To survive and thrive - The Old Continent [closed thread]

He was sitting by the edge, on the bottom of the old barge, looking out, without paying much attention to anything in particular. As far as the eye could reach, the land was covered in green, with large and tall trees forming thick forests, under which canopy was still dark no matter the sun was going high in the sky.

«A beautiful sight, isn't it?»

The boatman was a rugged elder in his late sixties, with large leathery hands covered by thick tendons that tensed under the tanned skin each time he pulled on the rudder, guiding the old boat upstream.

«Yes, it is.»
« I still remember when these riverbanks had construction all over. Buildings, docks, walls, pontoons... Cement everywhere.» Something on the water caught his attention and he went silent for a moment. «The water was always murky and oily and dirty. You couldn't eat anything you fished here but know look at it!»

As if in response to what the old man had been saying a large fish leaped from the water to catch some insect in mid air, its scales glistening under the sun, just a few feet away from the boat, splashing water over both men.

«A huchen, wasn't it?»
«There are many here, now.»

The men went silent, with only the splash of the water breaking against the hull filling the air. Fish would now and then surface or jump out of the water or, more spectacularly, the occasional giant sturgeon, some of them almost as long as the boat, would be seen approaching the low sided barge as if the animals were intrigued with the strange floating object that cast a shadow on the water as it moved. After a while he was half asleep, leaning against the side of the boat, while the boatman whistled to himself and looked to the sky and to the water.

«Will you loosen that knot over there?»

The request made him snap from his lethargy and he quickly complied. The sail loosened for a brief moment just to inflate again when the old man adjusted it, catching the full force of the wind again and making the boat move forward instantly faster.

«Thank you.»
«You're welcome.» He stood up slowly, stretching, loosening stiff muscles on his back and legs. «You mind if I take a walk?»
«Be my guest. She's a steady lady.»

There wasn't very much room to walk around in the old cargo boat, even less as it was fully loaded, but there was enough to shake the stiffness off his legs. He wondered what would be inside the large crates that filled the bottom of the boat. Some of it were marked with symbols that no longer meant nothing, hallmarks of long gone countries; one still had the original content written in Cyrillic on its side, with a warning to be handled with care stamped beneath.

«They don't do it like they used to any more, do they?»

He pointed at the markings as he talked and then joined the boatman at the end of the boat, sitting across from him on the plank that went from one side to the other of the boat and from where the rudder arm emerged. The old man smiled almost to himself.

«You would be surprised.»

His last sentence was spoken in Russian, a language rarely spoken around the Black Sea area after the upheaval, changing from the Romanian they had been speaking in since they had met, which was now more wide spread and served almost as a lingua franca, in detriment of the Slavic languages that once were more commonly spoken over the area. Surprised but not taken off guard, he replied.

«Why would I be?»
«Old monsters never really die, my friend. They sleep, waiting for an opportunity to resurface.»

Nodding, he put and end to the conversation, with both men knowing the true meaning of what had just happened had been mutually understood.

«How much longer?»

He spoke again in Romanian, looking in the distance behind the boatman.

«Not much longer. If the wind keeps up as it is, about an hour.»

Seated on the bed of the cart, his bad leg propped up on an old blanket, Tomasso looked around him, checked on the women.

"Martha!" He scolded his daughter softly. He had wished a better life for her, or another life, but things were as they were.

She didn't react other than stroking some loose hairs back under the dark scarf over her head.

"Martha!"

She was called again, sterner now, and with a little jolt she turned to look at her father.

"Yes, sir, I am sorry."

She sighed inwardly. It could only have been seconds, a minute maximum she had leaned on the shovel in her hands and looked over the water separating the mainland from the isle she called her home, she thought. Not even such a short respite the men allowed her. She shoveled more of the bricks and debris from the freshly demolished house in a wheelbarrow. Beside her other women filled other wheelbarrows. Men had taken the intact windows, the doors, beams, pipes, and every thing useful out first, then they had broken the walls down, and now it was up to the women to get all debris back to the island to fortify the dams and build more houses. Or to improve existing buildings. Back on the island she and the other women together with the old men, would have to sort the debris, chisel old cement from intact bricks, which would be used to build or repair other things. The rest of the debris would be wheelbarrowed out to the closest dams, or, if the Elders wanted it elsewhere, a horse-drawn car would transport it.

The dams looked more and more like walls, Martha thought. Since she had been deemed strong enough to join the other women in this work, over six years ago, the dams had spread and grown higher. The village nearest to the settlement had almost disappeared.

Housing had improved a lot over the years though, she vividly remembered living in sheds and huts and now they all lived in real houses, build on and along the broad old road leading across the island.

"Come on girl," Maria, the elder woman on her right side, whispered. "Lets get this done with today, don't forget we have to make preserves tomorrow. Remember what Father Dimitri always says: "Every one and every thing has its proper place in God's Plan, if every one does the task God has placed on his shoulders, He will keep us safe."

Martha dumped the next heavy shovel-loadsl so forceful in the wheelbarrow, small stones jumped over the brim and rolled over the ground back to her feet. One got catapulted off of another stone and a sharp corner bit into her skin, just above her ankle, under her skirts. Martha's silent curse got her a very disapproving look from Maria.

"Be more careful, child, you know God's punishment comes immediately. I wouldn't be surprised if He made the wound fester now, after your awful words."

The conversation between the two men carried on for a little more but eventually each man was by himself, with the old man watching distractedly the other going through his belongings while tending the boat course.
Spread on the wooden plank bottom of the barge, was a miscellaneous of items the other man carefully checked before putting it away either in his backpack or in a smaller bag, that had only one strap. When all was packed to his content, left on the bottom of the boat was a large knife on its sheath and a wooden staff.

«Not much further.»

The other man felt the boat tilt underneath his feet, shifting its course. In the middle of the river a low mass of land covered with trees as far as the eye could reach, coming down to the water line, emerged from the horizon, splitting the river in two separate channels. With a sudden strong wind blowing from behind, the barge picked up its pace, forcing the boatman to adjust the sails, and approached the right bank of the river to follow down the wider channel.

«What can you tell me about the place we're heading to?»

By now, he was again next to the boatman, strapping the knife around his waist. The scabbard of the heavy blade had been cut and sewn out of a thick piece of hard leather to form a large belt that held the knife behind its user's back, with two strong clasps on the front to secure it, keeping it out of sight and out of the way of its wielder.

