To Where the People Labor Chained

Part One: https://steemit.com/writing/@bardbarian/he-who-will-not-be-tamed
Part Two: https://steemit.com/writing/@bardbarian/the-lies-we-hope-for
Part Three: https://steemit.com/writing/@bardbarian/one-way-and-another
Part Four: https://steemit.com/writing/@bardbarian/dealing-with-freedom-fire-in-a-wet-place-and-the-limits-of-what-knowledge-may-say

Part Five:

“There, there it is,” Hector saw his home for the first time in decades. The gray city was hit by the first rays of dawn which crowned its highest buildings with orange and red. The silhouette of the skyline was all slopes and curves as the light glittered over every inch of it. The capitol was visible even from this far away, the ports had been alive for hours as the fishing boats went out before first light. The great western wall had flung its gates open and transport had begun to and from the farm factories. “I see why you want to take those out first, son,” Hector sobered as he saw the ugly sharply square things, “they hardly seem to fit with the rest of it.”

“Alright father dear,” Lione turned towards Hector, “give me your hands.”

“What?”

“We’re doing the thing to get inside the place.”

“I know what, boy, it was my idea!”

“Well, okay, fine. Give me your hands.”

“No, the plan was to tie you up not me.”

“What?”

“We’re doing the thing to get inside the place.”

“Oh, shut up, you old smartass. I’m playing the Watches Marshall, you are my prisoner.”

“Because I’m more ‘wanted’ than you.”

“Has nothing to do with wanted, I’m more wanted, I just fit the description of a Marshall better.”

“How do you figure?”

“I’ve shaved this decade.”

“Oh pish-the price on my head is way higher than yours! I’ve robbed the railroad, twice!”

“I am the terror of the high district!”

“Ha! I ran the shipyards singlehanded!”

“I robbed the Confederate Bond market singlehanded!”

“I once had Lady Fellswidth convinced I was her son, and sign over her estate to me!”

“I dated three Royal Academy dancers at the same time!”

“I-Seriously?”

“For real.”

“Kudos.”

“Thanks.”

“Now you give me your hands.”

“Why should I let you play the Marshall of the Watch, old man?”

“Because,” Hector tapped the hilt of the short sword he carried. It held the emblem of the Watch. “I have one of their swords.”

It was enough to get Lione to begrudgingly let his hands be tied, not nearly enough to get him to shut up. The old outlaw and the young rebel alternated between boasting about their borderline immoral exploits and quizzing each other on the minutia of Watcher paperwork and procedure. It didn’t seem to matter that they were both at once arguing why they should be both the prisoner and the Marshall. Once they got within earshot of the factory nearest to the way they were going, Hector straightened up and Lione enacted a sulk. They were both professionals, after all.

Lione hated to admit it, but Hector was a pretty good Marshall. He bullied their way into the farm factory, they now stood in the first guards room on the second floor. So very close to the central work area, where Hector had said all the slaves would be for the first half of the day. The young Watchmen were very easily flustered, and Hector gave them little time to compose. He rattled of references to regulations Lione was sure didn’t exist.

“Now as I said twenty minutes ago, open the work quarter so I can put this good-for nothing in with the rest of them!”

“Belay that order!” Boomed an older voice. The captain had just arrived for an inspection of Factory 432, and appeared to be completely unimpressed with a Marshal of the Watch.

“Captain! Good, a sensible man. I am Marshal Hector, and I’ve returned from my patrol of the outland woods. Here is my prisoner for the farm.”

“You must indeed have been gone a while, sir, by order of the Blue Queen we are not taking any new citizen-workers.”

Lione could not help but smile, Hector could not help but hold a look of amazement for a split second.

“I know,” continued the Captain, “Craziness. But what do you expect, from the daughter of that traitorous Lee.”

“Well, ahem, I have here my orders…”

“Is that a folio, sir Marshall?” The captain had a certain look in his eye, and Lione immediately groaned. “We haven’t used written orders for at least a decade. And this,” he tapped Hector’s hilt,” belongs to someone far above your station.” The captain leaned in close to peer at Hector who was about to launch into another layer of the con. Suddenly the captain sprung back. “You! You are Lord Lionheart!” He slapped at the guards that were nearest, waved at the ones out of reach, and fairly squealed "this man has been wanted for murder and treason for a decade. You idiots!"

The jig was up, the junior watchmen were free from the con’s spell. Hector knocked Lione on the back of the head as if to “say see? They know me better” as Lione jabbed his elbow into Hector’s side to indicate that Lione was sure he would have been a better Marshall.

The room was small, and the two hardened criminals had positioned themselves by the door. It was almost unfair. But Hector and Lione weren’t planning on killing anyone, so at least the uniformed men would live to tell the tale. Even the obnoxious slave driver of a Captain. Especially him.