Authors: L J Leyland
The sun rose half-heartedly, as it struggled to begin its difficult task of shedding light on this murky corner of the world. Edie, Aiden, the Highlanders, and I lined up along the edge of the marshes, facing the green. We’d been there since first light. We watched the nocturnal creatures stumble home before the morning sun exposed them, like drinkers stumbling home from Nora’s.
Early-morning Parrots were making last-minute adjustments to the stage and I spied on them with my binoculars. I watched a Parrot make his way up the wooden rig to the left of the stage and enter a little booth filled with technical equipment. The Metropole symbol that had been occupying the big screen changed to show a moving picture of the dead Imperial Monarch smiling beatifically and waving. This then changed to show a video of the new Monarch striding through a crowd of clapping and adoring Metropolites.
The new Monarch … Regina’s husband. My father?
His face was strong and intelligent but he had a politician’s mask – a smile reserved for the public which didn’t quite reach his eyes. Edie’s hand was as small as a cat’s paw as she reached for mine. I gently traced the outline of her fingers and told her that it would be OK. Her pulse beat against her tiny wrist.
A Parrot standing on the stage gave the technical man in the booth a thumbs-up sign and the picture of the Monarch disappeared. The Metropole symbol returned. The smaller screens hung on the rig were to show the reaction of the crowd as they watched the big screen. Machines with huge telescopic lenses that I could only assume were television cameras were dotted about the stage and amongst the crowd. Other parts of the Empire weren’t as neglected as we were and were equipped with electricity, oil, gas, running water, and televisions. When I was younger I hated the fact that we were denied this magical invention but as I got older I appreciated that we were considered too savage to have it. It meant that we were spared the cultural and political brainwashing that other people in the Empire were force fed. We heard from illegal Europa traders that it bombarded them day and night; ensuring that nationality, culture, and family allegiances were trumped by a devotion to the Metropole. Only state programmes were shown and something as important as this would be compulsory viewing for all parts of the Empire. It’s how they created the Metropole culture – fatten the geese on state grain so they are too bloated and content to look elsewhere for food.
‘Are we ready to do this?’ I asked my troops.
The warriors laughed and one said, ‘You don’t have to ask a Highlander if he’s ready. We’re always ready.’
‘Edie? Aiden? You know the plan?’
They nodded. Aiden’s face was screwed up in fierce determination whilst Edie was trembling. It was as though Aiden had been greedy in the womb and stolen his sister’s share of resolve, whilst she had taken his share of sensitivity. It would be much better if they had shared each quality out equally, fifty-fifty. They would be much rounder people that way. But maybe it was meant to be this way. They were each half a person and could only be completed by each other. Their faces were cherubically rounded and I leant in to kiss their foreheads.
‘Be safe. Be cautious. Look after each other,’ I said.
‘What about you?’ whispered Edie.
I paused. ‘I can look after myself.’
The crowd heaved with the force of a stampede, but bounded in on all sides by a wall of Parrots, there was nowhere for them to stampede to. Instead, the crowd surged and rushed like a flood against a dam. They flowed to the edge of the stage and recoiled as one when Parrots began shouting, ‘Back, back! Move back, you worms!’
Wearing my hood as a disguise, I worked my way into the thick of the swell and kept my eyes firmly on the stage. The Highland warriors were surrounding me like lions encircling a cub, protecting me and shielding me from view. There was a gasp as a man got a Highlander elbow in his face.
‘Oi! Watch it you clumsy oaf! Who do you –’ The man quailed as the warrior drew himself up to his full height. ‘Oh … erm … sorry, I don’t want no trouble.’ The man melted away into the crowd and nearby people shot frightened glances our way.
‘Stay inconspicuous,’ I growled.
A blare of pompous brass music burst from the speakers. The crowd lost its collective voice and became still with fear. The sharp, brassy sounds made prickles of dread sweep over my skin. My heart provided a bass drum accompaniment to the music. Claustrophobia closed in on me; the crowd was just too intense for me to get enough air and I jostled the Highlanders to try to get some more room.
From the far corner of the stage, a collection of military suited men entered. They each bowed to the symbol of the Metropole that was projected onto the screen. They carried the invented symbols of the Metropole’s superiority – a golden mace, an orb and sceptre, a sword of state. The men carried them with a reverential air. These items were meant to signify all that was important to us but to me, they meant nothing at all. How stupid were these men? Did they not know their audience at all? The Brigadus people would’ve been much more impressed if the men had been carrying a fishing rod, a butcher’s knife, and a smoking pipe.
Those
were symbols they could understand.
Those
were symbols that were important. At least those items were useful and key to our survival. But an orb and sceptre? What on earth had that to do with us? I shook my head at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
The men lined up behind the thrones and a little man in a suit scurried forward to the front of the stage. His excited face was magnified on the large screen. The side screens scanned the crowd, relaying the peoples’ reaction to the rest of the Empire, if not the world.
‘Loyal subjects of Brigadus. Loyal subjects of the Empire. People of the Metropole. I bring you news of sadness and joy. Our great father, our benevolent leader, our selfless brother, the Imperial Monarch of the Metropole, the noble Emperor of Europa and the purveyor of goodness and light in this land, has sadly passed away.’
