Chapter 12 - The Kraken Gate
The ferry to Exeter Stack belched smoke as it fought the heavy chop. A capricious breeze only made the going harder, and filled my nostrils with the tang of salt water and rotting seaweed. There were only four sailings a day, on the basis that the fewer opportunities there were, the harder it would be for the prison inmates to escape. One consequence of the sparse schedule was that the ferry was packed. Families going to visit their loved ones.
When I had finished scanning the Emberland Echo, I glanced through a porthole at Highbold, Exeter Stack’s twin that stood on the other shoulder of the harbour. The sky above it was black, charcoal rods of rain spearing down towards its fortified barracks. I had a feeling that Exeter Island was in for a similar drenching and I began to wish I’ve bought my raincoat.
In spite of the mercifully short crossing, two of the passengers splashed out their most recent meals for all to appreciate, so I was delighted when we were able to disembark onto the quay. Exeter Stack was a wide plug of basalt that emerged from the sea, on top of which sat another vaguely cylindrical piece of rock. The prison rotunda occupied the lower tier, three-hundred hands above the sea and a league across. Its high, grey walls towered above the gatehouse that I was waiting to pass through. Fourteen-hundred souls languished in these grim confines for crimes against the state. The finger of rock that pointed skywards from the centre of the prison was the scaffold on which the fort and garrison had been built. At its base, the garrison neatly encompassed the pillar of stone, its uncompromising walls soaring above the prison, looking out in all directions. Gun ports were stitched across the rime-encrusted brickwork, the larger ones evidence of the long-range cannons that made the harbour entrance a no-go area for would be invaders.
My credentials checked, I was escorted through dank, narrow passageways until we reached the visitation room, an indoor courtyard with high, barred and unglazed windows. Sometimes, in winterxil and wintersole, the tables against one wall would disappear under a snowdrift. Today, there were only puddles.
My father was sitting in a chair, staring at the liver spots on his hands. In my heart, I longed to hug him, but I knew from experience that the wardens would use their batons to teach me the Visitation Rules. Kesten Derringer looked up and beamed at me with his crinkle-cornered eyes.
‘Hello Con! I wasn’t sure you’d come.’
The little hair that crowned his head was a felting of white fuzz. His faded serge blue suit looked more like a bag of bones than ever. It was with a shock that I realised for the first time that he was old.
Kesten Derringer had worked as a lawyer for many years before being enticed into Emberland’s civil service. A successful career had seen him rise to an ambassadorial post, culminating in a two year spell in Gulreimia. My company’s contract to protect Prince Zhou-Anrah Drelahk had come through my father’s connections in that country. When the revolution came, he was summoned home, whereupon he resigned from the Civil Service and volunteered to represent Orwall III at his trial. A bruising two years later, the predetermined outcome resulted in Orwall’s execution, then two cycles later, Kesten Derringer found himself in front of the judge. The charge related to a procedural technicality arising from the trial, although even the papers hinted that he was being punished by the new establishment for defending the indefensible. That had been twenty-five years ago.
‘Don’t I always?’ I hated myself as I said the words, knowing that I wouldn’t be back from Lannerville for some time. I would have to tell him.
‘Well, that new job of yours sounded so important, I thought you wouldn’t have time.’ My father winked. ‘Your mother would have been so proud of you. Oh hey!’ he whispered, suddenly remembering something. ‘Did you hear the explosion the night before last? Was that the Nallians? The screws won’t tell us anything. Has our old adversary finally invaded?’
What should I tell him? That his own baby girl blew up a large chunk of Emberly?
‘Father, that was me. The failsafe I built, it failed…not very safely. It blew up several buildings in the city.’
‘Oh, pray tell!’
I told him what I could, which was not a lot, but Kesten Derringer had always been able to guess at the things that I didn’t want him to know.
‘You think it could have malfunctioned?’
‘No, Father. There are strict protocols. Everyone on the project has been through the training. No one goes through the gate without the protective countermeasure.’
‘All right, but why was the explosion so big?’
