Chapter II. - Snowy city

The indistinct sun, hiding behind the clouds, resembled a bright, indistinct disk hidden under a thick veil of fog, but the snow all around made it seem as if it had just struck true summer noon. He has wandered for many days, but no and they will not reach any end or other living souls. He had met countless people who had lost their fight against the frost, it was not uncommon these days.

After another half-day of weary walking, as he had to wander with freshly attacked powder, he saw a mountain ridge on the horizon, along with other slightly smaller hilly formations adorned with white robes. Upon closer inspection, he found that even almost indistinct dark clouds of smoke were visible. That it would be people. He asked himself and began to step in, even though he didn't have much strength left. This is my last chance to be rescued, unless they are people I will no longer have the strength to continue. With new encouragement, he began to run away, if it could be called so in these conditions.

On the verge of his own strength, the source of the smoke came into view. Beneath the slope of the cliff was a great wall of snow, from which protruded the tips of steel ribs, between which, here and there protruded pieces of torn sails stopping the rush of ice and snow, like a shield wall defending its ruler from an arrow. The mulls piled up, estimated to be at least three and a half meters.

He crawled to the entrance between the snow walls. Two large massive exposed steel beams dug deep in the ground held the guard with the three young men. They were dressed in furs and thick dark brown to black coats, and on the heads of the two were massive rams, under which they wore leather flight goggles with clear lenses. The last one looked much more torn, his black winter coat reaching to the ground, evil by obvious holes patched with pieces of skin, his head wrapped in a simple scarf from which only narrowed eyes protruded. They all crouched by the fire, hidden in a rusted iron pot that now resembled a colander. The indistinct flames blazed orange and consumed the last remnants of the log.

Evidently, they had a good time, and laughter and friendly chatter could be heard until one of the young men looked up and saw a newcomer. From the expression the boy conceived, the other two turned in the same direction. They got up sharply and ran to their rifles against the steel beam. They were already quite obsolete Snider-Enfields, several years removed from the military arsenal of the British army. There was considerable wear and tear on them, a lot of scars from their years, as well as wrinkles on the frozen old man's face. Clumsily, they stood to attention and aimed their barrel at the pilgrim, who, still slowly and with fatigue, almost in the gloom, continued, regardless of the danger in front of him.

"Stop!" Ordered the boy, who could not have been more than 17 years old, but still shone with the most dominant impression of all present. He puffed his chest and set out to give orders. The man took a few more steps, then stood still, his tired eyes on the challenger. "Who are you and what do you want here," the teenager continued.

"My name is Jonathan Ronald Henson. I come from Birmingham. ' "I'm looking for refuge on the way to Cardiff," the traveler said heavily. "I'm tired and hungry to death - so I'm asking you for shelter and something to eat," he growled.

The listeners looked at each other in disbelief, and one of them said involuntarily, "Another hungry neck. We already have enough refugees here. Plus, we can't risk what happened last time, "the lead boy's confident voice cut through the moment of silence." No, he doesn't look like that one. Plus, we have ordered. "

"But," said the other, but he was interrupted before he could finish the sentence. "Silence. I have been given command, so I say we will take him to the city to see the Mayor, "he commanded, calling the most ragged of the three to search Jonathan.

"Me again. Why can't Henry do it this time, "said the boy, who wasn't at all excited about the situation? He received answers to his question but did not receive only domineering glances. So he reluctantly went to do what was asked of him. Slowly, with a good dose of the base, he came to Jonathan. "Please put down your backpack and raise your hands," he said agitatedly. Reluctantly, he pulled the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and stepped close enough to begin the search. Meanwhile, the other two guards were still aiming at the pair. The young man's nervous breathing could be heard. After two minutes of searching both the man and the backpack, the situation calmed down. "Everything's fine," he called. Most of all, they dropped slowly and the tension hanging in the airdropped. The weakened Jonathan put his backpack on his back again but then fell. He tried to get up, but his legs would no longer listen to him in the fine bushy snow that formed a thick blanket. William tried to help him, but he didn't have enough strength.

"Henry goes help Will, take him inside," Edward nodded. He came, in the end, they both managed to pick up the visitor. There were disbelief and resentment in Henry's youthful face, hidden under his glasses, unlike William, who was full of friendliness and optimism, his blue eyes offered momentary comfort.