«It's a small community. Very religious. Very strict. They control this entire island.» The old man waved over the landscape with his left hand as he talked. «They're mostly farmers but they control the flow of people crossing the river and the boats that move in it. That's what made them very rich. And very powerful.»
«Didn't you said they are mostly farmers?»
«Most of the people on the island make a meagre living off the land, tending crops and raising some cattle.»
«I still don't understand.»
«You soon will.»

After some time following the channel series of low walls, made up of dirt and debris, started appearing on the island riverbanks and later on thin rolls of smoke that rose to the air, signalling human presence deeper inland.

Martha opened the basket and handed her father a wrapped sandwich, thickly spread with butter, ham and cucumbers. They had sat down a bit apart from the other women, both of them loved to have a view of the river and the ships on it.

"I remember the big ships, Martha, this are just small boats." Her father said before he took a bite out off his sandwich, rubbing his bad leg with his other hand. Martha nodded while she drank some water. She didn't want to talk about the river today.

"What was Elder Bela talking about when we passed him this morning?" A shudder ran down Martha's spine when she bought of the Elder's lewd eyes wandering over her body.

"Nothing. He just wanted to know how old your sister and brother are, how your grandparents are doing, and he wanted to know when your grandfather build our house."

"A long time before Father Dimitri came on the island!" Martha blurted. "And grandfather bought his land from the government. It doesn't matter if Father Dimitri and the elders don't acknowledge the old government, our land and our house are ours!"

Glancing at the other women, Tomasso shushed her.

"Yes, it is our property. Bela just wanted to know for how long it has been ours and exactly how much land we own and how much of it would be your and your sister's dowry."

Martha forgot to chew. Other people had asked her grandfather the same question a few times over the last month. She was well aware of Father Dimitri's sermons about unmarried women of a certain age being better off married. She had felt his eyes on her during this sermons. She knew he told her father a year or two ago it would need a strong man with a strong hand to keep her under control.

She knew Father Dimitri thought he would be best at that.

Until now her father and her grandfather had kept him at bay. But pressure had been building.

Further downstream the smell of carbonic gas filled the air and the men's nostrils, making their eyes and throats itch and causing them to cough.

«Coal?»
«They make it in this part of the island.»

On the riverbank behind them a large area was cleared of trees, with several piles of logs waiting to be carried to the other side of the river near a small floating dock that at the moment only had a couple of small boats tied to it. In the distance, teams of lumberjacks pushed the tree line further inland, leaving the land naked and barren behind them.

«That is not a smart thing to do...»
«What you said?»
«I was just talking to myself.»

A curve in the stream blocked the view and the younger man put his thoughts aside.

«How much further?»
«Two hours, if the winds keep up like this,»
«Didn't we said we were just getting there?»
«And we are, son. We are.» Coming towards the barge was a small boat, with four oarsmen pushing through the water in a steady pace. «Inspection. Pull down the sail and keep quiet.»

Without warning, something was hurled from the other boat across the water, into the barge, hitting and breaking the side of one of the crates with a loud thud before falling to the ground as it was pulled back, cutting deep into the bottom of the barge as it was pulled back until it finally secured itself, with the oarsmen in the other boat quickly pulling the oars up and replacing their companions in pulling the small vessel towards the barge. A thin sickly looking man in his early thirties, dressed in black, apart from his white shirt, from head to toe, with a large hat on his head, jumped first into the barge as the two boats were side by side and approached the boatman.

«Your cargo manifest.»

Two other men, just slightly better built, followed the first but the oarsmen remained in their boat, resting but not speaking to each other. They started walking around the boat, checking the crates as the other was going through some papers he had been handed.

«I believe all is in order, sir.»
«I will be the judge of that. And you will address me as Inspector, old man.»
«Yes, Inspector.»

The years suddenly showed on the boatman's figure, with his back hunching forward and his hands nervously clutching his bonnet between his fingers, dragging his feet behind the so called inspector as he went from one crate to the next, looking for whatever he was looking.

«This man?»

Bloodshot yellowish eyes went from the boatman to the other man, with the old man seeming to shrink and shrivel a bit more every time the other's gaze was upon him and the other simply ignoring what was going on. He had witnessed several similar scenes before and was not impressed what the course of the present events.

«A passenger, Inspector.»
«There's no mention to this on the manifest.» A waxy hand with dirty fingernails shook the pile of paper sheets in the boatman's face, just beneath his nose. «You'll pay an extra fee.»
«Yes, Sir.»

At a snap of the inspector's fingers the two other men went for the nearest crate and started working on it with crowbars, prying open the box, cracking and shattering wood under the action of the iron until the nails finally gave way and a large piece of the side of the box fell to the ground, pulling some of the straw it filled the inside with it.

«Inspector.»

One of the men had some sort of musical instrument in his hand, still partially wrapped in brown paper of crude aspect.

«Any more?»
«The crate seems to be full.»
«Inspector, the cargo was approved by the Elders Council to go through the city docks. All the permits are there, with the port seals and...»

The boatman was caught off hand with a blow to the face that made him collapse to the ground, with blood running from a broken lip and a gash on his left cheek, out cold.

«Take care of the other...»

He was lying on the floor next to the old man before his sentence was over, with a sharp blow to the back of his head, sending his hat flying to the water, from the staff of the younger man, who was now standing over his body looking at the other two men.

«This can end here now and you can go on your way.» The oarsmen jumped from their place to join their companions. «Very well.»

The men jumped forward, screaming, to meet nothing, as the other man moved between them, dodging, pushing and throwing them around in the barge. One of the men was pushed to the ground with a hand landing on his face, making him fall on his back and banging his head on the floor, causing him to collapse instantly, while another, who was wielding a knife on his hand had his arm grabbed and twisted, forcing him to roll back onto another man and causing the other to fall out of the barge and into the other boat. With the knife plucked from his fingers, he was thrown over another man, pushing the two out of the boat into the cold water as another tried to swing a punch and ended up hitting a crate, with a very satisfying cracking sound coming off the wood, as the man fell to ground screaming in pain clutching his hand. The last one still standing was dumbstruck looking around himself, trying to understand what had happened.

«Throw yourself and your mates into that boat. The oars stay here.»

He quickly complied, either carrying or aiding his companions back to their small boat.

«How will we navigate?»
«You don't.» With a firm push of a foot, the small boating fell behind the barge, pushed away with the flowing water, tethered by the grappling hook rope. «I still have your boss over here, don't you forget. Try to get funny and he goes overboard.»

