The night descended upon this waste of sand by the border between the great deserts of Atasiyah and Khor Sha’aidat yet still roared the sounds of a lone engine moving across tracks, the foundations upon which they laid built merely years ago atop rolling dunes where once only camels could roam. Indeed, few could behold such progress in such a short time without being overwhelmed by awe. Still, solemnly and dutifully, the engine rolled to its destination a prison complex adjacent to a garrison of the famed Sha’aidarum Light Infantry. Its cargo included supplies, and provisions for the few poor souls that, through day and night, manned its walls and attentively guarded its cells and dungeons but most importantly, it also included six souls - poor and ragged - amongst which was a special man.
At the same time, a warden shifted through a file of documents he compiled himself after having painstakingly translated the electrical notes of the telegraph into comprehensible strings of sentences, directives, and commands earlier that day. He was to expect six new prisoners - death row inmates who were to stay at his prison till the dates of their execution come forth at the behest of…Her Imperial Majesty, Emira Kamaria herself. Truly, he could not believe his eyes as he read through the line of text, prompting him to ponder on the frantic session of writing a few hours ago. It couldn’t have been a mistranslation. He’s spent decades working the machines and was quite certain of it. Carefully going through the documents again, he read something that explained everything. It was but a name, a few fully capitalized letters that gave a single name, “MIFSAR ZAIDI”.
Misfar Zaidi, the famed poet and calligrapher from his native Atasiyah was found guilty of inciting rebellion and treason against the crown but a week ago!
As he stared at the name, he could not help but feel a sense of sorrow and dread. He had read through Zaidi’s poems and admired his Hilyas when he was but a child. He fell in love with how well he strung together words whose meanings even he could barely grasp into verses that to this day he still considered to be nothing short of art. It seemed such a waste to him that a person of his talent would spend his final moments blindfolded at the receiving end of a firing squad. His eyes shifted to look at the clock neatly hung above the door leading into his office in front of him after he let out a long, heavy, and dejected sigh. The minute arm deftly landed in the twelfth position, reading eleven. According to the report given to him by the last station along the way, the inmate train was scheduled to arrive at one o’clock. He still had a few hours on hand to prepare himself for the occasion.
As the night fell black, the slow howls and cracks of the train shone brightly over the line of sand on the horizon. The warden had stood at the station for half an hour with a platoon worth of guards. It was an unusually late delivery, though he was given the blessing to have ardent guards who seemed to know not how to complain under his command. Though still, he could tell that they were rightfully anxious.
It did not take long until the station bustled with activities once more, as the train, with a loud horn from its engine, finally docked. It wasn’t the first time he had received such a train, but yet, this time, it felt ever the more nerve-racking. Perhaps it was because of the hour of its arrival, or because of the lack of windows or any sort of crannies for light to peer in on the carriages.
“Salutations, Warden!” The train driver enthusiastically greeted him as he stepped down from the engine’s cabin in hobbled steps, his shy assistant at his side as he gave him a haphazard salute.
“Sorry for interrupting your sleep at this late hour, Ahsan-” He smiled before handing him a manifesto listing the goods that he was transporting.
“It is no trouble at all-” The warden smiled, holding onto the manifesto and reading. They did not seem to list the names as in his reports, perhaps to hide the identities of the inmates from the staff.
“I heard ya got some nasty fellers at the back-” The driver said, a thumb pointed over his shoulder at the carriages behind him which seemed so silent, it felt unnerving.
“Had my assistant here scared the whole journey from Atasiyah-” He said, slapping the back of his assistant which seemed to have almost sent the poor boy over the edge.
“You’ll be glad they aren’t in Atasiyah anymore now that we’re taking them off your hands-” The Warden giggled, grabbing a fountain pen from his shirt’s breast pocket and signing his name on it before handing it back to the conductor.
“Give us an hour and you can be on your way again-” He said, letting out a sigh as he signaled for his soldiers to start opening the carriages in the usual order of the one nearest to the engine to the one furthest.
“Well I’ll leave you guys to it-” The conductor laughed, pulling from the pocket of his trousers a key that he tossed to the warden, "Just be careful with them merchandise-”
–TO BE CONTINUED–