An incredible appearance appeared in front of Jonathan, an evidently old, disused surface coal mine set on a mountainside, like a large black-and-gray staircase descending a rounded contour to the bowels of Mother Earth. From a distance, the carapace resembled an oval old clam buried in the ground, where its numerous annual rings had imprinted. He estimated that the whole pit was no more than a kilometer long, with a hillside at the other end, beneath which stood a pair of smaller wooden houses, or rather dwellings. The individual stages were covered with many buildings, from smaller dwellings through dilapidated shacks or, better said, straw to a few more ostentatious settlements situated in the central circles of the entire monument. The staircase continued, to the bottom, which was at least seventy meters deep, where several holes, with countless small figures flickering, resembled small dwarves from the distance during the riotous work. From each hole led two parallel pairs of rails, on which trolleys full of a lump of black coal commuted, spilled into a pile from where another group took them and spread them around the surrounding buildings. Between each crossing, wooden stairways stood on some of the more ostentatious buildings, though they looked rather sad, where conventional paths led to small, well-trodden, narrow footpaths crawling up steep slopes, looking like light threads sewn into the dark folds of a coat.

From the inside, the steel beams were supported by other bars and support somewhere that wood elsewhere from something stronger. Between these ribs, thick, tightly stretched sea sails came out here and darkened, or they were replaced by pieces of boxes at the base of the wall. It seemed that they were slowly beating their death knell, like an old hard worker who is doing his best to do a job well, but in the depths of his soul, he knows that he is no longer enough for her. From below, some peeked out hills of white frozen pieces trying to push through and swallow everything in a freezing grip.

Smoke escaped from the chimneys, from white clouds to stinging graphite-gray vapors irritating the eyes and lungs. They contrasted most with the sugared roofs, which looked like an idyllic impression in this bleak world.

The trio descended the small crooked stairs leading out of the city, accompanied by Edward in a sling with a rifle slung over his shoulder with a proud grin and a foxlike nature in his eyes. They marched slowly and carefully, stepping lightly on the slippery stairs. Several people moving around enclosed their thoughtful glances or secretly whispering and chirping.

After more than twenty minutes of wandering, they found themselves in front of one of the largest buildings in the city, perhaps the only thing that overcame it was a wooden church steeple with a distinctive copper cross on the tip, towering at the opposite end four hundred meters away. The building stood on a large patch of suffocated rock, creating a smaller courtyard in front of it. The foundations consisted of dusty weathered bricks, which had long since lost their fresh shades, covered the entire lower floor, the other two floors above them formed a structure of planks and beams. The roof was covered with thatch covered with an honest layer of powder. The icicles from which the rays of light flew adorned the twisted, leaky eaves.

Edward stepped in front of the trio and slammed the brass knocker three times on the double, remaining door. There were indistinct footsteps from inside, and a man's head with distinctive chops dressed in chamber uniform peeked out from behind the door. "What are you asking for?" Asked a face dressed in thin, cheekbones with a long pointed nose.

"This one showed up at the gate," he nodded at Jonathan, "we searched and brought him as instructed," he smiled, swinging his weight to the top to make it appear taller than it really was. The man's eyes measured the boy standing in front of him with an inquisitive gaze, then focused on the tired traveler, who was leaning against two young men, whose knees began to let go of their knees. Eventually, the eyes of the two adults met, there was silence for a few seconds, then the face disappeared in the doorway again.

After a moment, which in the freezing morning air seemed unbearably icy, as if the wind were filling ice cubes radiating with their relentless cruelty, the butler's sinuous signature peeked out from behind the door. He motioned for them to enter. Edward proudly walked around the challenger and stepped into the spacious hall. His two companions followed Jonathan and him.

Massive rusted hinges creaked and closed with a booming echo, a cozy hall in front of the ruthless outside world. The room was covered with shaggy creaking planks and planks beaten into what might be called a flat floor with great care. A crooked staircase continued to the upper floors, the foot of which lay about twenty feet away from the opposite front door. Two metal pillars covered with rust and something that was probably supposed to resemble an ornamental decoration in the form of flowers. The twilight of the half-closed windows permeated the room. Where the pale winter light did not shine, the glow of gloomy oil lamps hanging from the ceiling on iron hooks must have come in. who offered at least a small consolation with their gloomy orange flames. To the right, under the stairs of cabbage, was a glass-paneled door in the wall, where smudges of dirt and hairline cracks traveled here and there, creating a glass cobweb without a spider.

Edward was about to walk to the entrance, but he stopped abruptly and looked at the butler, who, out of his own arrogance, took him a few steps forward and, as the newly appointed leader, approached the door and how to knock carefully. "Come in," said a strong annoying voice. The emaciated man did so, leaving the door ajar as soon as he opened it. Edward walked proudly, and so did the others. The office in which they found themselves did not have much space, more than half of which was a large table made up of several solid boards. On it stood scattered pieces of yellowed paper, forming several untidy towers. Next to them were two black fountain pens with shiny tips. The mess was complemented by a kerosene lamp standing on the edge of the table with a rusty frame, on which a smaller photo embedded in a decorative frame rested, but from the point of view, it was not possible to see what was on it. There was a window in the room directly behind the man sitting at the table, a piece of faded rag half-covering it. The rest of the space was filled with metal stoves, which he certainly remembered better times than these, and finally, in the corner of the rooms a file cabinet with three drawers, one of which lacked an ear and was constantly ajar because of that.

