The people of the city were just as drab and grimy as the buildings. There were no colours to be seen on their clothing. Nothing but shades of grey. Maybe some of them had been blue or brown once, but the colours had faded and the ever present soot and smut got into everything. Many of them had hands black with coal dust. Those who'd made an effort to try to clean them still had black in every crease and under every fingernail, but most seemed not to have even bothered, as if it would have been just wasted effort.

     There was a fatigue evident in everyone he saw. They walked with heads bowed, staring at the ground in front of them, their hands hanging limply by their sides. It seemed to be a fatigue of the spirit rather than the body. Something that all the sleep in the world wouldn't have been able to touch. Do they commute? he wondered. Many of the workers in Helberion industrial cities lived in outlying towns, only moving into the city to work. It meant they could breathe clean air while at home and be surrounded by healthy greenery. He’d seen no sign of residential townships while approaching this city, though, and so had to assume that these people had to endure this environment twenty four hours a day.

     There was one escape, of course. Two, if you counted alcohol and opium separately, and he saw the unmistakable signs of drug dependency everywhere he looked. People with the glazed expressions of an opium haze in their eyes lay passed out by the sides of the street while uncaring people stepped over them. Then, as he turned the corner to pass the massive, grey bulk of a glue factory, he saw an expensive carriage pass by drawn by sleek, black horses; far too opulent to be the property of a factory boss. It had to be a drug lord. Grown fat on the misery of the working men and tolerated by the bosses because it kept the working classes too drugged and apathetic to rise up in rebellion. The Brigadier climbed back into the saddle of his horse and geed it into a canter. He suddenly felt a desperate need to be out of this awful place as quickly as possible.

     He heard a cry of pain and glanced sideways, into the darkness between two buildings. There was movement there, and he pulled on the reins to slow his horse while he got a better look. A man was being assaulted by three men. He was lying on the ground while they kicked him and hit him with pickaxe handles. Instinct got the better of common sense and the Brigadier jumped from the saddle and ran over, his hand going to the knife on his belt. None of them sensed his approach. None of them were watching their surroundings. They just assumed that they wouldn't be interrupted, that anyone who saw them would keep on walking in case they got the same treatment. It was that, more than anything else, that infuriated the Brigadier. These people were so downtrodden that they had almost forgotten that anything other than blind submission was possible, and it was that arrogance on the part of the muggers that proved their undoing.

     He struck the first man on the back of the head with the hilt of the knife, laying him out cold, then punched the second man hard on the jaw with his other hand. The third man pulled a knife, but the Brigadier rushed him, jumping over the man lying on the ground, and plunging his knife deep into his throat. The battle was over before the victim even knew what has happening and the Brigadier pulled him to his feet before the ruckus attracted attention from any passing guards. They wouldn't interfere in a mugging, unless they were bored, but a man showing defiance, showing the wrong kind of example to the people, would have been a threat they couldn't afford to ignore.

     His horse had gone, he discovered, and the man was barely conscious, so he slung him over his shoulder and carried him down an alleyway where he wouldn’t be seen by any guardsmen who might pass by. The first of the muggers was already picking himself back up, and when he saw that one of his fellows was dead, blood pouring from the gaping wound in his throat, he turned and fled, abandoning his other colleague who was still lying unconscious on the ground. The Brigadier watched him go, then carried the victim further away, knowing that, in some situations, a dead man could be more dangerous than a living opponent.

     “I can walk,” said the man, although the evident pain in his voice made the Brigadier doubt it. “Put me down.”

     The Brigadier eased him gently to the ground, where he struggled to sit with his back against the brick wall. He looked to be in a bad way. His face was covered with blood and all his limbs were bent where the cartilage had given way under the barrage. He watched as their elastic resilience caused them to slowly ease back to their normal shape. As soon as his arms were usable again he eased his shirt up, grunting with pain, and examined his battered chest where the skin was also cut and bleeding.

     “Friends of yours?” asked the Brigadier.

     “Company enforcers,” the man replied, letting his shirt fall again. “Expressing their lack of enthusiasm for workers unity.”

     “You’re trying to create a union?” said the Brigadier in astonishment.

     “Of course not. I wouldn't dare. Someone must have overheard me saying that we'd be better off if we all spoke with a single voice.” He tried to climb back to his feet. The Brigadier reached down and took his hand to help him. “I was an idiot. I shouldn't have said such a thing to anyone. Not even my closest friend.”