The gasp from the crowd was like a wave breaking. Women flung their hands to their mouths, terrified of what this change meant for their families. Men clenched their fists, ready to hear what new terror they would have to face. The dead Monarch’s face smiled down on the crowd from the screen, like a God from heaven. The cameras desperately searched for a weeping mourner to project back to the rest of the world, but found none amongst this crowd of hard-hearted reluctant subjects. I noted that the camera had to pan to a long-shot of the stage to disguise the lack of sadness in the crowd. I wondered whether they would dub weeping sounds over the images to the rest of the Empire.
‘This is a time of great sorrow. He was a man who loved you all, as you loved him. But we mustn’t let ourselves sink beneath our despair.’
I looked to my neighbours and saw no despair, only narrowed eyes and tight lips.
‘For today, we gather in celebration of the coronation of the new Monarch. The new Imperial Monarch who will guide you, care for you and, yes, love you as you will love him. Loyal subjects, please stand for your father, the new Imperial Monarch, Emperor Maximillian Hexhaven.’
The sweep of his blonde hair, the flash of his sharp shiny teeth, the clip of his shoes. His appearance was as cold and hard as his name. His smile could cut bone and slice through metal. His mask of human flesh barely hid the steel under his skin. I’d never seen a man stand so upright. I wondered whether he had a metal backbone under his shirt. His pale blue eyes scanned the crowd and I slouched further behind the Highlanders. Regina glided behind him as if magnetically compelled by his presence. The circles of singed flesh on her temples glowed a tender pink. The giant screen showed her face and gasps rippled through the crowd. The older people recognised her. They knew her. Whispers spread through the crowd like a fire, catching and igniting neighbours, spreading the news.
‘It’s her! She’s come back! She’s returned! What’s she doing up there with him?’
Then I saw him. Following in Regina’s wake, he appeared on the stage. The most hated figure of all – the Mayor. The quiet hiss that spread through the crowd was that reserved for a comic-book villain. It would almost have been amusing if it hadn’t been so depressing. I sniggered to see him clench his fists and redden in anger. His mastery over his emotions was non-existent. No steel under his skin, just boiling blood and blubber. The Monarch shot dagger eyes at him for ruining his triumphant unveiling with this ripple of hatred. The Mayor simpered and looked embarrassingly apologetic.
Oh, I knew what he was thinking. He was thinking that he’d make us pay for that very public humiliation when all the cameras were gone. Not only had we shown our hatred for him in front of the entire Empire, we’d ruined the reverential atmosphere the Metropole had tried to conjure up. The Monarch was most definitely displeased. The Parrots moved in tighter, penning us in together, letting no-one have breathing room. It was a threat of things to come if we did not behave.
Regina and the Mayor sat quietly on their thrones whilst Maximillian Hexhaven stepped forward. He’d been taught the importance of body language. The indulgent head nod, the open palms, the straight-backed posture. It was not natural. It was all studied and we could tell. This was not a man at ease with the people and a flicker of his discomfort showed on his face.
‘My children. My family,’ he began. His smile was like a search beam, blasting light at those whose faces stayed resolutely dark. ‘My father was a true inspiration to us all. His kindness and generosity were renowned around the world and he worked tirelessly to protect you all. He was our benevolent leader, the head of our family, and he will be sorely missed. I miss him already, as I’m sure you do, too. However, with the passing of one era, another one dawns. These times, although tinged with sadness, can be a vehicle for vigorous, necessary change. Where things once stood still, there can be life and movement again.’
He began pacing the stage, walking towards the front as if to physically demonstrate that the stagnation of his father’s rule had been replaced by his youthful activeness. ‘Children, my rule has now begun. And I wish to stamp my mark upon this Empire and craft us into the rulers we were born to be. We are a great Empire but with determination, hard work and willingness to renounce old habits for fresh ones, we can be greater still. In order to make way for this bright new future, deadwood needs to be swept away. We need to clear our minds, our lives, and our society of those holding us back. We need to be free from old foes and we need to prevent malevolent forces from trying to throw us off track. Those who do not contribute, those who do not comply, those who hold us back will feel our wrath. And no-one,
no-one
, can withstand the burning fury of our wrath. I know that you are all anxious that I fulfil my duty to you and therefore, I say to you,
do not be afraid. I will protect you
.’
He paused, as though expecting applause. The crowd did nothing but wait in nervous silence. It waited, trembling, for him to reveal the targets of his persecution. Who would be named as deadwood? Fishermen? Tavern owners? The elderly? It could have been anyone. But I knew who it was.
‘Bring them out,’ he said.
Relief ran through the crowd as Noah’s family were led out. Noah’s parents had their heads bowed, hiding their faces but no-one could miss the split lip that painted Lady Farringdon’s face. The Duchess displayed her bruised face proudly. She wore her black eye almost as a sign of her superiority, looking defiantly at Hexhaven, daring him to look her in the eyes. Iris shook violently as she passed the Mayor on his throne. The Duke could barely walk and was half-dragged by some unnecessarily rough Parrots. His clothes, usually so smart and crisp, were stained and ragged. Yet their appearance did not disgust the crowd of townsfolk. They were relieved it was not one of their own who bore the marks of such ill-treatment.
