They came at last to a break in the trees. The path suddenly carried them out of the canopy and into the open air. Alongside the track grass grew in abundance. The bright sun shone down, reaching the very ground itself, and to the left and the right of the column the clearing stretched out as far as the eyes could see. The break in the trees wasn’t very wide, perhaps the width of a city tower. Ahead the beaten path led back into a dense thicket of trees, but open land stretched out to the east and the west. Where they were now formed a band of golden-green that broke up the forest itself.

Not that it was empty land. Rather this long clearing was taken up by a hodge podge of shacks, ramshackle hovels, and people. Everywhere people milled about, or sat, or talked, or looked around suspiciously. They were dressed, mostly, in a weird motley. Much of it tattered and patched city clothing; all of it threadbare and out of date. Occasionally Samuel saw something that looked closer to homespun cloth, but the designs were nothing like what the Prince’s party were wearing. Indeed the people of Aerska en Cantaer looked almost chic in comparison.

It appeared as though the Royal Caravan had been officially called to a halt, and following a seemingly intuitive command the ordered column had broken ranks and were scattering through the crowd.

“That would be lunch then.” Markus gruffly informed Samuel, beckoning him to follow.

He led them just a short way, a couple of shacks along from the roadway. A slight, obsequious figure was beckoning from the front of a corrugated iron lean-to, waving Markus towards two hefty blocks of wood set up in front of the dwelling. The Guardsman sunk onto one of the blocks with a sigh, balancing himself on the rudimentary stool and stretching his legs out before himself. He turned his face up towards the sun contentedly and with his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the summer’s day, he rapped his knuckles on the other piece of wood, indicating to Samuel that he was to sit there.

With far less enthusiasm Samuel sat on his own uncomfortable block of wood. Squirming to get comfortable. Their enthusiastic welcomer had already disappeared behind the shack, and with nothing else to do Samuel looked around warily.

“So this is the Edge then,” he commented. His eyes quirking at people’s city features (somewhat dirtied), the tattered modern clothing, and was that a solar cell or two on some of the thin roofs on the nearby makeshift houses. Samuel’s eyes went wide as he took into account the existence of electricity in this wilderness place, and spied a few electronic appliances set up in front of some of the shelters, large groups crowded round to make use of them.

Beside him Markus, eyes still closed, chuckled. Cracking an eyelid, the older man glanced over. “Let’s just say this is The Edge of the Edge, the cusp, the dividing line, No Man’s Land, the demilitarised zone.” He seemed to take great pleasure in rattling off name after name for this bustling strip of sunshine, open air, and bizarre habitation. 

Samuel was none the wiser for this explanation, and his face showed it. Nonetheless, the pair were at that very moment interrupted by the return of their welcoming party. This time the man was holding two plates, each piled with some form of gloopy stew that Samuel couldn’t identify and each topped with a hunk of coarse brown bread. Markus’ eyes both sprang open to their fullest extent, as he reached for one of the plates greedily, practically licking his lips.

It took a wary moment before Samuel followed suit and took his own plate.

As soon as his hands were empty the restauranteur pulled a piece of rough paper out of his belt. With a flourish he presented it to Markus, along with a pottle of muddy pigment. The guard fumbled at his waist before pulling something out, and in a flash dipped it in the pigment pot and pressed it firmly to the paper. It was a stamp, in a design that Samuel couldn’t begin to untangle.

Reaching across, Samuel jumped in his seat as Markus, unperturbed, fondled at Samuel’s belt before pulling a similar item out and repeating the procedure. Samuel’s stamp had a different pattern again he noticed, before Markus handed the small item back to him to put away himself. Samuel scowled as he took it, but Markus never noticed.

The man ran away towards the road, waving his piece of paper. Meanwhile, Markus turned his attention to his food, ripping off a piece of the bread and scooping up a dollop of the stew. Another contented look came over Markus’ face as he tucked into the meal. With some umbrage, but also a bit of a shrug, Samuel followed suit. The walk had left him hungry, and the food was surprisingly tasty. The two ate in silence for a while before Markus took a pause, wiping his mouth and clearing his throat.

“Tommy’s always got a good bit of food in the pot. I always go out of my way to make sure I get a spot at his place.” Markus offered by way of explanation.

“Very generous of him.” Samuel replied lamely around a mouth full of food.

His reply made Markus scoff and Samuel quirked his eyebrow in askance.

“Generosity my left foot!”, Markus chuckled. “He did it for the stamps. The prince pays handsomely for our meals. Our ID stamps’ll be traded in for hard coin or goods. Where else do you think Tommy was running off to so quickly.”

Samuel wanted to blush at his presumption, but Markus wasn’t paying it any mind. Instead he continued talking. “Not that we have to stop here of course. We have more than enough provisions, but then it’s always good to keep onside with the city-dwellers, there’s a good bit they know and a good bit they’ll do in exchange for a kind word and some good trade.”

“City-dwellers?” Samuel parroted, disturbed by the implication. “What do you mean city-dwellers?”

“I told you didn’t I?”, Markus said with a huff, as if he’d been speaking to a child for too long and was at the end of his tether. “This is the Edge of the Edge. I was born in Cantaer you know, born and raised. The Edge is as different to this place as night from day. This is just some refugee camp, a tent-city for you city-folk who’ve gotten tired of living up high.”

