When I left the hut I remembered the militiaman’s warning about potential trouble from the men, and walked over to their dormitory. Most of them were outside sitting on the ground, watching the work on the pulleys. A few were talking, arguing loudly and gesticulating, but I decided the Militia saw threats where none existed. I walked back towards the track.
I glanced at the sun: it was not long to nightfall. I reasoned that the rest of the winching should not take long once the pulleys were out of the way, for it was clear that the rest of the tracks led along a downhill gradient.
In due course the final pulley was removed, and all five cables were once again taut. There was a short wait until, at a signal from the Traction man at the stays, the slow progress of the city continued… down the slope towards us. Contrary to what I had imagined, the city did not run smoothly of its own accord on the advantageous gradient. By the evidence of what I saw the cables were still taut; the city was still having to pull itself. As it came closer I detected a slackening of tension in the manner of the two Traction men, but their vigilance didn’t alter. Throughout the operation they concentrated their whole attention on the oncoming city.
Finally, when the huge construction was no more than about ten yards from the end of the tracks, the signaller raised his red flag and held it over his head. There was a large window running across the breadth of the forward tower, and here one of the many men who stood in view raised a similar flag. Seconds later, the city halted.
There was a pause of about two minutes, and then a man came through a doorway in the tower and stood on a small platform overlooking us.
“O.K… brakes secured,” he called down. “We’re slackening off now.”
The two Traction men came out from behind their metal shelters, and stretched their limbs exaggeratedly. Undoubtedly, they had been under considerable mental strain for several hours. One of them walked straight over to the edge of the city and urinated against its side. He grinned back at the other, then hauled himself up on to a ledge and clambered up the superstructure of the city itself until he reached the platform. The other man walked down past the cables — which were now visibly slacker — and disappeared under the lip of the city itself. The militiamen were still deployed in their defensive formation, but even they seemed to be more relaxed now.
The show was over. Seeing the city so near I was tempted to go inside myself, but I wasn’t sure whether I should. There was only Victoria to see, and she would be occupied with her work. Besides, Malchuskin had told me to stay with the men, and I thought I ought not disobey him.
As I was walking back towards the hut, a man came over to me from the direction of the city.
“Are you Apprentice Mann?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Jaime Collings, from the Barter guild. Track Malchuskin said there were some hired men here who were to be paid off.”
“That’s right.”
“How many?” said Collings.
“In our crew, fifteen. But there are several more.”
“Any complaints?”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Complaints… any trouble, refusal to work.”
“They were a bit slow, and Malchuskin was always shouting at them.”
“Did they ever refuse to work?”
“No.”
“O.K. Do you know who their squad leader was?”
“There was one called Rafael, who spoke English.”
“He’ll do.”
Together we walked over to the huts, and we found the men. At the sight of Collings, silence fell abruptly.
I pointed out Rafael. Collings and he spoke together in Rafael’s language, and almost at once one of the others shouted back angrily. Rafael ignored him, and spoke to Collings, but it was clear that there was a lot of animosity. Once again someone shouted, and soon many of the others had joined in. A crowd gathered around Collings and Rafael, some of the men reaching through the packed bodies and jabbing at Collings.
“Do you need any help?” I shouted over the row at him, but he didn’t hear. I moved closer and shouted the question again.
“Get four of the Militia,” he called out in English. “Tell them to keep it low.”
I stared at the arguing men for a moment, then hurried away. There was still a small group of the Militia in the area of the cable-stays, and I went in that direction. They had evidently heard the noise of the argument, and were already looking towards the crowd of men. When they saw me running over to them, six of the men started out.
“He wants four militiamen!” I said, gasping from my running.
“Not enough. Leave that to me, sonny.”
The man who had spoken, who was evidently in charge, whistled loudly and beckoned towards some more of his men. Four more militiamen left their position near the city and ran over. The group of ten soldiers now ran towards the scene of the argument, with me trailing in the rear.
Without waiting to consult Collings, who was still in the centre of the mêlée, the militiamen charged into the group of men, swinging their drawn crossbows as clubs. Collings turned round suddenly, shouted at the militiamen, but was seized from behind by one of the men. He was dragged to the ground and the men moved in, kicking at him.
The militiamen were obviously trained for this kind of fighting, for they moved expertly and quickly, swinging their improvised clubs with great precision and accuracy. I watched for a moment, then struggled into the mass of men, trying to reach Collings. One of the hired men grabbed at my face, his fingers closing over my eyes. I tried to snatch my head away, but another man helped him. Suddenly I was free… and saw the two men who had attacked me fall to the floor. The militiamen who had rescued me made no sign of recognition, but carried on with their brutal clubbing.
The crowd was swelling now, as the other local men came to give assistance. I paid no heed to this and turned back into the thick of it, still trying to reach Collings. A narrow back was directly in front of me, clad in a thin white shirt sticking wetly to the skin. Unthinkingly, I slammed my arm around the man’s throat, pulled his head back, and punched him roughly in the ear. He fell to the ground. Another man was beyond him, and I tried the same tactic, but this time before I could land a blow I was kicked roughly by another man and I fell to the floor.
Through the mass of legs I saw Collings’s body on the ground, still being kicked. He was lying face-down, his arms defensively over his head. I tried to push my way across to him, but then I too was being kicked. Another foot slammed against the side of my head, and for a moment I blacked out. A second later I was conscious again, and fully aware of the vicious kicks being hurled at my body. Like Collings, I covered my head with my arms but pushed myself forward in the direction I had last seen him.
Everything around me seemed to be a surging forest of legs and bodies, and everywhere there was the roar of raised voices. Lifting my head for a moment I saw that I was only a few inches from Collings, and I pushed my way through until I was crouched on the ground beside him. I tried to stand, but was immediately felled by another kick.
Much to my surprise I realized Collings was still conscious. As I fell against him I felt his arm go over my shoulders.
“When I say,” he bawled in my ear, “stand up!”
A moment passed, and I felt his arm grip my shoulder more tightly.
“Now!”
With a massive effort we pushed ourselves upwards and at once he released me, swinging his fist round and catching one of the men full in the face. I did not have his same height, and the best I could manage was an elbow jab into someone’s stomach. For my trouble I was punched in the neck, and once more I fell to the ground. Someone grabbed me, and hauled me to my feet. It was Collings.