     “It was true, though,” replied the Brigadier, “and it’s worked in the past. Helberion exists because people stood up to King Vordan. They tore the whole of eastern Carrow out of his grasp to form a new  country. If they could do it then, you can do it now. Where do you live?”

     “I can't go home. The two you left alive will tell their masters who it was they were beating up when you killed Grike. I have to get my wife and get out of town before they go there. She works in the Storkside Steelworks cafeteria.” He tried to stumble along the alley, wincing with every step. The Brigadier walked beside him.

     “Where will you go? Do you have any money?” He cursed his luck that this had happened. He had no business getting sidetracked like this. Princess Ardria needed him. He had to meet up with her in Bonewell, but he was involved now. He couldn't just abandon this man and leave without making sure he'd be all right first.

     “We'll figure something out. First we've just got to get out of the city, because of you! If you hadn't interfered, they'd have just beaten me up and left me. They would have let me go back to my life, thinking I'd learned my lesson.”

     “They were well on the way to killing you. I'm half inclined to take you to the hospital. You could be bleeding internally...”

     “No! Janice first!”

     “I've seen what blows to the body can do to a man. Some seem to get better, they're up and walking around, then they just collapse and die because something had burst inside them.”

     “Janice...”

     “You're no good to her dead. We’ll get a doctor to take a look at you, and while he’s doing that I'll go get your wife. Then, when we're sure you’re not going to die a mile outside the city, the two of you can go make a new life somewhere.”

     “She won't go with you. She won't go off with a complete stranger.”

     He was walking more steadily now, but that meant nothing. The Brigadier stared at his face, trying to gauge the colour of his skin. Was he getting paler as the blood leaked out of a torn artery to pool in his abdominal cavity? His face was too grimy to tell. His eyes were bright and alert, though, and the Brigadier took that to be a good sign.

     “Give me something to say to her," he said. "Something to let her know the message comes from you.”

     The man looked as though he was going to protest further, but then he stumbled as his left leg buckled under his weight. It took him a moment or two to regain his breath. “Okay, okay. My name's Oliver. Oliver Parrett. I, er...” He paused as he struggled to think of something. “Okay, there is one thing. She's been scrounging food from anywhere she can find it and giving it to the orphans in Canvey Street. The authorities must not know she’s doing it. If they found out...”

     The Brigadier was astonished. “What objection could they possibly have to an act of charity?”

     “It shows she cares, and if you care about one thing, you might care about something else, like the cruelty of the guards or the corruption of the bosses. Anyone who cares too much, about anything, is taken care of. If you tell her that, she'll know it could only have come from me.”

     “Okay. Now where's the nearest doctor?”

     “Doctors want money.”

     “I've got money. Now where?”

     “Honey street. There’s a man there who knows how to keep his mouth shut. It should be safe enough.”

     Honey street was on the other side of the canal, and as luck would have it there was a change of shift underway, which meant that the nearest bridge was crowded with drab clothed, grimy skinned workers making their way to or from their places of work. The Brigadier's clothes made him stand out, and helping to support an injured man made him stand out even more. It was inevitable that he would attract the attention of the guards, but hopefully they wouldn’t have heard about the death of the company enforcer yet and he'd be able to bluff his way through.

     He was running various cover stories through his head when two burly guards pushed their way through the throng towards him. “What’s all this?” The first one demanded. “What's going on here?”

     “This is one of my workers,” said the Brigadier impulsively. He trusted his instincts, and they kicked in now, triggered by the man’s face. His expression of stupid brutality. This man was a bully, and those who enjoyed bullying those over whom they had power were always afraid of those who had power over them. The Brigadier had to pretend to be a powerful man in the city. Fortunately, he'd heard enough Carrow voices by now for him to be able to imitate their accent with some accuracy.

     Don't volunteer information, that same instinct warned him. Volunteering information makes you look defensive. He had to give the appearance of confident superiority. Give orders, he thought. Everyone in this city, from the lowest to the highest, is conditioned to obey orders or face the consequences. “Help me with him,” he commanded, therefore. “There's a doctor on Honey Street.”

     The guards found themselves obeying before they knew what they were doing and they took a shoulder each, walking Oliver Parrett between them while the Brigadier walked ahead, radiating power and natural authority. “What happened?” one of the guards asked.

     “Muggers. One of my best workers. Just pure luck I came across him. This man keeps the others in line like no-one else I've ever seen. Vicious, brutal. A born foreman. If he dies, I’ll tear the city apart finding the scum who did it. My men know to fear my anger. I'll teach them to fear it as well.”