He pulled the boatman from the ground, carried him to his bench and brought him back to his senses with a splash of water to the face.

«We seem to have a situation on our hands, old man.»

"Hows your leg?" Martha asked her father. She had noted he rubbed it more often than usual. "Is the weather changing?"

Tomasso shook his head.

"I stumbled over some stones when I checked gardens and some of the houses. I got some carrots and potatoes and flower seeds." He pointed to the cart. "It is all in the burlap sack. Together with some other stuff." He wouldn't talk about the books he found in a chest until they were at home. Heinlein and Niven, real good old fashioned science-fiction! And in English too. If Maria got wind of that, she would insist they had to be burned in the cooking fire.

"Lets get on with the work," Tomassa said after he had eaten three of the buttermilk cookies Martha and his mother had baked the other day. He sighed. Only a few years ago he would have ended his sentence with "ladies". Corvée was necessary, and he had been an advocate to the cause, but in the last years it looked more like slavery, especially since most often the women had to do the hardest chores.

Twenty years ago he and his father had tried to organize the people moving to the island, together with some of other farmers. They had taken people in -he regretted offering Franz and Maria their shed- and together they had build the first dams around farms, and around farmland. Father Dimitri -who had come with Franz and Maria and who was a cousin of Maria- had been a bit of a nuisance, but he did some good work with his shelter and his sermons could be easily ignored, especially if you didn't listen to him. Then Bela and a few others had moved to the island, and had started a settlement on the west shore along the old highway close to the only surviving bridge.

Not long after that, Bela and Father Dimitri had taken over. Bela soon called himself an "Elder" and, with a little help of some other Elders, he reigned with a strong hand. Father Dimitri got on well with men -especially with those who thought a woman's place was in the kitchen- but most women didn't get on with Father Dimitri at all. The Elders soon made it clear that everyone not getting along with them or Dimitri had to like or lump it. And lumping it meant to leave the island and try to make a living elsewhere.

Tomasso looked at his eldest daughter. It was impossible to say what she was thinking about exactly, but it wasn't something pleasant. She or threw debris so hard in a wheelbarrow pieces flew out again, or it seemed she looked over the river dreamily.

Martha thought is was a shame their farm wasn't much farther away from the settlement than it was. They wouldn't be under as much control and pressure if they lived twenty or thirty kilometers up- or down streams from Father Dimitri and the elders. Two kilometers was much too close. They were expected to do corvée like the new settlers, they were expected to attend mass from start to finish every Sunday, and Father Dimitri loved to do a true orthodox mass which took two to three hours, depending on what he had on his mind.

She couldn't talk with her sister or nod off during mass because Maria always kept an eye on her. They had build benches in the church but since they spend most of mass kneeling down or standing up, she couldn't even get a proper rest.

Grandfather had talked about leaving when she was a little girl but he, grandmother and father had decided against it because then her mom had died at Mara's birth, Martha was only three and Michael five. Their farm was on good land, they had two cows and ten goats and chickens and rabbits in big pens, and they knew they wouldn't be able to take the livestock with them. And now the had to dance to the elders whims.

The elders and Father Dimitri grew richer and more mighty by the day, and they lost more and more of their independence. Every time Father Dimitri came up with a new rule the Elders backed him as long as it didn't interfere with their business. Most of the rules were just stupid. Why was it a thorn in God's eye if a woman called herself with her proper last name instead of referring to herself (if she got the chance to introduce herself to someone at all) as Tomasso's Martha?

Martha shuddered. If Father Dimitri or Bela got their way, she soon would be Father Dimitri's Martha, or Elder Bela's Martha.

Why was 22 too old to be unmarried? "Women should be happily married at 15, have children and trust their husbands to take care of them," Father Dimitri had announced last sunday. Martha had no intention to marry. She would have much less freedom to speak her mind than she had at home, especially should she have to marry Bela or Father Dimitri. Suddenly she giggled. Would Father Dimitri expect to be called just that during sex?

Martha looked at her father. She nodded to the sun when she caught his eye. He smiled and nodded too.

"Time to get home, ladies!" He announced. He ignored Maria's disapproving stare and lowered himself from the cart-bed. Space had become scarce since the five women had filled the bed with debris. "Don't fill those wheelbarrows too much now, you have to push them all the way back too the dump."

Not long after that he had reigned the two horses in and they walked in a strange procession through the desolate streets of the old village. Tomasso in front on the cart, the women following him, each pushing a wheelbarrow.

Crossing the bridge Tomasso suddenly halted when he heard Martha yelp.

"Look at that, are they fighting in the barge?"

All women put their burdens down, glad for a chance to rest, and looked out over the river.

"Seems someone doesn't like to be inspected," Theodora whispered.

"Sure looks like that," Tomasso agreed after a while in which he had watched the inspector's boat drifting away on the current.

"Great," Martha announced. "Ironically speaking," she quickly corrected herself, "now shall we move on?"

«What happened?»

The boatman talked slowly, chewing the words, as he came to himself again, surprised to feel the sharp bite of the pain that radiated from the side of his face.

«I should ask you that.» With a motion of his head, he attracted the older man's attention towards the man still fainted on the bottom of the boat. «He took you out and his goons were about to do the same with me.»
«How did you...»
«They were clumsy and I got lucky.» He turned his back to wet the piece of cloth he was holding against the boatman's face in the river and put it back where it was. «Press this against that cut.»

He walked up to the fainted inspector and turned him to his back. On the man's left hand was a set of brass knuckles, stained with fresh blood, the boatman's blood, and where he was lying before were the cargo manifest documents.

«Let's see what sort of mess we have here.»

He went through the documents, reading slowly and carefully every word and sentence, making sure he wasn't making any mistakes as he read the stack of sheets: there were cargo manifests, declaring what was being carried, from where to where, permits to allow the cargo to enter the town dock's transit warehouses, to wait for another carrier, and another, separate, permit to allow the offload of a single crate into the dock's customs warehouse, directly under the authority of the Council of Elders. Strangely, the content of that particular crate wasn't described in the general manifest. And there were lots of payment proofs for all sort of fees and taxes. Except for that particular crate. Again.

