Story: The Glove, VII [REPLACEMENT] [Obsoleted]

(Part I , VI , VIII )

The twin cities of Edin and Burgh were superficially similar, Steffan realised, after he disembarked from the air ship and looked out at the view from the airport. It was magnificent, and shiny in the sun, despite all the traditional stone buildings. After the walk into the ctty proper, he realised that the differences were more in the work than the people. Where there would be musical academies and studios in Burgh you would find scientific institutes and laboratories in Edin. It was overwhelming and liberating, and scary and bewildering. Somewhere there would be music and art too, the essentials of thoughtful life.

In the city, he examined a holo-map of his immediate surroundings and worked out a route to a nondescript hostel his father had recommended. Then, mindful of his pennies, he walked to the hostel and dropped his bags. Then, emerging back into the grand and dank outdoors, Steffan considered what to do. His plans had been vague and unmotivated, driven by a need to know whether Octavius had told him the truth, his perception of the truth, or something quite quite different. And to do that, a journey to Edin had been essential, but what now? Where would the truth be?

Dissent and unrest were said to be propagating here in the grand scientific capital of the moon but to all outward appearances it seemed to be at peace and prosperous. Steffan set off to find food and become enmeshed in the life of the city for a few hours. There was no better way to settle into a city than to explore it by foot and this he did. He spent two days ostensibly wandering, looking for work, but really exploring it and chatting to people in the taverns and canteens. As those days went by, the absence of all the members of his profession became obvious. The pipers did not dare enter Edin. Why? And where was the unrest? Certainly not on the news or on the streets. Why would Octavius have tried to send him here for no reason?

The third day dawned prettily, and Steffan decided to go out into the country. The wonders of the city had held no interest for him, and the mystery of Octavius's quest had paled. The monorail deposited him in a town called Canterbury, named for a great holy place on Old Earth, and he rambled around, feeling more and more comfortable. Inside a cafe, a cup of tea had almost made it to his lips when a troop of armed men ran by outside the window. Steffan rushed outside, and barely noticed when the cafe owner locked and shuttered the door and window behind him. The troops were running down the street, toward the church.

The church was silent and deserted, as almost all churches were at that point in history. It seemed nonsensical until the first shot, the shot that changed it all. The shot that was witnessed by him, the troops, and by a piper.

To be continued...