     He sensed more questions in the minds of the guards. What was a factory owner doing walking the streets, rubbing shoulders with the dirty masses? They kept silent, though, and the Brigadier just kept on walking, giving thanks for every step he took in which they remained cowed and intimidated. This was dangerous, be knew. He felt as if he was holding a tiger by the tail. Every moment held the threat that they might realise how they'd been fooled, and if that happened the Brigadier would have to kill them, in broad daylight, in a crowded street. He didn’t fancy his chances for a long and happy life if that happened.

     By some miracle, though, they reached the doctor's and the Brigadier rapped smartly on the door. “Come on, come on,” he muttered angrily as they waited. “I haven't got all day. Keep me standing here, like some common tradesman, and I’ll have the skin flayed from your hide.” The two guards stared at each other fearfully.

     Fortunately, the door opened after just a few seconds to reveal a wide eyed man in the smart suit of an accounts clerk. The Brigadier pushed him aside and gestured for the guards to take Oliver Parrett inside, where they dropped him onto a chair in the waiting room beside suddenly terrified men with rashes and fevers. The Brigadier dug into his pouch to pull out two silver Kings and flicked them through the air towards the guards. One of them caught it. The other had to drop to his knees and scrabble around on the floor to find where it had rolled to. “Go about your duties,” the Brigadier said before dismissing them from his attention and going through the door in the back wall to find the doctor. The guards glanced at each other again, then dashed back out into the street.

     The Brigadier returned a moment later with the terrified doctor. “I expect this man to be back at work first thing tomorrow morning, or I'll want to know the reason why.”

     The doctor nodded fearfully and beckoned for Oliver Parrett to follow him to the examination room. “Wait,” the Brigadier then said, though. “I want a word with him first.” The doctor nodded and the Brigadier took Oliver through to the next room.

     “Who are you?” demanded Oliver Parrett as soon as the door was closed. “The way you handled those guards...”

     “Never mind that. If he decides you need surgery, where will he take you?”

     “Nowhere. He’ll do it here, in the back room, but I can't afford surgery and he knows it. He might do it for free if you scare him enough...”

     “Money won’t be a problem. What if you don’t need surgery? I imagine he’ll want to keep you here anyway, overnight at least, just for observation.”

     “Possibly. He usually tries to get rid of people as quick as possible.”

     “I'll bring your wife here, then, to begin with at least. If you’re not here, where can we find you?”

     “I can't go anywhere the guards might look for me. Er, there’s a tavern fifty yards from here, along the street. The Bucket and Shovel. I’ll go there.”

     “Will you be alright there? In your present condition?”

     Oliver Parrett laughed. “I've got nothing worth stealing. Nobody has any reason to bother me. I’ll be here or there.”

     “Very well. I'll see you later tonight.”

     He turned to go but the man reached out a hand to grasp his wrist. “Why are you doing this? I'm nobody to you. Why take the risk?”

     “Because we don’t have to take the world the way we find it. We can change it. You feel the same way, since you were talking about creating a union.”

     “But I'd never actually do that, I wouldn’t have the courage! You, though! You do it, and you didn't even have to think about it! Like it was just instinct to you, like a reflex action! Who are you?”

     “Just a friend. I'll see you later.”

     He left the room, closed the door and beckoned the doctor over. “Here's a gold king,” he said, handing over the heavy coin. “I'll be back later. If I find you've denied him the care he needs because it cost too much, I'll have some friends pay you a visit.”

     The man’s eyes widened with fear, and the Brigadier felt sick with shame. He hated treating people this way, but it was the way the rich and powerful behaved in this country. If he behaved differently, the doctor would become suspicious and might call the guards, give them the Brigadier's description. He could easily believe that these people routinely turned each other in just in case the guards later found out that they'd known something, and that was attention he didn't need.

     “I promise he’ll get the very best care,” The doctor replied. “As if he were my very own son. I’ll do everything I can.”

     “I know you will,” said the Brigadier, and he left without another word.

☆☆☆

     Janice Parrett was just as afraid and sceptical as the Brigadier had expected her to be when he spoke to her in the Storkside Steelworks cafeteria, but he managed to persuade her to go out into the street with him, where they couldn't be overheard by the other cooks and their assistants, and when he told her what Oliver had told him about her charity work she believed him instantly. “He's hurt?” she said anxiously.

