It was past dark when the Ginger Man arrived at the Detiran outpost, the
wagon train full of fruits and spices rolling to a halt just outside the main
gates. He stood on the front of the
wagon and raised the torches high on either side to signal his presence.
Nothing
He stepped down and approached the gate, looking up at the massive
stone walls, the last time that the lights had been down, there’d been another
change at the top of the council.
“Ho the Wall,” He called upwards, “Anyone there?”
“Who goes?” The call drifted back down
Not the usual guard...
“The Ginger Man,” he called back, “Bringing Gorlands Spice Shipment.”
“Hold on.” There was a ragged commotion of voices from over the wall
and the gates cracked open. The Ginger
Man turned back to his wagons as Emehan jumped down from the wagon and looked
up at the gate.
“It doesn’t feel right, Jefe,”
Emehan gestured to the gates, “The last time this happened we ended up fighting
our way out of here.”
“You, Mi Primera, you fought
our way out of here,” The Ginger Man nodded to Emehan as he stepped back up
onto the wagon, “Keep a close eye, things were a little hostile in here the
last time we came through, I think that maybe Stenisland has the position he
always wanted.”
“Stenisland?” Emehan shook his head, “That dog has no place at any
table other than at the bottom of it to lick the scraps of better men.”
“The difficulty of better men is that they need strong men around
them,” The Ginger Man looked down to Emehan, “As I need you and yours, walk
carefully here, there is something afoot.”
The wagon moved forwards, the lights in the city dull except in the
centre where the whole temple was ringed with fire. The guard moved into view on the platform above
the wagon, his head covered in a thin cloth of black through which only his
eyes could be seen. There was a grinding noise as the gate closed behind the
wagons.
“You go to the temple,” He called down, “Stenisland will be waiting for
you?”
“My deal is with Golren,” The Ginger man called upwards, “Stenisland
has no stock with me.”
“Golren lost all his stock to Stenisland last week,” the guard
shrugged, “Stenisland is Top Hat now.”
“I see...” The Ginger man looked at the gate, “Then I will be on my
way...”
“Stenisland insists...” The
guard looked down, “He said that if you resisted, we were to find a way to
convince you.”
“I wish you well in that endeavour,” The Ginger Man looked up, “You
have not men enough to stop me leaving this place.”
“Maybe not...” The guard looked down, “But if you do not continue
onwards, we will burn your wagons to the ground and let you walk back through
the desert.”
“And all of you will find yourselves on the pyre,” The Ginger Man
gestured to the wagons, “Is your loyalty to the Hat such that you would risk
that?”
“We understand that whatever you do to us would be nothing compared to
what the Hat would do to us if we let you out.”
Fear is a powerful ally...
The Ginger Man nodded, “Onwards then...”
Emehan climbed up on the wagon and stood by his side, “This has the
scent of a Trap, Jefe.”
“You know as well as I that we would not make it all the way back to
the lands of our fathers without the supplies that this load will provide for
us.” The Ginger Man adjusted his sand scarf up across his mouth and rolled back
both sleeves twice.
“You have me to fight for you,” Emehan looked down, “I have not seen
you prepare your arms in many years.”
“This is not a fight that you can make for me,” The Ginger Man looked
up at the temple, “If you cut him down, the other hats will see us as weak and
that cannot be seen to pass.”
“I have never understood their obsession with headwear,” Emehan sighed,
“There is no sense in it.”
“They would say the same of our scars,” The Ginger Man nodded, “And in
the same way that we bleed for those scars that we earn, so they hold pride in
the hats that they wear.”
“But such Hats are of no use to any person, Jefe,” Emehan rolled his sleeve back to show the lines on his arm,
“Each of these is a man I have killed for you, I do not need fancy clothes to
proclaim my accomplishments, it is all I can do not to laugh at the Hats when I
see them.”
“On this day, Mi Primera, You
will have to keep a close rein on your tongue.”
The wagon rolled onwards to the centre of town, the lights from the temple
getting brighter the closer they got.
The square was filled with people, the segregation clear by the
different hats being worn.
“Those are the Widebrims,” The Ginger Man looked down at the first
group they passed, “They sew a band of steel into the edge of their hats, their
fighters can kill a man before he realises that the thing on their head was
lethal.”
The Wagon rolled on, the sea of people parting before them.
“There the Round tops,” The Ginger Man pointed down, “With heads made
of cold Iron, there the Beanies, lowest of all the hats, the sign of those
without a clan. No one here would travel
bare headed, to do so would be an insult to all those who’ve worked for their
affiliation.”