Thank goodness! It’s only the Bluebloods!
The tension eased. They could cope with a Blueblood massacre. The Bluebloods were hated and the townsfolk had long felt that they needed taking down a notch or two. I looked at my neighbour – a young mother, clutching her dark-haired son. Her eyes danced with relief. I was sickened as I realised that she might actually enjoy the scenes about to materialize. I gave the signal to my Highland troops and we began slowly but insistently nudging others out of the way, wading to the front of the crowd. The golden gun was reassuringly cold in my pocket. The gun of honour. I swallowed hard and tried to press all thoughts about martyrs into a tiny ball and lodge it at the back of my brain. No time to worry about that now.
Noah was the last of his family to enter the stage. His beautiful blue eyes swam with regret but they did not swim with tears. My mouth went dry as I saw that he was ready; he had prepared himself to die. His back was straight and he held his head high as he walked across the stage. He shrugged off the hands of the Parrots who led him to the gallows. He confronted his noose as he confronted his death; with serenity and no anger.
I realised with a jolt that he thought I was lost already. He thought I was dead, or disappeared, another Regina. He thought that the plan was not going to be put into action. He was preparing himself to be martyred in the hope that the townsfolk would see the injustice of it all. He was hoping that they would seize his death as a chance to rise against the oppressors. He hoped that although he was a Blueblood, the townsfolk would have enough compassion to feel anguish over his sacrifice. His eyes closed regretfully as he registered the relief on the townsfolk faces.
‘Bring out the others,’ said Maximillian Hexhevan.
Parrots struggled onto the stage, dragging Grimmy and wrestling Matthias. Matthias broke free and aimed a punch so wild at his captor that the man flew through the air and bowled down two more Parrots as easy as skittles. Three Parrots moved in to take their places and Matthias collapsed as a truncheon made contact with the back of his head. A brief cry of outrage went up through the crowd only to be stifled immediately.
This
was something they did object to. They didn’t like seeing one of their own get beaten by a Parrot.
Maximillian Hexhaven laughed crisply and said, ‘What fighting spirit. Relax, boy. You will not suffer their fate.’
Matthias grimaced and I noted with horror that some of his teeth had been knocked out. He was so feral that he looked as though he could’ve lived without human contact for years. Hexhaven backed away, briefly shocked by Matthias’s appearance, but quickly recovered his cool. Grimmy was so preoccupied with struggling to break free that he had not noticed Regina sitting on the throne next to the Mayor. Regina’s emerald eyes slid in and out of focus. I wondered if his madness would return when he discovered what the Metropole had done to his one and only love.
‘Children, I want to show you the difference between the misguided and the evil. The misguided can be moulded. The misguided can be tamed. The misguided can be turned into useful citizens. The misguided can be shown the light.’
My breath came in short rasps as I was reminded of Rhian’s icy spider fingers and her terrible, powerful black eyes.
‘However, there is a dark force in this world. A dark, dark, evil force that, when it takes hold, devours a person. This person cannot be recovered when they have been taken. This person, this evil being, needs to be destroyed. In our society, both of these people exist. And both need to be dealt with before it’s too late. We are not harsh parents. We tutor the misguided. We
rehabilitate
them. We bring them back into the safety of the fold. But, the evil cannot be rehabilitated. They have to be stopped.
Permanently
.
‘My children. I want to introduce you to someone you may know. She, too, was misguided once. She too was once what you would call “a rebel”. But she has now been rehabilitated. I would like to introduce you to my wife, Regina Goodison.’
Grimmy’s cry wrought the air like a bolt of lightning; hot, anguished, electric. ‘Regina?!’ he cried. ‘Regina! No! Don’t you recognise me? Regina, its Dylan. What have they done to you? What are you doing?’
His speech was cut off by a punch to his mouth. He spat out a bloodied tooth as the Parrots moved in to silence him.
Regina rose unsteadily from her seat and absently glided forward to her husband. She stood as mute as a robot.
Hexhaven gave an icy laugh and said, ‘Well, darling? Tell them what you have to say.’ Irritation and impatience danced in his eyes. He brushed her hair roughly from her confused face and exposed the signs of her rehabilitation. The scorch marks were visible for all to see.
‘I … I …’
‘Well?’ Hexhaven prompted through gritted teeth.
‘I have been saved,’ she stuttered, finally remembering the lines from her script. ‘Brigadus. I did a very wrong thing. Eighteen years ago, I encouraged you to do something misguided. I encouraged you to rebel against our saviours, our family, our protectors, our parents. Sometimes, children think they know better and they do not obey. But I am here to tell you that you must obey. The Metropole is your protector. The Metropole is your saviour. The Metropole is your only hope. The Metropole will guide you into the light. They will rehabilitate you as they rehabilitated me. See these men here?’