as he had stared in horror and incomprehension at the black heart of Ironhaven someone had seen him. A black-robed figure had called to him and begun to mount the steps that wound round the sides of the pit to the level on which he stood.

Fear had grasped Jacob then, so he had run, blindly, through these deep corridors.

And now he came to a flight of steps. He ran up them, his fatigued breathing coming in heavy gasps. At the top of the steps he saw a door, bright light lancing in beneath the top and bottom. He prayed for old hinges or a rusted bolt. Acid burned in his muscles as he powered upwards and slammed into the wood of the door.

He burst into daylight in splinters of wood and stone. There were yells and curses around him as he stumbled into a crowded street. People tried to spread away from him but the drive of the crowd pressed them inwards. He thrust forwards, using his strength and his elbows to plough through the heaving mass.

The cries of surprise and anger at his exit soon merged with the hollers of the vendors and the rowdiness of a busy street full of people with places to be. All those people made him very nervous, but it was nothing compared to his fear of what was after him so he let the pull of the crowd drag him away until he washed up against a narrow alley of empty containers, back doors and overflowing bins.

He slumped down where he couldn’t be seen from either end of the alley and heaved in ragged mouthfuls of air. He held his head in his hands as his whole body shook with exertion and adrenaline. He began to cry.

020 - Gallows

Sundown occurred far quicker than Frida had expected. 

Her strange day culminated in a sunset of deep pink and purple hues that crested the mottled clouds. The beauty of that final glimmer of light was not lost on Frida. 

She neatly placed her belongings into her pack, until her cell was clear, ready for the next occupant. She wrapped the toy spaceship delicately and hid it amongst her clothes.

After changing into more comfortable clothing, she combed the last few weeks’ accumulated dried twigs and leaves out of her tangled brown hair. She had unbound the tight bandages from her chest. She thought it odd to die looking like a boy, after all, what if they buried her in the wrong place? 

She considered why her captors let her keep her pack if they intended to execute her without trial or reason. She had never spent time in the Ironguard fortress before, but had heard of the ‘sundown’ decree. Strangers and undesirables would be given till sundown to leave the city, if they failed to do so, they would be executed. 

She was a registered wiretap; there was a guild house in Ironhaven which could vouch for her. She belonged to a esteemed organization, she had an education, who would execute someone who could read. As for her friends, who would vouch for their honesty? She doubted that there was anybody who could speak positively on behalf of an outsider like Nelya. Jacob, Garth and Cassidy may have associates here, perhaps they had contacted them. It all seemed so futile now. The sun was setting. A lone drum began to beat slowly in the execution yard.

Frida watched the yard through the small cell window, wondering what would happen. She stroked the soft velvet fabric on the hem of her sleeve, to calm the rising panic.

The steady thump of the execution drum continued.

The sky had shifted hues to orange, sparkling off the metal scaffold of the execution platform. The torches surrounding the yard ignited automatically.

A tall figure was lead out to the execution yard. It was followed by a procession of other hooded figures of various heights. Large, well fed Ironguard soldiers flanked the convicted to the long platform. A different group of grey uniformed men lined up near the scaffold. Each carried a long rope and a butcher’s hook. These were the executioners; prisoners released to perform this task until eventually they too would hang.

The convicted seemed to accept their fate without question. The faint smell of camphor still remained in Frida's cell. She felt sick thinking about a drug that made a person compliant in their own death.

In the fading light of day, the executions began in a silence only broken by the slow drumbeat.

Frida avoided the window. If she ignored the indiscernible figures in the yard or believed that she may not be responsible for her companions’ demise she could just pretend nothing unusual was happening.

The cell door opened. She stood up, clutching her pack. Her head lowered to avoid the guard catching the tear that slid across her cheek.

In silence she was lead down the corridor of the fortress. Her guards armour creaked and rattled. She was acutely aware of her surroundings. They were leading her towards the yard. Her muscles tightened.

She stepped into the execution yard, the gallows hung with eight hooded bodies. The ground beneath them was wet and foul smelling.

She concentrated on the ground by her feet, not daring to glance upwards until she was pushed though the archway into a larger courtyard.  This courtyard was overlooked by the massive barbican fortress. Smooth concrete walls higher than trees protected Ironhaven from outsiders, except here, in a kink where the barbican sat.

There was a sudden realisation, she recognised where she was. Inside the barbicans courtyard there were two great opposing gateways; one leading back to the wilderness, the other directly into the walled city. From the direction she had entered, Frida was uncertain as to which gate Ironhaven was behind.

“Tapper, this way,” the guard said, opening a small door inset in the gate to her right.

“I had a horse.” Frida said. The guard shrugged.

Frida walked cautiously towards the doorway, either exit would be better than staying in the fortress. The guard shoved her through, with the same concern as a man throwing rubbish.

She stumbled and almost fell onto the streets of a busy city. Frida regained her balance quickly. She flicked her hair out of her face. She had been released, she was free and back in Ironhaven. A group of young boys walking past had seen her stumble, their master regained their attention with a cough before ushering them on to one of the great town buildings. 

Frida sought out a vantage point, not far away the road dropped down into the heart of Ironhaven below her. The fortress overlooked the bowl of the city. From where she stood, the far extent of the wall appeared barely visible in the oncoming night. The great citadel, the true centre of Ironhaven gripped tight on the mound near the cities centre; around it twin rivers glinted as they flowed under the many bridges. There were four storey and higher buildings, larger than most Frida had encountered on her travels, excluding the ruins. No one gave her eye contact, it took her a while to notice that aside from children, the citizens refused to acknowledge her.