“And this is why you have us travel with full scarf here?”
“There is no better way to show them that you are with me.” The Ginger
Man nodded towards the back of the truck, taking two keys from his neck, “Keep
the other wagons back, go to the others, let them know that if something
happens to me, the goods within the wagons are theirs to do with as they
please.”
“I will not leave you, Jefe,”
Emehan took the keys and waved to the wagons at the rear.
“This is a fight you cannot help me with,” The Ginger Man looked down
at him, “It has been my honour to have you at my side these years.”
“The honour is mine, Jefe,”
Emehan nodded, “What would you have me tell her?”
“You tell her that I will see her again, you tell her that I took the
first step on the path of the brave for both of us.” The Ginger man looked down
for a second, “and for me, Mi Primera, keep her safe in the dark
places of the world.”
“As you ask,” Emehan nodded, “So will it be.”
The lead wagon pulled up to the front of the temple, the massive stone
steps cut hundreds of years ago, when there were no Hats on heads, only slaves
working at the behest of their masters. The Ginger Man looked up to the top of
the temple, where a massive man sat upon the throne. Above him, suspended by
stone pillars at each corner, was the Top Hat.
Originally a normal hat made of felt, now the size of a house, added to
by everyone who had ever worn it, now so large that it couldn’t be worn by
anyone, but remained the standard by which every other Hat was judged. Surrounding him were twenty people, each of
them wearing a large hat made of metal and wood, standing more than four feet
over each of their heads. These were the
praetorians whose job it was to safeguard the Top Hat.
The Ginger Man stepped down from his Wagon and looked up as the
Praetorian stepped aside and he looked beyond them to Stenisland, resting back
on the throne.
“We meet again,” Stenisland shouted down from the throne, “And this
time you bring me gifts to celebrate my coronation.”
“I bring trade,” the Ginger Man looked up, “If you have things to trade
for them, then we have something to talk about.”
“You bring no gift for my coronation?” Stenisland stood up and walked
to the front of the temple, his bare head the sign that he was the only one
excluded from the wearing of a Hat. “What makes you think I will allow you to
leave here?”
“What makes you think you can stop me?”
“You will give me what I want,” Stenisland looked down, “or feel the
wrath of the Top Hat.”
“I do not recognise your Hat...” The Ginger Man looked up , “I do not
recognise your claim to that throne and I certainly do not recognise your petty
threats as currency that I would trade with.”
“Is that your final answer?”
“It is my answer, do as you will with it.”
“Then I demand that you surrender everything you own to me,” Stenisland
looked down, “I can brook no dissent from my orders.”
“I had a deal with Golren, if you give me what is owed, then you may
have the spices that I have brought, I am the Ginger Man, these is my
livelihood. I’m not looking for a
special deal, only what is owed.”
“Everything Golren had passed to me when I finished him.”
“Then you have what he owed me, and you know that my prices are fair.”
“I know that you are an outsider, Ginger
Man, and that you only trade here because the Top Hat wants what you have.”
“As you do,” The Ginger Man nodded, “You would do well to honour our
agreement, my people do not hold betrayal well.”
“Then I will take the Hats across the sea to your homeland and I’ll
take all of them by force.”
And he would too...
The Ginger Man looked around and sighed, unwinding the lower part of
his scarf and letting it hang loose. The
cool night breeze refreshing against his dark skin, feeling colder against the
scars down his cheeks, reminders of a time when he fought with weapons and not
wages.
“Then I must declare that you are not worthy of the Top Hat,” The
Ginger Man looked up and continued to unwind his scarf, revealing the lower
part of his head.
“You have not earned that right,” Stenisland started down the stairs,
“And now you must pay for your transgressions.”
“Do you think that you have the strength to stop me?” The Ginger Man
dropped down to the floor and wrapped his scarf around his left arm, tying it
off at the elbow.
“I stopped Golren,” Stenisland spread his arms wide, “Cut him down with
a hundred witnesses watching to ensure that there was no doubt of my
superiority.”
“And nothing to do with the things you bought from me the last time I
was here?”
“Now you compound your crimes by accusing me of cheating my way to the
Top Hat?”
“I make no accusation,” The Ginger Man looked upwards, “But I challenge
you for the Hat, in memory of my friend Golren.”
“You have not earned the right to challenge for the Hat.”
“Nor had you.” The Ginger Man removed his head scarf and placed it upon
the wagon, “And this will prove the matter...”
Stenisland reached the bottom of the stairs and spread his arms wide
again, his thick arms ridged with muscle as he got closer. “Who here will accept the challenge on behalf
of their King, to earn a place upon my council?”