A large-looking man sprawled from behind the table in a reclining chair, his large abdomen wrapped around his wide dark green trousers, the top brass knob trying his best not to be thrown out of the opposite wall at dizzying speed. A flaming, long, thick coat slung over his shoulders, touching the floorboards. Beneath him resonated a white, shabby shirt fastened to a thick neck, the folds of which rolled in part despite the last desperate button on the shirt, but he was happier than the button on his pants because he was not left in a yellowish collar with a curly tie. A chubby face sat on his fat-soaked neck, a troubled man who still didn't want to give up without a fight. Although he must have been fifty by his appearance, he still had a fierce and scorching fire of defiance in his dark hazel eyes. The stocky face was complemented by distinctive brown chin-chilled chops that intertwined with thinning walnut curls. The whole appearance was then completed by a chubby nose with thick eyebrows.

Without obvious hesitation and any invitation, Edward said, "Mr. Mayor, we have another refugee, he says he is from Birmingham and wants to get to Cardiff. According to instr… "

"Shut up. He can speak on his own, "the man sitting in his old cracked chair said to him, crying with his weight with every movement. The young man stopped and, with an unfinished sentence on his lips, slowly lowered his gaze to the floor, his face flushed with anger, but he did not allow himself to say anything. "Jamesy get the man something to sit on, and you three can get out," he said to the butler, who just nodded unhappily with an unreadable expression and left the room.

Edward, with a swollen expression, left the room quickly with a brisk step toward the front door. Henry smirked under Jonathan's arm and hurriedly followed his disgraced group leader, who now resembled Papin's valveless pot, ready to explode at any moment. The last William still supported the traveler, who staggered slightly after losing one of his props. Meanwhile, he pulled a bag of fat from a compartment in the slot, pulled out a small wooden box with brass trim, looking memorable, probably a family heirloom. Slowly, he swung back to the plate and parted the box, peered inside with swollen fingers reminiscent of Viennese sausages, and pulled out a light brown cigar with a clear white tape in one-quarter of its length. Parts of the tobacco leaves were already falling off, one small piece gracefully landed on a stack of adjacent papers and documents of all kinds. He studied it for a moment, then brushed the pieces of thin sheets with his hand, they fell silently to the floor, then put the roller in his mouth and leaned back against a chair that rattled under his weight.

James walked in, carrying an old cracked, partly rotten chair. He placed it in front of Jonathan, and without issuing a single order, he automatically pulled a small box from under his jacket in which several matches stood like soldiers, the butler pulled one out, turned the box over, lit it with a sharp hand, let it light a bright yellow flame, and burn the cigar set by the councilor. He snorted, the tip lit up like glowing coals burning in the adjoining fireplace, he drew heavily, and a puff of white smoke billowed from his mouth. "Oh, it stung me," the mayor said to himself.

William helped Jonathan to sit in a chair and, with a small bow, walked out the door, from where he ran east to find his two friends.

The pilgrim leaned his backpack against the corner of the room and settled comfortably. The two men sitting at the table looked at each other. Jonathan, the mayor's appearance was quite unpleasant, the smell could not be smelled, perhaps because his whole body, including his nose, was still partially frozen. He didn't even want to imagine the stench of such a person. From the other tent of the table came only vague thoughts about who it was and what he was doing here.

"Well, finally, the brats are gone. …. So I could introduce myself to you. My name is John Davide Scott. And this is my helper, James Philip Smith, "he pointed with a cigar at the butler, and a tuft of hot gray burnt tobacco felt fell off from the end. He leaned closer over the table, as much as his bulky belly would allow. "And who are you," blowing a puff of stinking smoke right into Jonathan's eyes.

He coughed, rubbing or seeing anything at all through the thick pungent smoke that now irritated his not-yet-frozen throat. John got a mischievous grin on his face. "My name is Jonathan Ronald Henson. I come from Birmingham, I am the second son of Robert Evan Henson, a very important industrialist and aristocrat in Birmingham. I'm trying to get to Cardiff so I can sail to France and then further south. I'm so hungry and thirsty, I wouldn't ask you to have something to eat and drink, "he explained eagerly.

The mayor was silent at first, glancing at the traveler once more, then grinning again. "So you're from a rich family, 'industrialists.' so you are a capitalist? "

I'm from the Czech Republic, so I'm not a native speaker, so if you see mistakes here, I'm happy to comment.

The last modification took place on 20.1.