‘That’s what I can’t fathom. What we built was largely incendiary, contained by a modest concussive cage. The hall we were protecting would have taken heavy damage, but nothing capable of flattening Winslow Hall.’
‘Perhaps there was something in it, or in a nearby storeroom that reacted with it? Something you weren’t told about.’
I shook my head, trying to visualise the Gate Hall and the surrounding rooms. ‘I don’t know, Father. Maybe I’ll follow up on that. Anyway, on a different note, I met Chancellor Gordon yesterday.’
‘How nice for you,’ replied my father, drily. Chancellor Gordon had followed the tradition of his predecessors. For twenty three years, since the start of his incarceration, my father had made Emberland’s clemency shortlist, as voted for by the people. Every year of his four year tenure as Chancellor, Dermont Gordon had blocked it.
‘If I play my cards right, I may be able to persuade him to set you free.’
‘Well,’ my father laughed. ‘If you keep blowing up bits of Emberly you’re more likely to wind up in here next to me, on this side of the table.’
‘That’s a fair point, but something tells me that Gordon is gunning for my client, not me.’
‘That’s no surprise. The chancellor is deeply suspicious of anyone who made their money during the monarchy. Tainted, you see, like me.’
‘That’s a ridiculous comparison and you know it.’
‘Alright, but the other reason Gordon is flexing his muscles is that his term in office is nearly up. There’s nothing like a good scalping to boost your rating, especially if the recipient is a wealthy industrialist.’
I nodded. I’d been so busy that I had forgotten about the upcoming elections. Every five years, the Council of the Republic stood itself down and Emberland went to the polls.
‘Shouldn’t Gordon be focusing on winning the war?’
‘Maybe he is,’ said my father. ‘Isn’t Harman the one with all the gravitium mines?’
‘True, and the Nallians want it for their airships. Maybe there’s a connection.’
My father sat back in his chair, arms folded, as though we’d solved an impossible riddle. I wasn’t so sure. Then I remembered the malt loaf.
‘Here, father. I brought this for you.’ I handed over the damaged parcel.
‘I see the wardens have had their fun, as usual!’
‘Sorry, yes. They didn’t find any contraband, but I’m pretty sure they’ve eaten half of it in the process. I’ve a good mind to put laxative in the next one.’
My father chuckled as he put the cake in his coat pocket. ‘You’re really good to me, Con. I’ll make sure you get a map with directions to the gold after I die.’
‘Ha-ha,! Very droll, Father.’
‘Seriously, Con, I wish I had more to give you. Draxil-knows I’ve been a terrible parent.’
I risked the ire of the wardens by reaching over and covering my father’s hands with my own.
‘You’ve done loads for me, Dad. You sold the family home to help me set up business and to bail Inigo.’
At the name, my father’s eyes lit up. The two of them had struck up an unlikely relationship when the young man had showed up on Exeter Stack.
‘Inigo Forbes, yes. How’s the lad doing?’
‘He’s doing fine, Father.’
‘I told you he was a good one.’
‘You did, Father. He seemed dangerously feral at first, but I really think he’s warming to this opportunity.’
‘Crying shame to lock up talent like that. What have you got him working on? A brain like his needs something challenging to keep him interested.’
‘Yes. It’s clear that he’s got a whole range of talents that I’ve not begun to test yet.’
‘Did Inigo’s parole board place strict conditions?’
‘Yes, Father. I told you before. He and I both have to report in to the Ministry of Comportment the first Siguthday of every cycle to hand in a written report on his activities, together with an administrative fee of thirteen marks.’
‘Ouch! That’s steep.’
‘Yes, and you’ve just reminded me that I need to apply for permission to switch the regular assessment to a different branch of the Ministry of Comportment. The whole team is being sent to Lannerville, the backup site for Harman’s grand project.’
My father watched me for a while, saying nothing, then he smiled, as if I’d given him a box of tharmigant eggs. ‘That’s alright, Con. Come and see me when you get back. I’ll be right here.’
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