«You can read that?»
«You can't?»
«No.»
«And you sign for a cargo you don't know what is?»
«Who cares? I'm paid to haul things from one place to another, not to ask questions.»
«Dumb men get rich, smart men get killed, right?» The boatman gave him a weak smiled with blood covered teeth as the other man started going through the boxes. «Who loaded this cargo?»
«I did!» The man was suddenly enraged. «I know what she can and can't take. «He stomped on the boat's bottom with his foot. «Nobody puts anything in my boat unless I'm supervising!»

The other man ignored the spur of rage the boatman ha just played, more concerned with finding the mysterious crate. If all permits were legitimate and all cargo had been deemed legal to pass through the port, with all fees and taxes paid up front, there was no need for the sort of scenes they had gone through just a while back.

«You live in this village?»
«No.»
«These documents were all paid upfront. You didn't get this cargo from that settlement where I hopped in; you had gone there to pick it up. Who sent you there? Who paid you to go there?»
«What do you care?»
«I care because whatever is inside a particular crate in this boat can either be my way out of this mess or my way to get in a whole lot of trouble, old man.»

He was surprised to see how quickly the youngster in front of him was able to reason and understand the implication of everything that had happened. Most wouldn't worry or would simply jump off the boat and swim to the other shore, away from the island and the people waiting for them.

«Ói!» Someone shouted at them from the shore. «Head into the port.»
«We can't turn back, boy. They got us.»

He whistled to the boat floating behind them, a sharp, loud whistle that cracked the air.

«Grab that rope and pull yourself towards us.»
«What are you doing?»
«Getting us some help.»

The other men were soon by the barge, one holding on the cable that connect the two vessels, keeping them from floating apart, but all looking awry at the man crouching on the crates that filled the bigger boat.

«Tie that nutshell to the barge. Those who are able man the boat and steer us into the port. No funny ideas.»

Silently they obeyed. The man with the broken hand sat on the bottom of the barge, with his back to the crates, while he comrades hurried themselves to take care of the boat, with the boatman directing them for his place, still with the piece of cloth pressed against his face. The one hurting was one the henchmen of the inspector who was still fainted, just a few feet away.

«Burglars or officials?»

The pain gnawing at his hand was excruciating, fueling his rage and despise towards the man who had brought it onto to him, but when the eyes of both men met he was surprised to see there wasn't a threat in the other man's eyes; there was strength and confidence and power in them but there was no anger nor hate. He was dangerous, extremely dangerous, beyond any doubt, but he wasn't a thug. His eyes shined with a sense of inner peace he had never seen before.

«Neither.»
«Wrap that hand.»

He was handed a piece of damp cloth.

«Thank you.»
«So what's the story?»
«We were hired to get something from this boat and deal with whoever was in it. Apart from one crate, the rest would be ours to do as we seemed fit.»
«Who hired you?»
«No names. No faces. Just money.»
«Where?»
«In a tavern in a town a few hours inland, west of here.»
«Where were you supposed to deliver the crate?»
«In the city warehouses.»
«How?»
«Official uniforms.» He pointed at the clothes he was wearing. «All details were taken care.»
«Thank you.»

He turned around and walked away. The barge was by now slowly entering a sheltered area on the side of the island, where several other boats were already docked, being repaired, clean, load and unloaded. Large warehouses were lined on one side, with a long wide road, paved with river stones, separating it from a series of smaller buildings, each with its one official sign. Beyond these were four other buildings, two on each side of the road facing the others.

Had the guards at the entrance of the bridge just waved them through, the guards at the end wanted to check them for contraband.

"Petran, we are transporting debris for the dump!" Tomasso sighed when the men made the women empty their wheelbarrows one by one.

"You never know what they want to smuggle in, last time one had a book!"

Well, thought Martha, it is difficult to get a grown women to forget she can read and write, even if Father Dimitri and the Elders declared women don't need to read and write to clean and cook. Five years ago they forbade the few teachers to accept girls into their classes. Before it had only been discouraged. But to forbid women to have books, or maps ... Things grew insaner by the day. She wondered how they expected a woman to follow a sewing or knitting pattern if she couldn't read.

As Petran told her to empty her wheelbarrow, she kept her eyes obediently down and did as she was told though. He moved through the bricks and stones with his foot, spreading it all out and kicking some bigger ones over the edge. The splashes annoyed Martha. They were made by stuff she had shoveled up and transported this far!

Petran leered into her dress when she bend over to put the stones back in with her hands as he had told her, so he could see if she wasn't smuggling in anything. She wondered what he was leering at, under her quite loose, but high-necked dark blue upper garment was the green long-sleeved t-shirt, and under that the white, close fitting, high-necked underdress.

With a tip of her apron she dried her brow when she had put almost all in, and Petran moved to Theodora.

It took them quite a while, even if they only looked at the debris in the cart.

Finally they arrived at the dump. Tomasso maneuvered the cart between the two piles as good as he could, and threw bricks on the brick pile and debris on the debris pile while Martha and the others sorted their loads, before they swiped a broom through the wheelbarrows and put them in the small shed. Then they helped Tomasso.

"What are you doing man?" A stern voice yelled. "Just dump it and let the woman sort it!"

"Yeah, and eat dinner tomorrow morning at breakfast!" Tomasso answered. "I am hungry, and I still have to escort them home, you know they aren't allowed to walk around on their own."

Several people had come to meet them when the barge was making port, some wanting to arrest them and others wanting to know what had happened in the middle of the river. When all had been sorted out and explained, with the dock master making his authority prevail over the town's officers, evening was setting down. The boat would have to wait for the next day to have its cargo properly inspected and its permits reviewed but the group who had tried to board them, not being known by either side, would spend the night in jail, before being kicked out of the island the next morning, if in the mean time none of the mess that had gone by didn't reach the wrong ears. The wrongs ears being the Elder's Council ears.

The boatman was taken to a practice (if one was bold enough to call that to the dirty hole where he was led) to have a physician (if such thing could be called to the apparently walking corpse that opened the door when a bell pulled) have a look to his cut, just to have a coin charged to him and receive the recommendation to keep the cut clean and hear his smile would never be as full as before as the blow he had taken had snapped two teeth from his jaw lower jaw. When the two men were left by themselves, night had set in and was becoming cold. And in the docks it was dangerous to roam around at night.

«We stay at the boat or we find a place to stay?»
«Good luck, young man.» The boatman chuckled, with his face starting to swell. «There's no place to stay here, unless you're interested in spending the night drinking or sleeping with one eye open in the dormitory.»
«What do you suggest then?»
«I have a little food in my boat and a few blankets we can share for the night.» The old man looked tired and somewhat broken. «Tomorrow you go your way and I go mine,»
«That sounds like an agreement.»
«Come along, kid.»

