The scant arrests elsewhere were small fry, nowhere near the level anticipated by the Authority.
Four Commanders remained on standby in the boardroom, poised to convene the depleted Council should the need arise. The four, including Commander Fentlow, stood before the trooper who had come to report the latest.
“It’s been three hours,” said one of the Commanders. “And only a handful of arrests. Maybe we jumped the gun? Maybe there were only a few copies in circulation?”
“I’ve heard the streets are littered with them,” said another.
“Someone must have warned them we were coming,” said the third.
“Warned the entire city?” said Fentlow. “No. The warning was given way before we even knew about it.” The three Commanders looked at him, bemused. “Didn’t you read it?”
“What’s the point? It’s just shit-stirring. All that stuff about the water. As if? I don’t know why Wulfwin made such a big deal.”
“Then look again.” He held out the copy of Bluemantle and pointed to a text box at the bottom of the last page.
Printed in bold, upper case, were the words, “DROP IMMEDIATELY. DON’T GIVE THEM REASON. READ AND REMEMBER. SPREAD THE WORD. FOLLOW THE PATH.”
–
By dusk, the walkout had peaked for the day. Citizens would soon drift towards their homes, harbouring feelings of both pride and relief. Wella, Tinashe, Naylor and Nial stood on the steps of the Exchange, reading the mood of those gathered.
“What do you think’ll happen tomorrow?” said Naylor.
“Because it’s Sunday?” said Wella. “I think they’ll still come.”
“But for a lot of them it’s about work. The strain of distributed hours. Sunday’s their day off. They’ll want to be with their families.”
“It might’ve started out that way. But they’ve been here for a while, some of them three days, listening to people talk. They’ll see their own beef in the context of a far bigger picture.” She tipped her head towards the Wall. “And a far more compelling one. I honestly think those who join the walkout because of work end up staying because of the missing. And now the A have added fuel to the fire. Drugging the water, storming the city, assaulting people. They ain’t doing themselves any favours.”
“Do you think we’ll see more tomorrow, then?” said Nial.
“I wouldn’t be surprised. Momentum is building. The cart was picking up speed. The A have just gone and shoved a friggin’ motor on the back.”
–
The new day proved Wella right.
Sunday morning. The walkout had near enough doubled in size. Whole families gathered, sitting on blankets in Glade Park. Enterprising café owners moved through the crowds, wicker baskets on their backs laden with baked breads and bava fruit. Carters spread themselves around the perimeter, between staring sentries, selling chilled teas and spritzers. The trading restrictions didn’t apply at the park. Besides, they could no longer afford to donate – the number of people had grown too great to fairly cater for all.
Not since Rideout had so many citizens amassed in Glade, nor anywhere else in the city.
This fact would not have been lost on Governor Blix, had she access to the monitors, or even the wherewithal to focus on their grainy images. Had she glimpsed the scene, the lingering throng, thousands strong, she would have perceived the manifestation of her greatest fear. Then she would have seized her justification and used it to purge the disease. Eradicate the swarm.
Instead, she lay on the lounger in her private quarters, barely conscious. The laced Meezel had taken firm hold, trapping her in a cycle of personal nightmares.
The significance of scale might have occurred to Wulfwin, had he the attention to afford it. However, the hunt for the Music Makers left no room for trivial observations.
He had convened his depleted army late the previous afternoon. As they were preparing to leave, two breathless Superiors had come running towards him. One had a black eye and a bandage taped over a broken nose.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” they said in unison, snapping to attention.
“What the actual fuck?” said Wulfwin. The Superiors stared ahead, eyes wide. “Trooper Sixty. I thought I’d arranged things so that your head would be down the crapper for the foreseeable. Explain why that’s not so.”
“Sir, Commander Fentlow said my rank is temporarily reinstated. Under review.”
“You are kidding me.”
“He said extenuating circumstances, sir. Not enough men.”
“Fucking bastard.” Wulfwin turned away and looked at the sky’s fading light, then growled through gritted teeth. He turned back to Trooper Sixty. “Your rank is not reinstated. But I need bodies. Useless as yours is.” He shoved him by the shoulders. The trooper stumbled backwards. “Get in line and don’t do anything that reminds me you’re alive.”
They had set off soon after, heading west, up Cinder Hill, towards the Nanso Heights. Within an hour of searching, they had located the hoof tracks leading away from Lyun Mountain and followed them for as long as there was light enough to see. They had eventually set up camp approximately twenty-five miles north-east of the Heights.
At the first glimpse of sunrise, they packed up and were on the move once more. The terrain steadily deteriorated. Wulfwin reluctantly ordered that they abandon all vehicles except for the fleet of field bikes, excessively modified with powerful engines and forgiving suspension.
One of the troopers carried a long-range radio. However, as they marched further into the lands of the map that shouldn’t exist, the signal weakened, then was lost entirely.
Wulfwin didn’t care. It just meant no more interruptions. The Council could deal with the city, he decided, especially now the water would be exerting its influence. It was no longer his problem. He was finally free to focus on the prize. He could feel the end approaching, smell the prospect of victory in the air.
Yet progress was slow. Sighted Allears had to lead their adjusted colleagues, strung together by lengths of rope which they clung to like a lifeline. The hoof tracks were faint or, in some places where the ground had no give, had disappeared entirely. Troopers