Samuel was scandalised. He couldn’t believe that the teeming masses of people he saw in every direction could have possibly once been his people, city people. It beggared belief that anyone would leave the comfort of the city to scrape a life out here, selling food to the odd passing caravan, and eking out every scrap of energy to power the odd electrical convenience. Apart from that though, how could so many people have left the city without the city populace knowing anything about it. 

There! Samuel had it. The flaw in the logic. “How on earth could so many people get out of the city?” Samuel challenged incredulously.

“Your gates are designed to keep people out, they don’t really care about keeping people in you know.” Markus’ snappy reply came back effortlessly.

Samuel didn’t know how to process that. The idea that all these people had wanted to leave the city and had found easy ways to do so. The idea that, having left, they wouldn’t be able to return anywhere near as easily. He studied their faces. His half-eaten meal forgotten, as his eyes scanned over the teeming masses. 

Away to his left Samuel’s eyes suddenly caught on the figure of Prince Nikolaus. He towered over people, the only person in that part of the encampment who was on horseback. Sitting bolt upright in the saddle, he was deep in conversation with a local. At least Samuel assumed he was a local, an ex-city-sider if Markus was to be believed. He wore a tight-fitting one piece jumpsuit, made from some obviously synthetic fibre that had a sheen in the sunlight. The sheen was dulled from overwear and one of the legs was tatty and ripped.

They were too far away for Samuel to overhear the conversation, but whatever it was about, the discussion appeared intense. Samuel’s spine tingled as he watched them, especially as the man Nikolaus was talking to started flicking his eyes over Samuel’s way. It unnerved him that this man seemed to be looking at him as the prince continued his conversation. 

“Why did you say we stopped here again?” Samuel asked worriedly.

“Hmmph”, Markus mused, “don’t know that I know. I just said, they can be useful at times didn’t I. Can be of help.”

Samuel didn’t know what to do with that. His mind puzzling over a million questions he began looking around for Nikolaus’ father. He hadn’t seen the older prince yet, perhaps he would be able to ask him for some answers. After all, he’d been the one to agree to take Samuel with them, and had practically forced him out of his father’s house.

He finally found him, and as he nibbled on pieces of the bread still on his plate Samuel watched him closely. The old prince was still at the head of the column, where it had stopped. Still on horseback, he was every inch the imperious leader. Beside him sat another man on horseback. Samuel would have assumed him to be a guard, although he wasn’t wearing the same outfit as Samuel or Markus.  He watched the two men talking to one another. After a few moments, the unknown rider dipped his head in something of a seated bow to the Prince and spurring his horse on, he leapt ahead and carried on up the roadway into the dark wood.

‘What could that all be about?’ Samuel wondered. 

He didn’t have long to ruminate though. A moment later he was interrupted by a shadow that fell across his body. Jerking his head up he was startled to find Nikolaus leaning over him from the saddle of his horse. He was vaguely aware of Markus jumping to his feet beside him, making some semblance of a salute. Samuel stayed where he was glaring up at the prince.

“Keeping up all right?”  Nikolaus asked from his mount.

Samuel didn’t know what to make of the question, or even if Nikolaus knew himself what he’d meant by saying this. Instead Samuel chose to sidestep it entirely and make a comment of his own, something that had been weighing on him and he felt he needed to say aloud. 

“I didn’t expect us to get out of the city so easily. I don’t know how they didn’t realise something was wrong.”

Nikolaus looked Samuel in the eye for a minute, judging something that Samuel wasn’t aware of. Blinking, Nikolaus turned away, offering an oblique explanation. “It was all a matter of mathematics. Forty-seven people entered the city, forty-seven left. Your father was right, the customs officers had been put on alert, but they hadn’t ordered extraordinary measures yet.” Nikolaus stared hard at Samuel beneath him. “The DNA scanners weren’t on.” With that the prince rode off towards his father, leaving Samuel confused.

As Samuel sat there, gathering his thoughts, understanding began to coalesce. An idea, a worrying thought, came to mind. Looking up to a still-standing Markus he hesitantly found himself asking, “There was a guard, a young guard at my father’s house with the princes. Where is he, I haven’t seen him?”

Samuel immediately began looking around again, as if he would immediately be able to pick the young man out of the crowd.

“Luka?” Markus’ word brought Samuel back to the older guard. “His name is Luka, and you know where he is. You had to get out of the city, and so he stayed. That’s his identification stamp at your belt.”

It was said without malice, nevertheless, hearing the words Samuel swallowed hard and looked uneasy. “Did he volunteer to stay?” Samuel asked.

“The Prince made a promise to your father I believe,” Markus offered by way of an answer. Any further questions were cut off by the sound a horn blown at close quarters.

“That’s our cue then, off we go and back in line.” Markus stretched and headed back towards the wagon they’d been following throughout the morning. Tentatively Samuel stood up, putting his plate down beside Markus’ on the ground. He followed Markus back towards their post, and after a painfully long time it seemed as though the caravan had somehow been put back together again. 

There were no more blasts from the cavalry horn. Instead, at some unseen signal, the prince’s entourage set off again, weaving its way along the dirt path and back through the tree line. Samuel didn’t feel anything as the forest shadows descended over him once more. He was numb, placing one foot in front of the other, thinking of a young man, about his age, called Luka. 

He couldn’t even remember the boy’s face. He kept trying. It suddenly seemed important.