The two walked down the pebble covered road of the docks to where the barge was tied, the sails pulled down, covering the load, and hopped into the boat and soon a small oil lamp was burning and with the shelter provided by the thick cloth of the sail, the ambiance was quickly warmer and inviting. Both men sat on the bottom of the boat, across from each other, sharing a meager meal, made up of dry fish and meat and some dark bread, very dense, but tasty.

«Where are you going from here?»
«West.»
«Any place in particular?»
«No.»
«I'm not sure if I believe that but I'll allow you to your privacy.»
«Thank you.»
«Don't stay here for long, son. These are not bad people but they have a somewhat narrow vision of the world.»
«After we get this mess all sorted out I'm crossing that bridge over to the main land.»
«Here, then.»

The old man threw a purse at the other, small but heavy, that landed on his lap.

«What is this?»
«My way of saying “thank you” for saving my neck.»
«I did what I did to save myself.»
«Nonetheless.»

He put the purse in a pocket in his trousers without opening it and remained silent, listening the sounds of the night. The mysterious, undisclosed, crate was still making his mind itch with curiosity but he could wait for the morning; the port master said he would be inspecting the cargo with the town officers personally. He had also said he didn't liked that sort of situations going around in his backyard.

The sun was setting when Martha and her father arrived home. Martha had sighed with relief when the farmhouse appeared from behind the little poplar wood her grandfather had planted many years ago, to have firewood close by, and the fruit trees behind it.

Her day had started before sun-up, and wouldn't end for some hours. Her grandfather was too old to do heavy work, her brother wouldn't help with anything he deemed woman's work, which included taking care of their dementing grandmother. So the load of chores to do today in and around the house would have been on her sister's shoulders.

Her grandfather waved at them from the vegetable garden where he was readying a plot for planting, while he kept an eye on his wife who weeded an other plot. Vincente, her brother, greeted them at the door of the stall. He would take care of the horse, while Martha and Mara got dinner ready.

In the kitchen Martha washed her hands and her face.

"An employee of Elder Bela visited in the morning, and he talked a long time with grandfather," Mara said softly while she handed her sister a towel. "I managed to listen in on them twice," Mara choked out. Alarmed Martha looked at her.

"And?" She inquired.

"He said something about useless people who eat food others have to fight for. I think he was talking about the euthanasia program the elders have been suggesting the men would vote about, because Grandfather said people will die when God decides it is their time, and not when other people think they are an annoyance. And later I overheard him asking grandfather if you were a good cook."

Morning came, announced with the shrilling sound of a large metal tube being strike by a large burly man with a hammer, shattering the stillness of the cool dawn air, with a mist covering land and river alike. Underneath the cover of the sail the boatman jumped to his feet, startled, to quickly whimper and curse under his breath when the pain in his cheek hit him.

«Hey, kid! Where are you?»
«Out here.»

The old man walked out from where they had spent their short night to meet the other man, naked from the waist up, with a towel hanging from his neck, as he looked at the herald that announced the starting day, with a puzzled expression on his face.

«Can't figure out if the guy's angry at that thing he's hitting or if he's angry with what he has to do...»

Both men laughed.

«You're up, already?»
«Early riser. Always have been.»

He had awaken earlier, with some activity happening on a nearby floating dock, with a group of men boarding what seemed to be a small dinghy and heading out before dawn, but he didn't see need to tell all that information to the old man.

«They'll be coming soon, to check the cargo.»

He sounded tired and angry, looking at his beloved boat, full with a cargo that had only brought him trouble, after being told the day before he wouldn't be allowed to cross the river gates until the cargo was dully inspected and all matters cleared, after the events with fake the inspectors team and knowing the situation could easily escalate as there would be complaints going between the Dock's Authority and the Island Council: one was only concerned with the flow of businesses but the other was much more intrusive, always concerned with what is right or wrong and trying to enforce its vision of the world to everyone and everything coming to the piece of land it ruled over.

«I hope so. I want to get out of this place as soon as possible.»
«Seems like this is your lucky day, kid...»

Coming down the dock was a group of ten men, walking towards the barge, headed by the big muscular figure of the Dock Master, followed close behind by five other well-fed men, carrying ropes and tools, while a little behind walked four other figures dressed in black from head to toe, with hats covering their heads, in contrast with the workers.

«Good morning, gentlemen.» The Dock Master saluted the men in the barge. «Let's get this done, so we can all get on with our lives.» He waved to the figures dressed in black, calling them forward. «These are the inspectors that will be checking your cargo.» He took a moment for them to nod at the boatman and his companion. «These are legitimate, I assure you.»
«Thank you, Dock Master.»
«A beer at the inn, later, will be enough.»

The figures dressed in black frowned at the dock master remark but when he ordered the shoremen to get ready the older one took a step forward.

«Cargo manifest and documents, please.»

He was handed all documents in possession of the boatman, read them carefully and passed it to the man at his right who took it and checked it again, that time under the scope of a powerful magnifying lens, to check the embossed seals and stamps on the paper. When he was done, he handed to documents back to the chief inspector.

«These seem to be in order, sir.»
«Excellent. Dock Master?»
«Make her light, boys!»

Extra ties were added, securing the barge firmly against the dock, to prevent it from rocking and cargo falling over the side as the dockers moved the crates from the boat to dry land, where each one was opened to check its content: fabrics – both luxury and common – musical instruments of all kind, utilitarian pottery and more delicate porcelain tableware, all sort of blades, ranging from small pocket knives and scissors to heavy blades, farming implements, amongst other wares were checked and accounted for, with every permit and fee receipt being checked by the inspectors and the docks master. Every crate inspected and authorized was marked with a red stamp, indicating it had been authorized to pass onto the transit warehouses, nailed back shut and sealed with wax that was again marked with the Dock Authority seal.

One crate, rather small when compared to the others, still in the barge, attracted the attention of the dockers when the men were about to pick it up being, unlike the others, reinforced with metal plates nailed to the wood with large iron tacks, and having a large padlock securing it shut. None of this was new to the workers, accustomed to see all sort of cargo coming and going through their docks but it was odd to see a crate displaying inspection seals before being inspected.

«Boss!»
«What is it?»

