They crammed themselves hastily into the barrels, for they were still just outside the castle and the pursuit could not be long in coming. When each was safely inside, Clifford went around and sealed the ends. Horatio was given a much larger barrel to fit his much larger size.
“All right, here we go,” and Clifford began rolling them into the tunnel. There was a grating on the far end, which opened from the outside and kept them from floating away. When he was done, Clifford ran around to the riverside and opened it, letting them out. He caught them with his long pole and kept them in a group until the last one floated out.
“Here we go,” he said again, and set off down the river with thirty barrels in tow.
To reach the Floatings, Clifford had to take the barrels past the castle gates and under the drawbridge. He was a strong-willed man, and to even the most careful observer he did not appear worried or guilty, as an ordinary man would have. Still, he was but a man. As he neared the gates, he hummed some ancient ditty to himself, the rhythm kept upbeat by his beating heart. The fate of the rebellion was in his hands – or rather, in the river – and if they were discovered, all was lost. The night had begun to grow old; the moon was past its height. Still, the city was well lit – especially around the castle – by street lamps. The castle gates loomed ahead, but as Clifford neared them with his floating herd, the drawbridge remained closed.
“I do not ask much, God, but I do ask this: do not let the drawbridge be lowered!” he said, as he drew within two dozen feet of the drawbridge. Then, from within the castle walls, he heard a hollow banging – the sound of a great timber being rammed into the drawbridge.
“Heavenly pedantics!” he cried, “The door is sabotaged and cannot be lowered, so they break it down. I’ll watch my words next time, I will.”
Clifford quickened his pace as much as he could without appearing hurried. He guided the barrels carefully with the pole, keeping them together to prevent his passage being delayed. The closer he came to the drawbridge, the heavier and more severe the blows against it became. Then, with a final crash, it fell forward across the moat. Clifford was no more than ten feet from it, and could not stop, for fear of exciting suspicions. His face convulsed strangely, his nose wringing up and his chin lowering. He had worked within the castle for seventy years: if they saw his true face they would know him.
Just as he reached the end of the drawbridge, the first horseman came over it: Gylain. Clifford shoved the barrels forward under the drawbridge – where they could not be seen from above – and came to a stop. Gylain also stopped, directly in front of him and looking down at the old man. At the angle, however, the hood of his cloak shielded Clifford’s face.
“Who are you, that you take your wares around in the dead of night?” Gylain asked.
Clifford put his hand to his ear, as if listening.
“Listen, my lord,” he said, “If it were the dead of night, would there be revelers still returning home? I am poor, and if I do not work all day and night, I cannot eat. A starving stomach will make any man nocturnal.”
“I see,” Gylain said. He turned to the north and cried, “Is that them?” as he pointed to a group of men returning home from their shops.
His men turned their heads, and as they looked away Gylain tossed a few gold coins to Clifford. He did not smile, however. Then, a second later – as the others reported it was but some brewers – he scowled at Clifford and rode off to the circle of houses the rebels had occupied only moments before.
Behind him, a hundred and fifty horseman galloped over the bridge – some following Gylain and others scattering into the city. When they were past, Clifford pushed the barrels down the river once more, toward the harbor.
“That was too close for an old heart like mine,” he said as he examined the coins. He put them into a pocket in his cloak and glanced briefly around, to see if anyone was looking. Then he quickened his pace considerably, eager to be safely in The King’s Arm .
It was two miles from the castle to the Floatings. The river’s current grew swifter as it neared the ocean, and for much of the length Clifford had to jog to keep pace with the barrels. Between the castle and the Floatings was the merchant’s quarter, the wealthy district. The river there – and throughout the city – was flanked by two stone walkways, with the edges of the circles coming within ten feet of it. Between the outer edges of the circles there was an open space, ordained with a fountain or garden. The circles on either side of the river were aligned, and while one point was open for fifty yards in every direction, a few yards down there was little space, with towering buildings crowding in on either side. Partly because of the current – quickened by the receding tide – and partly because of his hurry, Clifford and his barrels reached the Floatings in fifteen minutes.
The merchant’s quarter continued until it reached the edge of the harbor, where it abruptly turned into the Floatings. That entire area of the city was not built upon land, but upon floating platforms. The harbor itself was a long curve, coming in diagonally from sea. It was two miles across and ten long. The southern portion of Eden wrapped entirely around the Floatings, abutting the ocean beyond in a semi-circle.
Six piers pierced the Floatings, each half a mile long. They were used for loading cargo onto transport ships, which carried it to the larger ships docked in the bay. At slower times – that is to say, at night – ships in a hurry would come to it directly. The shipping of Eden was docked around the interior of the Floatings, not connected or anchored to the land, but to the various buildings that made up the Floatings. These buildings were themselves left to float freely wherever they were wanted. It was constantly engaged in the evolutionary cycle, becoming faster and easier.
Because of this, Atilta was the maritime capital of the world during this period – and at this period, maritime power was above all others. The shipping of Europe, the Mediterranean, Africa, and Asia was collected in the great Atiltian harbor: the Floatings. Civilization did not decline into barbarism with Rome’s fall, as some have said. Instead, it grew up in Atilta.
The buildings of the Floatings were large, and many rose several stories above the water, with another below. Most commonly, a wide deck stretched along the outside of the building, on which ships would moor and unload their cargo. Their movements were controlled by a rudder, as other ships are. Sails were used to propel them on longer journeys, and there were booms that folded out from the sides for that purpose. Within the Floatings, however, there was no room; rather, oars were used. There were over two hundred of this sized building, most of which were the size of a moderate house in the other quadrants of the city. Therefore, the owners made their residence entirely within the building – the Floatings was as much a community as it was a port.
Any harbor has its establishments – ale houses and inns for the sailors, and even gambling houses and other immoral venues. In the Floatings, these buildings were named Timbers. Above the water they were round, usually fifty yards long and ten across. Underneath the water, however, there was a platform that stretched for several yards in each direction, upon which vessels could moor, as if they were docks. The upper portion had windows on either side and a single room within – the public or drinking room. Below, however, the Timbers were rectangular and divided into rooms, as any metropolitan inn of the time. There were at least two dozen of these Timbers in the Floatings, and it was not uncommon to see them flocking about the larger ships, vying for the sailors’ business. They also left the Floatings at times, taking tours or cruises across Atilta.
Greater still were the Marins. There were but two of these massive structures, belonging to the Fardy brothers – who had risen from a humble beginning to become the foremost merchants of Atilta, and even the world. The Marins were a floating circle – as in, the city circles into which Eden was divided. They were a hundred yards across, forming a ring. On the outside was a tall building encircling it; on the inside a small, open area, occupied by a deep cylinder whose center was open to the water. It was constructed of the firmus wood and thirty feet thick, going far below the surface of the water. A sharp steel ring was welded into its tip. Around the bottom of the Marins there were gigantic ballast tanks, capable of holding enough water to sink the entire circle until it was submerged. The building was waterproof and aerated by a series of pipes. When the Marin dived, the cylinder would drive deep into the ground below, forming a suction between the ocean crust and the air above. After a few days of hard pumping, the crew of the Marin could safely lower themselves to the bottom and mine the rich minerals hidden in the crust. These mining cylinders could be released from the Marin itself, which then could travel at a speed surpassing ten knots.