The Courier
Themes: Introduction to tabula system and couriers. Humanity in the face of relentless mundanity. Feeling something, even if it’s fear or pain, is better than not feeling anything at all.
‘You need new shoes.’
The courier looked away from Cyrus to his feet. Leather at the tip of his toes was peeling, detaching itself from the glue. Scuff marks decorated the surface; white scratches highlighted by the worn-down brown leather. He did need new shoes. But, until he received payment for this delivery, he couldn’t afford to buy new ones. The courier looked back to Cyrus.
‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ the courier said. He couldn’t remember Cyrus’s name, nor his wife or children's names who remained asleep inside. Soon enough, he would forget their red hair and their illustrious villa with more rooms than they needed.
‘Please come back anytime!’ Cyrus urged from his front door as the courier walked down the cobblestone driveway. He’d never had the opportunity of hosting a courier before. By the day’s end, he would divulge to everyone he knew that they hosted a courier last night. They’d detail the three-course meal of the highest quality meats and vegetables, the wine and after dinner activities. They’d explain how they were perfect hosts, performing their dues for the most important job in society. In reality, it had been a long day and the courier had just wanted to go to bed.
With each step the courier took, a breeze entered the small tear in the stitching. At least he wouldn’t overheat. Down the hill, the sun rose over the water reflecting soft orange and yellow hues on the sea’s surface. Winds blew the sea spray over the mainland, salty air suffusing the small town. It was day three, and if all went smoothly, the final day of this delivery.
Over the years he’d developed a fast walking pace. His long legs granted him an advantage and his genetically thin frame soundly suited his career choice. Someone once told him he looked like he was “built for endurance,” which he assumed was a compliment. Not that he cared if it wasn’t.
His next mode of transport was waiting for him at the docks. The merchant ship was made of timber, and it had three large sails that danced in the gentle wind. The waves lapped softly against the pebbled shore; the sound familiar to him, he always travelled through the sea.
‘Welcome aboard, courier,' the captain, Julian, said with a broad smile, ‘any bags we can put away?
’ The courier looked down at his satchel and his compact duffel bag and gave them a solid pat.
‘This is it,’ he replied.
‘That’s it?'
The courier nodded, curling his lips inward in a small smile. Most people didn't realise how little they carried during their deliveries. Water, some fruit and snacks as well as the ledgers, and some clothes. His entire life fit inside a duffle bag, everything of value hanging on the side of his hip.
‘You’ve been walking all morning?' his wife, Naomi, appeared from the undercarriage of the ship, past the few other crew members. Behind her was Sterling, the cabin boy.
‘Since dawn,’ the courier replied, plonking himself on a seat. Sterling sat behind him, staring with curiosity. Sterling observed the courier’s tanned skin and sunspots. Muscles protruded from his arms like ridges on a mountain. Sturdy, Sterling thought. He was fascinated with couriers, how important they were, terrains and seas travelled.
‘Darling, your shoes! Julian, look at the sight of these!’ Naomi exclaimed, bending over to analyse the courier’s footwear.
'No good,' Julian simply agreed with his wife.
The courier smiled at them; a contrived chuckle spilled from his lips. He didn't know what else to say, he generally wasn’t in the business of explaining his financial woes to stranger’s. Sometimes they tried to help, give their advice. He never listened; he’d figure it out himself just as he always did.
Watching the water pass under them, light glimmered on the surface like a starry night sky. It didn't excite him like it used to. In the last few years, the call of adventure dwindled with each package delivered, each day spent with only his own thoughts, silenced by the lack of companionship. He felt he didn’t need it anymore, the comfort of another person. Though, days like this one were pleasant, the presence of others made the day go just that little bit faster.
An hour through the journey, the weather had disintegrated. Clouds dawned on them; the sky overcast with thick haze. On the deck of the ship near the stern, the courier sat with the breeze whipping in his face and sea salt layering his tongue. Looking ahead, a dark silhouette emerged from the fog. Another ship. It was larger than the one he was on, more sails and more timber. As it grew closer, he made out the sides lined with cannons with a crew member accompanying them.
Scurried footsteps erupted as if an alarm had sounded the moment the Sterling’s eyes locked onto the shadowy figure emerging from the mist. Sterling’s voice cried out over the crashing waves. Pirates. His heart rate fastened matching his quickened breaths, Sterling rushed to the courier’s side, urging him below deck. But the courier wouldn’t move. Sterling studied him, watching his even breaths rising and falling, his unmoving gaze, head cocked slightly to the side. He was calm.
As the courier gazed at the incoming bandits, he wondered how long it would take them to reach their ship. Three minutes, he assumed.
The boat shook underneath him, halting his train of thought. Wood exploded in a deathly crack.
‘Cannon fire!’
Gushes of air whirred through the air, the cannons veiled the fog. The scent of burnt wood overpowered the salty sea. The courier thought the smell quite nice.
‘We have to move!’ Sterling pled with the courier.
‘Don’t worry, they won’t hit us, nobody hits the courier.
’A thunderous whoosh shot through the air, soaring right past his head, so close he could almost feel it. A strong gust of air slammed into him, sending him backwards. He stumbled on his feet and fell to the ground, timber splintering his hands.
His eyes locked on the gaping hole now disfiguring the ship, a mere metre from where he was standing.
‘Can we go now?’ Sterling yelled his arms flailing in the air.
Adrenaline flashed through the courier’s veins; his nerves fired with energy. The combination of yelling and violent waves crashing encompassed his senses. Crew scrambled around him; the merchant ship not equipped for such attacks. As he stood, he noticed his heart racing inside his chest, thumping against his ribs in an incessant rhythm.
Haven’t felt that in a while. Before long, his heart rate stabilised. The commotion surrounding him was like the plays he watched as a kid. Just as Sterling grabbed his wrist to drag him inside, another voice roared from the deck.