Without another word the two men deposited the crate at the feet of the dock master, who looked at it suspiciously, before calling the head inspector, who was as surprised as the other man to see what was in front of them. His function was clear and the instructions he was given when he received his position even more: everything and anything arriving at the port was to be inspected and taxed in accordance to the Law. Anything entering the land and, for extent, the city, was to be inspected and approved in accordance to the Law. Without exceptions.

«Break it open.»

His voice trembled as he gave the order and beads of cold sweat ran down his forehead as the workers cut through the ring of the padlock and when the iron finally gave in to the saw and the padlock fell to the ground broken in two pieces the sound of a bell came too ears; he then called the attention of his helpers, who had been busy going through the remaining crates. Both were startled when they realized what seal was on the top of the crate.

«It's the Council Seal, Inspector Yull.»
«And the sealing was has the hallmark of Elder Bella.»
«Yes, I know.» His voice almost failed him as he replied to his assistants that were nervously looking over his shoulders. «But the Law is the Law.»

He signaled the dock master with his head, only a slight nod, feeling almost dizzy with the tension.

«Do it.»

With a crowbar to its front, the lid blew open, exposing several bags of burlap and letting out a sweet intoxicating smell immediately recognized by all. With trembling hands, the head inspector pulled out one of the bags, revealing a series of large glass carboys and between the walls of the crate and the glass containers were stacks of old magazines.

Martha hadn't slept much. it seemed her mind had turned to plans she had made ages ago, when she was fifteen, every time her eyes closed.

Twice she almost got out off bed. Once to light a candle and check if the old map she had hidden under a floorboard was still there, and once to just sit at the window and stare at the moon.

She felt chewed over and spewed out when the cock crowed the first time.

Nonetheless she got out off bed. They had to make applesauce. And Maria would help them. Ten minutes later she was in the kitchen and started the fire in the stove. Mara came, and went to the pantry without saying anything. Years now the two girls had made breakfast for the whole family, they could do it in their sleep, and often it would look as if they were sleepwalking, especially to a stranger.

An hour later everyone had eaten and the dishes were done. Mara and grandmother started to peel apples and Martha got the glasses from the attic.

"Is Maria ill?" Grandmother asked, stirring the first batch of applesauce an hour later. The girls shrugged their shoulders.

"She was well enough yesterday," Martha said.

"Can we sing songs now," grandmother asked longingly and a bit demanding, her mind turning back to other times.

"Of course," Martha soothed and soon the three hummed children's songs, folk songs and once in a while the girls giggled but nonetheless shushed their grandmother when she burst out in a loud "I can get no satisfaction" or "You can't always get what you want".

"Vincente doesn't like rock songs, grandmother," Mara explained when the old lady wanted to know why she couldn't sing her favorite songs.

"And Maria doesn't either," Martha said warningly, pointing at the window. "Here she comes, and she seems agitated. Maybe she really overslept and feels guilty."

"You'll never guess what happened!" Maria exclaimed when she entered the kitchen.

"You overslept, naughty girl!" grandmother scolded.

"No, you silly old woman!" Maria sat down at the table and took up a knife and an apple. "Franz got a call late last night, from the docks. A man came to tell him he might be needed this morning. Concerning what we saw on the river yesterday. And this morning an other man came. They found contraband of the worst kind on that barge! There will be a hearing. Those men will be punished! Franz dressed in his best suit, and headed out right away!"

"Anyway, you don't have to punish the apples," grandmother reprimanded her. "Peel them properly!"

The contents of the crate caused a turmoil on the docks, a loud and furious argument sprouting between the inspectors, with two of the inspectors wanting to take the two men into their immediate custody and the chief inspector arguing the events demanded more than a simplistic interpretation of the island laws to order an imprisonment but it was the Dock Master that put an end to the argument making his authority prevail once more, remembering the agreements between the Docks and the Island Council, knowing if he allowed the two men to be taken something would quickly and suddenly happen to them and the whole matter would be simply swept under the proverbial rug to be forgotten: he demanded the presence of a Council Member, to great displeasure of the younger and eager inspectors.

A courier was sent to town to fetch someone to come meet the Dock Master but the blond balding man wasn't going to waste the time he had on his hands waiting and soon the shadow of his muscled figure was over the two men that had been watching the unfolding of the events from crates landing site, just a few yards away.

«You're in trouble. Deep, if you're not willing collaborate.» He was making an honest effort to remain calm but his tension was obvious, with the swollen veins on his neck and temples jutting out underneath his tanned skin. «You were carrying contraband.»
«The kid has no part in this shit.» The boatman replied, his swollen face forcing him to speak slowly. «Let him go and I'll tell you want.»
«I can't do that.»
«So now what? You know how this place works. They'll make everything they can to have us hanged. I'm an old fart but this kid still has a life ahead of him.»

An unsettling silence broke the conversation, with the boatman staring into the blond dock boss ice cold blue eyes, trying to show him how revolted he felt.

«Don't you have anything to say?»

The blond man addressed the other that had been hearing the discussion in silence, looking for something from him besides indifference.

«You'll be here, is that correct? When the person you demanded for arrives.»
«Yes.»
«Then I can wait to say my part.»

The Dock Master was flabbergast at the attitude of the man but didn't had the chance to share his mind with him as another man was coming to the docks, running down the road from the city. It was another messenger and carried a note to the Dock Master.

«It seems you won't have to wait too much.» He creased the small piece of paper in his right hand and turned his back on the two men, starting to walk towards the city in the distance. «Grab your gear. We're going to meet them at the Midway.»
«What is the Midway?»
«Neutral ground, kid.»

Tomasso peeked in at the kitchen door and beckoned his eldest daughter.

"Saddle Beauty for me," he ordered.

With a sigh Martha headed over to the stables and did as requested. She fed Beauty a few bits of apple peels and cores which she had brought from the kitchen before she put the bit in his mouth. She smiled when she felt his soft lips carefully take the bits and pieces from the flat of her hand as she stroked his nose with her other hand.

Dressed in his second-best clothes, Tomasso entered the stable and took the reins from Martha.

"I'll be back as soon as possible, or as soon as I know more," he promised her.

Martha nodded and sighed.

"Why are you going, father?"

"Why? Because I want to know firsthand what is going on. I don't want to be ordered to attend and witness an execution with my family again without knowing the exact reasons why someone is executed."

"I don't want to witness another execution even if I know firsthand the convict is guilty," Martha mumbled on her way back to the farmhouse and her work in the kitchen.

