Prisons of Ice and Fire

The Bulwark

Of course, some men have no corpse to 'bury' and hence not even a small reason to use in order to attach some specific memorial to.

Such was the case with The Bulwark.

He was called that because he had no other name and, naturally, that was where he was to be found if not working; leaning and gazing, even in the foulest of weather.

He was not a particularly long-timer, but one who you would expect to grow into one.

He was dumb looking and acting when necessary but sharp as knives in reality: not just quick on the uptake, but inventive.

He helped those that needing helping but not those that pretended to.

He was quiet and strong but, most importantly, had the stamina and constitution of an ox.

If a man disappeared, no questions were asked by those in charge: a thorough and swift search was made of the ship and usually, within the hour, it was over: another one who succumbed to the sea one way or the other.

The problem with the disappearance of The Bulwark was simple: most people swore that if you cut him in half, both halves would grow into a complete man.

There was just no way mentally, physically or religiously that you would either get him to throw himself overboard, he would fall overboard as result of an accident, or you could throw him overboard without such a fight that you would lose half of the prisoners or the crew (depending on who was involved).

As our prison ship moves like clockwork between the hot desert and the Antarctic pole, we find ourselves at rest for long periods: food is scarce so we just lie and talk.

We transport ice to the desert and materials to aid the process of harvesting it to the pole.

Also, in between is the world built in a calm, balmy stretch of sea where the Stilt Cities float.

Occasionally we stop there: to take on replacement crew or prisoners, to deliver ice and re-stock.

The Bulwark did not stand all the time at the rail, and as he had seen much of the towers that I had not he often talked about things he had seen and done there and in the desert Domes.

The ice is used as coolant and hydration for the plants that grow in the domes and for drinking water for those that work there and some power is gained from the energy of the sun and used also to cool the domes.

Ships other than ours transport the food grown to the Stilt Cities: prisoners do not work with such precious cargos, but before he was a prisoner, The Bulwark worked voluntarily aboard such a vessel; he had a natural inclination to be at sea. Fish are our staple, and The Bulwark also knew ways to help us better harvest the resource. He also knew much of building: what things can be made of and how they are put together which, coupled with his innate sense of where to fish, meant we could also increase our catch by more technical means.

The Bulwark mentioned the Cult Of Rafii often: how he had been to their City and talked to their members. I often asked that if it wasn’t for the Eye, could he tell them apart from the rest of us. He would laugh and ask how I thought that there was such a thing as a natural division of men that could create ‘natural’ cultists. I would reply that if not, what makes them sure that any man is truly one of them? We would not argue though, for we were in each other’s company too long for that.

I awaken from a quick but deep sleep to find the ship in disarray.

Orders have come to the ship from the Heptet directly: we are to stop at the City Of The Eye before we continue on to the Desert.

The journey is not long but we need to get there swiftly as the diversion will mean we must make up time.

We need to arrive at the Port Of Domes after nightfall but before dawn or risk being stuck on the ship during the midday heat.

As well as being 'uncomfortable' to say the least, our whole schedule would be ruined, and potentially our cargo also.

Although delivering water is easier, the ice is also used for cooling, so the colder the better.

Normally I would not be bothered with the politics, or that bothered by the extra work, however, I find I have none.

I am told to report to the Captain: something which doesn't happen often as a rule, and never normally for good reasons.

So, unsurprisingly, I am nervous not to make a potentially bad situation worse when I arrive at his cabin.

I am standing with my fist raised at the door; I have never had to think so hard about a knock before.

Is twice enough, and how loudly do I rap?

The Captain's voice beats me to it, "Come in."

As I open the door I expect to find him sitting at his desk, not looking up, being psychologically dominant, making me wait.

He is, however, up and pacing.

I get no further than two steps inside the door and he has run around me to shut it swiftly.

He retreats back to the centre of the room; I stand still where I ended up as I entered.

I am no coward though; I do look at the man.

He eyes me up and down with such a lightening bounce of his gaze that some might have missed it.

“Did you talk to him?” he asks quickly but firmly.

“Who?” I reply honestly and just as quickly: I find I cope better when I actually see no sense in a situation.

“The Monk. When you were in the Park” the Captain adds with a trace of annoyance more directed at himself than me.

I gather he is so busy that he is dismissing 'pleasantries' and needs information quickly.

“No,” I reply, “I wasn't close enough, although I did see him.”

“We have to pick something up to be delivered to the Domes. They have asked for you specifically. Why?”

“I have no idea, but I work hard and he saw that.”

The Captain nods, flicks his hand toward the door and turns back to his desk.

I turn and open the door quickly; the Bosun is standing full in the frame.

He grabs my arm, pulls me out and shuts the door.

“No mistakes.” he whispers in my ear.

He spins me round by my arm, lets me go and pushes me down the corridor, his usual loud voice now ringing in my ears, “Wash and find some clean clothes.”

All sorts of strange notions start to spill around in my brain and I have to struggle to force them away and concentrate.

I make for the stores by the quickest way I know in order to pick up some new clothes.