‘Wait!’ Julian screamed and rushed towards them, ducking down while he ran along the deck.
The fog had slightly cleared, showing a clear view of the attacking ship, the pirated stood uniformly along the cannons..
Julian’s thundering footsteps became so close and before he knew, the courier was swept of his feet, a tight grip under his arms, Julian’s grip pinching his skin.
‘A courier! There’s a courier on board!'
Julian had swiftly picked him up like a doll and held him in the air, displaying the courier to the neighbouring ship who were now close enough to hear. The courier hovered above the ground with Julian’s firm grip around his ribs. He hung like a ragdoll, his body limp and mobile.
‘Look at his sash!’ Naomi appeared behind them, her voice booming like her husbands, she gripped the courier’s sash, showing the (description of sash)
‘Cease fire!’ the attacking ship’s captain thundered to his crew, his voice reverberating over the waves.
Immediately, all went quiet. Julian lowered the courier down, the light breeze brushing his hair over his eyes. The two captains stared at each other as the crew from both ships held their breaths.
‘Pull back!’ the captain yelled, and his crew fled into their ship. Soft waves replaced the rough laps as the ship retreated into the distance.
‘You saved us there, they’ve been after our grain for a while,' the courier felt a strong pat on the back as Julian shook his shoulder. The courier nodded back.
‘You didn’t react,’ Sterling stated from behind them. The courier turned around to face the young boy, his tan skin paled in the face, blood drained during the attack.
‘I don’t need to.
’The cannon fire replayed in his mind, the crisp dash by his head, barely missing him. Centimetres from death. He was used to this, the cannon fire and the guns, the pirates, and robberies. They never touched him though; a glimpse of his red embroidered baldric sash and he was safe from all harm. No ever touched a courier.
The ship reached the port around midday, leaving him five hours until sundown. He’d done this route before; he would make it with time to spare to buy new shoes before the market closed.
Julian and Naomi received scrip as payment for the courier’s transport over the ocean. After leaving them to their trade and he began his trail through the mountains.
In under an hour, he’d made it outside the port-side town. Dirt whisked up from the gravel path replacing the salty ocean air. Small stones flicked up into his shoes through the tears in the leather, the soles of his feet disturbed by the jagged gravel. Luckily the soles of his feet were calloused over, he’d developed thick skin over thousands of kilometres trekked.
The terrain was desolate. Dirt coated his tongue inhaling through his mouth, the earthy dust staining his taste buds. Mountains encroached in the distance, the home of the creatures in cautionary tales told at bedtime.
His feet dragged under him, the long strides shortening in length. Sweat leaked from his pores in large drops, hydrating the dry desert floor.
(maybe some internal monologue here)
Walking around the bend footsteps scuffed against the earth, it sounded like four or five of them. Bushes rustled and a group of five highwaymen jumped out. They each held a pistol in their hands, pointing it directly at his head. It was only then that the courier spotted their jackalope and carriage twenty metres around the bend.
How inconvenient. He had less than an hour’s hike to go, and this was when they decided to steal from him? This would add at least ten minutes onto his time, and that was the last thing he needed.
‘Move, go to the left,’ Corvus, covered head to toe in linen disguising his face, ordered Lucia his right.
‘No, you go to the left!’ Lucia replied, dressed in the same linen coverage. The courier considered how unorganised they were, his guess was this was one of their first times swiping from the trails. If it were him, he’d had rehearsed more, and maybe found someone with more luggage.
‘Empty your bags!’ Fabian yelled from behind him. They’d organised themselves enough at this point that they’d made a pentagon of thieves.
The courier turned and stared at him, unflinching in his gaze. If he stood there long enough someone would see his sash and let him go.
‘Drop the bags!’ Fabian repeated himself, rage rising in his voice.
Clearly, they were too preoccupied with doing a clean job to observe their surroundings, so he decided to help them out.
‘My sash,’ the courier remarking, his speech even and calm.
The highwaymen squinted their eyes, though he couldn’t see the rest of their faces, the moment of realisation struck nearly all of them simultaneously.
‘Guns down, we have to go!' Lucia exclaimed.
‘What?’ Corvus clearly had not registered what was implied.
‘I have to deliver my package,’ the courier simply stated and began the remainder of his journey, leaving the highwaymen behind.
‘Hey! Don’t move!' Corvus called out after him. The courier ignored him and continued walking.
‘Put the gun down, you idiot!’ Lucia exclaimed from behind him.
‘Let go of my gun!' Corvus replied before an explosive blast rang out over the noise.
The courier found himself on the floor. Dirt crammed inside his fingernails, the sand covering his shirt, sticking to the fabric.
A warm feeling bloomed from the left side of his back. It was wet, dripping. A ringing persisted in his ear drums, the only thing he could hear. Rising to his feet, dizziness nearly succumbed him. He stumbled, falling into the arms of the linen covered highwaymen.
‘What have you done!’
‘You idiot! You shot a courier!'
‘You’ve just killed us all,' Max, the youngest of the group said solemnly.
‘Get him in the carriage.
’The courier heard them yelling at each other, but he paid them no mind.
‘I’m.. bleeding?’
Blood dripped down his legs from his ribs, the hot liquid comforting against his skin. Foreign arms gripped his own, dragging his feet along the dirt, dust billowing up in little clouds towards the carriage. Through half-lidded eyes, he glimpsed his worn-out shoes. Blood spattered across the leather.
‘I need new shoes,’ the courier said, though, he didn’t know to who.
Metallic blood spread though the carriage, the iron smell slightly tangy. Although unfamiliar to none, it had never been more unwelcome. The courier was thrown side to side as the jackalope sped through the mountains.