There was still no sign of her friends. Possibly, like her, they would be released on the whims of the Ironguard. She settled down near the gate, waiting for it to open and her friends to step out.

The streets had emptied and the curfew warning sounded before she was moved off, alone, into the night. She walked the streets, vaguely away of the night passing and the need to find some sanctuary. The realisation that her friends may not be joining her led her to one conclusion. She resolved to return to her life and headed towards the Wiretappers guild house. The tall ornately decorated guild building offered board and lodging to non-citizens, in relative comfort for a small fee. Or so the sign outside proclaimed, in writing and symbols.

She entered the guild house. A familiar voice greeted her. 

“Finally, did you get lost?”

016 - Sundown

They waited in the cell, silently watching the sunrise. There was always the chance of a last minute reprieve. A flustered guard would stand at the door telling them of a dreadful mistake.

 

Instead there were heavy footsteps in the corridor outside. A key turned. An Ironguard soldier entered. He pointed at Jacob.

"You’re first," he said. He indicated with his heavy gauntlet towards Nelya. "Then you."

A pair of guards appeared to escort each one of them silently into a different cell off the main corridor. Once Garth and Cassidy had gone, Frida was taken down the corridor past their cells. She was pushed into another cell, with a heavy door and stone walls. A window at shoulder height tempted her with its warm light. A low table sat in the centre of the cell, holding a shallow bowl. In the corner of the cell a few small insects buzzed around a dark stain.

A masked person entered. Frida had heard of Ironhavan’s inquisitors, she thought they might be priests like Jacob. The inquisitor’s wooden mask was an intricately carved face, the mouth exaggerated and grotesque, behind it, covering the head completely was a waxed leather hood.

 The inquisitor began to question Frida, asking simply about who she was and where she'd come from. The expressionless face maintained a consistent enquiring tilt when Frida spoke. It unnerved the young wiretap. 

"Consider me your interlocutor, a participant in a civil dialogue." The mask nodded, tilting, to one side. The voice was muffled.

"I'd like that," said Frida," I don't really know why I'm being held here."

There was no reply, the face tilted upright. 

"I'm a licensed wiretap, operating for the Markermeer Caravan," she said. The figure remained unresponsive. From the shapeless robes the inquisitor pulled out one of Frida's eel battery jars, placing it on the table without comment.

"Tools of the trade," Frida stated. She felt sympathy for the trapped writhing eel.

Although nothing was revealed by the shapeless clothing, Frida was convinced her interrogator was a woman.

The inquisitor placed a candle in the bowl on the table.

"Face the window, watch for sundown," the mask told her.

Frida looked out of the window, the sun was still rising. Her view was across the execution yards to a scaffold, built of metal and stone, permanent. The yard was deserted. She felt the sudden drop in her gut.

The inquisitor spoke again, answering Frida's unasked question.

"The executions occur at sundown."

There was a smell of rosemary in the cell, it smelt comforting, homely. There was no physical threat made, but as her interrogator spoke Frida's willpower diminished. She was terrified, facing the execution yard whilst the inquisitor stood behind her. Without thinking she found herself blabbing. She had been tortured before, it happened to wiretaps during training to test their integrity.

There was something descending from the sky above the yard. A metal insect the size of a long-shore ship began unfolding limbs. As the insect descended, heat and dust blew into the cell. Frida began to make out a doorway and windows on the insect. It had come for her. Her inquisitor had disappeared. She grabbed the opportunity, stepping back and throwing the eel battery at the wall. It exploded, leaving a smoke filled hole. She crawled through the gap, running towards the metal insect that hovered above the yard.

She clambered up the scaffold, cautiously grabbing the struts by the insect's open doorway. Once inside she felt the ship ascend. Through its dirt streaked windows she watched Ironhaven disappear.

The sky insect had no occupants. She found a wooden seat with a window to the onrushing clouds.

A voice spoke to her, the voice of the metal insect.

"What about your friends? Should we not return to rescue them?" It asked. 

She told it about her friends, she felt guilty about them. Aside from Cassidy, she had only known them for a short time. The voice asked her what she wanted and where did she wish to go. She thought about it, there was only one place she wished to go, ever since she was a child.

"To the stars," said Frida.

"To the stars," the voice repeated and chuckled. 

A door slammed.

The cell returned, hazily drifting into focus. She was sitting with her head resting on the table. She felt heavy, drowsy. A tiny fat asymmetric insect sat in front of her on the table. She recognized it. She had found it years ago in the rubble of an eviscerated city. At first, she had mistaken it for real beetle. It was so small and insignificant. How odd, she had thought, an insect with letters etched on it. Then she discovered something else. It had tiny doors, windows, engines and stubby wings, all scratched away by time. This was a child’s toy of a space machine. She hid it in her possessions, wrapped up, telling no one about her find. The inquisitor had taken it from her bag and placed it on the table in front of her. The deepest secret she held; she had seen the remains of a real one, its weathered carapace rotting in a salt marsh.

The faint odour of camphor remained, it emanated from the extinguished candle, smoking in the centre of the table.

Her other belongings were littered around the cell. There was a torn paper label on everything, written in Frida's own handwriting. She examined the pieces of paper, the scraps contained gibberish words or nonsensical rhymes.

Frida panicked, alarmed at how the drug loosened her tongue. A rising feeling of nausea struck her, what had she revealed about her new friends and the secrets of Fairfield. She wondered what they had threatened Cassidy and the others with. The sun would set soon, over the gantry yard.

She picked up her clothes. They had been left neatly piled on the chair. She held them tightly. She felt how coarse they were. She inhaled their strong earthy smell. Then she began to cry.

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