     “Probably nothing more than a few cuts and bruises, but I got a doctor to take a look at him anyway. He took a pretty good beating, I'm afraid, so I thought it best to play it safe.”

     Janice nodded and began walking rapidly along the street, her grease stained pinny flapping around her legs. “Those thugs! They're afraid of nothing! My husband probably did nothing to deserve it, as if anything could deserve it. They probably just got bored and picked on him at random.”

     “Apparently he was overheard talking about setting up a union...”

     Janice swore in a most unladylike fashion that caused the Brigadier to raise an eyebrow. “His heart's in the right place,” she said, “but he can be such an idiot sometimes. They won't allow any unions. They'll kill rather than allow it. He's lucky to be alive!”

     “All change starts with one person,” said the Brigadier. “This country is full of unhappy people, just waiting for someone to lead them. Maybe your husband is that man. He denies it, says he doesn't have the courage, but he must have some courage to even think about forming a union.”

     “We won't be forming any unions if we're fleeing the city. Something has to be done, though. Someone needs to stand up and set an example.” She suddenly stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. “Your accent. You're Helberian, aren't you?”

     The Brigadier realised he'd carelessly allowed his accent to slip. There was nothing he could do about that now, though, so he simply nodded.

     “And you have the look of a military man. A high ranking one. I know the look because my uncle was a Captain in the army and I saw a lot of Colonels and Majors when we visited him at Fastyke. Then there’s your beard, and the way you choose your words. Clearly aristocratic, like most of those Colonels and Majors... You're the Brigadier, aren't you? The Brigadier! The one they tell all the stories about.”

     “It's very important that nobody knows I'm here. If you have any feelings of gratitude towards me...”

     “We won't tell anyone, I promise.” Her eyes were glowing with hope and delight. “Are you here to organise a rebellion? Because if you are...”

     “I can't discuss my reasons for being here. I'm sorry.”

     “Yes, of course. This is wonderful! Of course, we should have expected it. They say the war isn't going well for your country. What better way to win than for you to come here and overthrow the Carrow government. What can we do to help?”

     “For the moment, just be with your husband. Go with him and find somewhere safe. Somewhere far from this city.”

     “We won't be leaving this city now. If you're organising a rebellion here, we want to be part of it! We want to help! I know Ollie will feel the same way...”

     “I'm leaving this city. I have to go north. I have important business there.”

     “Yes, of course. You sow the seeds here, recruit a few people to your cause, then move on to the next city. You can rely on us. We'll spread the word, discretely, of course. We won't make the same mistake my idiot husband made. We'll get a movement going, ready for when you...”

     “Janice! I'm not here to start a rebellion. I'm sorry. It sounds like a good idea, but I have another mission, one that requires all my time and attention. If there's going to be a rebellion here, you'll have to organise it yourself. I suggest you do as your husband wants. Just get out of the city and make a new life for yourself, far away from here.”

     The woman looked crestfallen, but she nodded doubtfully. “Maybe we will organise a rebellion ourselves,” she said angrily. “Maybe we’ll do just that! It looks as though Ollie and I have a great deal to talk about.”

     I guess you do, thought the Brigadier, and he was relieved when the woman fell into sullen silence for the rest of the walk back to Honey Street.

☆☆☆

     As evening fell, the Brigadier was finally leaving the city on a horse he'd stolen from a munitions factory, a miserable creature that probably hadn't seen the sky for years but which was bucking and tossing its head excitedly as it felt wind on its face and breathed fresh air. The Brigadier decided to let it have its head and allowed it to gallop, which it did with energy, enthusiasm and joy. Flying along the road, delighting in the energy of its body. Shaking off the horror and misery of its former life. As the Brigadier clung onto its back, he found himself wishing he'd freed all the horses from that hellish place. Too late now, but perhaps in the next factory he came to...

     He'd given Oliver Parrett and his wife fifty shillings to cover their expenses while they searched for a place to make a new life for themselves, or whatever it was they eventually decided to do, and the result was that he was growing rather low on funds. Not a problem, he thought. I'll just rob a bank in the next town I pass through. He'd always wondered what it would be like to rob a bank, and now that Helberion was at war with this country it wouldn’t even be a crime.

     The ghost of a smile touched his face as he put the dismal city of Treeds behind him and headed back out into the parched Carrow countryside, but then he grew grim again as be remembered the dire straits his country was in and the danger Princess Ardria was riding into. There was still a lot of work to be done yet.