Many in the crowd removed their hats to show their willingness to
fight...
“If you are choosing a champion,” Emehans voice came from behind them,
“Then it is my lords privilege to choose a champion of his own.”
The Ginger Man looked back as the crowd parted before Emehan and the
other members of his caravan, each of them bare headed and carrying their
weapons before them.
“He speaks the truth,” The Ginger Man looked around, “Who here would
choose to chance their arm again Isim Emehan, first sword of Tanvari?”
The hats went back on without another noise and Stenisland looked
around as his support faded.
“I do not recognise your right to challenge me.” He nodded, taking a step
back.
“And nor did I have one,” The Ginger Man smiled, “But by asking for a
champion to face me, it was you that challenged me, and I accept. Either name your champion or draw your sword
and pray that it is sharper than your wits.”
Stenisland frowned as the crowd backed out on all sides to form a
circle around them.
“Of course,” The Ginger Man waved Emehan back and passed him his sword,
pinning the bottom of his cloak to his wrists. “You could walk away from this
and leave me the Hat...”
Stenisland flexed backwards for a second, then drew his swords and
began to warm up, the blades cutting through the air faster and faster till
they were all but a blur. The Ginger Man
stood calmly by until Stenisland was finished, his skin now covered in a light
sheen of sweat. He raised his swords in
a salute, announcing himself to the crowd as was the custom in challenges.
“I am Stenisland Mora, Top Hat of Detira, first of my people, beaten
only by time.”
The Ginger Man opened his arms wide and turned to face the crowd.
“I am Doroteo de la Vega,” he grinned, “Master of Tanvari and
Undefeated lord of war.”
“Doroteo...” Stenisland looked up in shock as the Ginger Man turned
back to him, “You cannot be Doroteo, he has not come out of his palace in
twenty years.”
“No one has seen me leave my palace in twenty years because I have not been in my palace for twenty years, I
found there was more interest in the world than there was waiting for the world
to come to me.”
Stenisland took a step forwards, striking fast with both swords as Doroteo
stepped back, the folds of his cloak swirling around him, making him seem
further away than he was. Stenisland
struggled against the material swirling up around him for a second and then
watched in bemusement as Doroteo spun again, the cloak swirling around him to
form a low barrier of fabric between them.
Stenisland charged forward and watched as Doroteo spun on his heel,
travelling out to the side and loosing his cloak behind him, the edge of it
passing around Stenislands face and then back out to wrap around his
shoulders. Stenisland took a step, then
coughed, then again as he brought his hands up, the palms slick with red as he
coughed again.
“What...?” Stenisland turned to face his opponent
“It is what you bought from me last time...” Doroteo smiled, “A warning
that you have one chance to live, and that is to yield to me now.”
“Never...” Stenisland lunged and found himself striking empty air as
his opponent spun out of the way, his cloak flowing around him like water.
“I have allowed you to come at me too long, my honour demands that I
fight back.” Doroteo nodded, “Your next attack, will be your last...”
“You...” Stenisland lunged and Doroteo spun again, the cloak flowing
out in a straight line and passing over the front of his face again.
He watched as Doroteo spun to a halt more than ten feet away with a
look of sorrow on his face, the hem of his cloak rimmed in a deep black. A
feeling of wetness covered his front and he reached up, his hand coming away
covered in dark blood as he clutched at his throat, the blood pumping out as
the cut made by the cloak let his life run into the sands. He took a single step and fell to his knees,
his vision clouding as he looked up to the Hat far above.
Doroteo walked up the temple steps to stand beneath the Hat, dismissing
the praetorian from around him. He
waited till he was alone at the top before looking down at the assembled
crowds.
“Are there any here who would challenge my right as Top Hat?” He
shouted down.
“NO...” The shout resounded from below
“And you agree to follow my commands?”
“YES...”
“Then,” He reached for one of the torches, placing it to the original
felt of the Hat as the crowd looked on, watching as the old material caught
instantly and within seconds was an inferno beside him. He looked down as the crowd surged up towards
him and tossed the torch back on to the fire behind him.
“Now there is no Top Hat,” He shouted, “Now each of you must do what is
right for yourselves, not look to one man to provide you with the example of
what is best in life.”
“And what of you?” a woman wearing a tall hat stood forth from the
crowd. “What are your intentions now you have given up the Top Hat?”
“My intentions?” He looked down with a smile, “You all know me, I am
just the Ginger Man, I just came here
to trade,”
“Are there any here who want what I have to offer?”