Many hours later -the women were finished with the apples, had made two pies as well and a soup for dinner was simmering while they tended to other chores- Tomasso came back.

He didn't say anything else as he passed Martha, who was working in the vegetable garden, than that they would have a guest for a few days and that he would unsaddle Beauty himself.

Maria however, who came soon after to ask if she could borrow some fresh onions, had more to tell:

"They brought the men to Midway," she said in a stage whisper. "The contraband was awful! Magazines with nude women in them and drugs! They said the case was for Elder Bela! Franz went to the barge, to be a witness and he saw a broken seal on the case with Elder Bela's mark on it. He then visited father Dimitri, my cousin as you know, and he was so shocked! Franz then hurried back to Midway with Father Dimitri," Maria took a deep breath, and Martha handed her a bunco of onions thinking Maria would leave now.

"I really want to know where those men got that seal and I don't understand why your father is taking one of them in instead of locking them in the prison. My Franz then thought it best to offer to take one in too, and now I'll have to fear for my good reputation with that old goat around! You'll have to be very aware of your little sister, a man who smuggles such nasty, awful things will be up to anything! Take care of your valuables, Martha! It might be best I spend a lot of time here, you know Father Dimitri is thinking of marrying you, as is Elder Bela, even I don't know why they wouldn't prefer to marry Mara, she is much more appealing to the eye than you, she is a lovely young girl."

Martha watched Maria's back as she sailed back to her home. She too wanted to know why her father had offered hospitality to one of the men. They had enough troubles with Elder Bela and Father Dimitri as it was. She knew they only wanted to marry her because they wanted to have control over her grandfather and father. She would be Bela's third wife for God's sake! That man was aiming to get a harem!

Should she prepare the room over the stables, or the one in the attic? In the attic she decided. It would annoy Maria the most, and since it was over Martha's own bedroom, she would hear it if he got up at night.

Walking was easy. Years of travel had done its part on conditioning his body to the needs of moving fast and efficiently so he soon started to feel refreshed by just feeling the leather of his boots molding to the stones of the path he was following. His posture changed and his movements became fluid, unlike the dock men, who soon started evidencing strain: with thick leather straps wrapped around their wrists and waste, to allow them to exert brute force to shift heavy loads, the massive bodies were put under pressure to carry a single crate up the road leading to wherever the group was heading, with large beads of sweat trickling down their backs and foreheads, with the Dock Master ahead of them.

«Where are the men who boarded the barge yesterday?»
«What do you want them for?»
«For what I understand we're going to some sort of hearing.» The boatman's passenger stopped, looking at the back of the Dock Master. «If that is so, they must be questioned as well.»
«I had one of my men fetch them from the prison. They'll meet us there.»
«Good.»

The conversation ended as the group entered what seemed to be an amphitheater, where another small group was already waiting.

«Dock Master!»
«Father Dimitri.» The two men walked towards each other and shook hands, with mutual repulse. «I was expecting to meet a delegation on your behalf.»
«A situation like this demands my personal attention.» The figure walked around the Dock Master and looked at the boatman and the other man beside him. «These are the... offenders?»
«These men were caught in something that appears to go way beyond them.»

At a gesture, the men carrying the crate walked forward and set the large box in front of their boss, with the seals marked in red on the sun bleached wood in perfect display to the other party.

«These are Dock Authority and Island Council seals. Alongside with the much respected Elder Bella personal signet. On a crate that hadn't been inspected before this morning.»
«We seem to be dealing with very clever and dangerous smugglers, Dock Master, but what is the doubt in dealing with these men? For the kind of contraband I heard this crate carries the law is very clear and the punishment is simple.»
«Instead of being so hasty to send these men to the gallows perhaps you could explain me how those seals ended up on that crate, Father Dimitri. A crate that arrived at my docks without any permit or mention in cargo manifests, hidden amidst a properly authorized cargo.
«You don't expect a thief to ask permission to steal, do you?»
«I expect you to explain me this!»

A kick sent the top of the crate flying back, almost pulling it off its hinges, exposing its contents once more and instantly the air was tainted with the characteristic smell of cannabis, making the council members cower and cover their mouths with scarves while their eyes were spiked in the piles of old pornographic magazines that had jumped into sight from between the carboys.

«If your intention of was to deprive me of my appetite for the rest of the day, Dock Master, you have succeeded.»
«You little...»

The infuriated words of the Dock Master were cut by the arrival of a man who approached him and whispered a few words in his ear, causing the rage in the tall blond man eyes to subside as a worried expression came over his face.

«Any problems, Dock Master?»
«The men posing as inspectors who boarded the boat where this crate was being transported disappeared during the night. Their cell was empty.»
«Wonderful. Lets burn these items and deal with the remaining accomplices properly and be done with this! Elder Tomasso, have these men arrested and taken to the city dungeon.»

There was a sudden murmur coming down the walls of the amphitheater as a group of makeshift soldiers armed with spears entered the area and surrounded the two men pointed by an elderly man with a limp, after controlling the Dock Master and his men.

«Elder Tomasso. Have I understood your name correctly? Would you allow me to show you something before you have your men escort me and this man to your jail?»

The Elder was surprised to see a clear voice coming from the rude figure of the young man in front of him address him properly and politely and signaled the soldiers to wait.

«What do you want?»
«To speak and be heard before I'm summarily sentenced to death by something I haven't done.»
«Very well... Let's hear it.»

Slowly and carefully he reached for something inside his jacket, pulling open the side of it to reveal an envelope tucked in a pocket, and took it out with his index and middle finger, held it high above his head and finally pulled it down in front of him to open it, taking a single sheet of paper from inside. A soldier standing just behind caught a glimpse of the paper and unconscionably took a step back.

«Under my direct authority and the consent of the Elder Council, all parcels bearing my personal signet are to be admitted immediately, upon arrival to the island docks, to the Custom's Warehouses to wait for collection by a courier, without furthermore inspection of contents.»
«You don't expect me to believe you are able to read.»
«Then read for yourself, if you please.»

A large, stylized, signature, with a signet stamped in red ink aside it, came into view as he turned the piece of paper in his hands for the man to see, bellow a small handwritten paragraph in long feather strokes, instantly recognized by all the city men. Only one was quick to dismiss what was in display.

«Enough of this. A good forgery is still a forgery. Take those men!»
«No!» The crippled elder walked forward and took the piece of paper from the boatman's companion fingers and looked at it before turning around to face the center figure of the settlement council. «This is no forgery, Father Dimitri. Unless the Elder Bella had his signet ring stolen.»

An uncomfortable silence came over the auditorium, with even the people that were following the events from the settlement gangway above becoming still and silent.

«I'll take this man under my protection, Father Dimitri. This will not be settled as easy as you wanted. I want to see the end of this story.»
«I'll take the other one in; perhaps it better to have these men separated until we clear these matters.»

Another man stepped forward to speak in behalf of the boatman after Tomasso confronted the Father, putting him at check in front of the other Elders present.

«Escort these men. I want to see them arrive safely to our houses. The contraband is to be taken to the city dungeon and locked in a cell, guarded day and night.»

He folded the letter and handed it back to the man in front of him and turned his back to walk out of the amphitheater. Nobody noticed him whispering under his breath to the other he had a lot to discuss with him.

Martha climbed up the stairs to the attic with fresh bedlinen over her arm, a little vase with three flowers in one hand, a bowl with five apples, two sweet and three more sourly, in her other hand and a broom under her arm. With her elbow she opened the door and gasped when she entered the room.

The air was sticky. Quickly she put everything down and opened the two small windows in the hope the light breeze outside would freshen the air inside before the guest would arrive.

"We need to do something soon," softly the voice of her grandfather rose up from below. "They are getting too mighty. If we don't stop them, your daughters are going to pay the price."

"And every other living soul on the island," her father hissed.

Martha had to strain her ears to understand him.

"Dimitri wanted those men killed without a hearing. Without a jury debating what should be done. He simply stated death was the punishment for smuggling playboys and hash. As if it had been a long standing council decision. The crate was marked as Beela's property, and the men who tried to get it yesterday disappeared from the prison this night. I'll demand, and Franz will back me up, that that gets sorted out first. The contraband is stored in the prison, and I made sure three of our men and two leaning towards us, will be among the guards, one in each shift."

Tomasso took a few steps away from the house, his after followed him and Martha had to lean far out off the window to hear the next words.

"Dimitri is getting dangerous," Martha's granddad said anxiously.

"Getting dangerous? He was always a danger, with his pious zealousness. But when Beela and his consorts arrived and made themselves part of the council, things got out off hand, father, you know I always warned against them. But you were one of those who backed them when Beela decided the council was not big enough, not well enough equipped to govern the island."

"You know his ideas to fortify the island were good!" Her granddad defended himself.

"Yes. They were. But we were working on it already, and the dams were already big enough to double as walls. The main community was protected. The docks were protected. The small village at the other side was protected. The settlements all over the island build their own dams. There was no need to reward Beela and his consorts with posts in the council for his 'advice'. He never lifted a hand himself. We had a good life. We took a fair toll at he bridge, the docks traded in everything, people came from everywhere to sell their goods and buy new things. We were doing well enough. But some people got greedy. Some got so greedy they wanted to believe Beela."

Tomasso walked around his father.

"The Docks were a part of it all, and not, like now, a force working against the council. We can't trust them anymore. The new Dockmaster thinks he should govern the whole island. Father, it is time for the revolution."

Martha gasped. She had to clasp her hand on her mouth to stop herself from calling out to her father.

"A revolution?" her grandfather stuttered. "My son, you don't know what you are saying. People will get killed."

"They are getting killed now!" Tomasso hissed, leaning over his father.

Martha's grandfather stumbled back and sunk against the wall, a broken man.

He said nothing for a while. The words he then uttered were so soft, Martha only understood a few of them. Wait, hearing, Beela.

Her father started to walk away while her grandfather still talked. After a few meters he turned on his heels though and almost ran back.

"Okay. I'll discuss it with the others. But if they don't want to wait until the hearing, if they don't believe we can get rid of Beela at the hearing, we'll act accordingly."

Martha didn't see her father walk away, she had slumped down under the window. Her mind was in a turmoil. She had known for a long time her father wasn't on the same line as Beela and some other elders. It had never entered her mind he was planning a revolution. She had no idea what she should do with the knowledge she now had.

Sighing she got to her feet and mechanically made the bed and arranged the flowers and the fruit on the nightstand. She swiped the floor and left the room after she put the chair against the door to keep it open.

"Take care grandmother doesn't get to the attic, I left the bedroom door open, it was too sticky," she told Mara, who sat at the table with grandmother plucking five chickens, when she put the broom in the corner of the pantry.

Mara nodded.

"Martha! Look, those men, what do they want?" Mara jumped up and went to the window.

Martha put her arm around her sister when she stepped beside her at the window. Eight men walked up the road to their house. Six armed with spears, and two, an elder and younger men in the middle of them.

Three guards and the elder man moved away from the group, towards Maria's. The rest walked to their backdoor. Stunned the girls watched the men enter the kitchen.

"Where is your father?" One of the armed men barked at Martha and Mara.

"Outside, on the fields," Martha responded loudly. "Or in the stables. What do you want from him?"

"Get him." The one who had spoken sat down at the kitchen table. "You," he pointed at Mara, "go. You," he pointed at Martha, "get us something to drink. Beer. And some good food."

A soft nudge from Martha told Mara to go and quickly the young girl darted out, glad she could escape the threatening atmosphere in the kitchen. I hadn't escaped her eyes one man was guarded hadn't been allowed to sit down.

Grandmother filled a pitcher with fresh water from the pump and put it on the table, with four earthenware beakers. Mumbling well-wishes she filled the beakers and put one down in front of each sitting man and handed the man standing at the back wall one too. Without a word Martha at the same time put the big pot with applesauce on the table and took four bowls and spoons out off the cupboard and the drawer.

"I have no time to get you something else," she said matter of factly. "Unless my father tells me to. I have to cook a special dinner, my father expects a guest."

Quietly she sat down beside her grandmother, pulled the platter with chickens towards her and continued to pluck them.

The man who had told her to get beer, was fuming.

"What do you think you are?" Spittle flew over the table as he hiss-shouted those words.

"My daughter," a calm voice at the door said, "who does just as she was told to do. Sit down, young man, and have some applesauce. My mother taught my daughters her recipe, and it tastes marvelous. Mara, get us a bowl too, and put one on the table for your grandfather, he'll be here soon. And if you ladies still can smell the applesauce after this morning, get some bowls for you too."

Tomasso limped into the kitchen leaning on his son's shoulder.