Oppression

“C’mon, Carson!”. Freddie’s voice blasted through the open shop door. “Th’ readin’s in ten minutes. Ring up th’ ole sod and meet me out back.” 

Carson winced as he hastily wrapped an ornate tome on the counter. The ‘ole sod’ in question was staring daggers at him. “Your friend ought to be more respectful, boy.” The priest huffed. “You sell these books at the Church’s allowance and we can swiftly take that away.” He glared down his nose in distain, and Carson tried to shrink into the floorboards. 

“I am so sorry, your grace.” Carson said. “I will beat him myself if I have to.” 

The priest offered a stern nod of satisfaction and turned to leave. “See that you do. Charge the book to my usual account and let Mr. Timmons know that I want next month’s release schedule emailed to me ASAP. I missed the latest Dan Patterson and now the other clergy are ahead of me.” 

Carson nodded vigorously. He waited until the door of the shop had closed to finally exhale and slump against the wall. “Fuckin’ Freddie.” He quickly locked the front door and grabbed his jacket. He left the priest’s message for Mr. Timmons on the voicebox before rushing out into the back alleyway.

He was greeted by the sight of Freddie, all six foot six of him, pacing the alley and bouncing a tennis ball off of the nearby bricks. If they had not grown up together Carson was very sure that Freddie would’ve been his bully. But as things stood now, Freddie was as loyal a friend as anyone in the world. Which made his recklessness all the more frustrating. Freddie noticed him and rifled the ball his way. Carson let it hit him and continued through it, slamming Freddie up against the wall. Freddie grunted in surprise. “Oi! The fuck are you on about?” 

Carson pulled back and punched Freddie in the arm as hard as he could. He was pretty sure his hand hurt more than the arm. “What the fuck do you think, you idiot? That ‘ole sod’ back there was Clergy. He’s the only reason our shop exists and he could burn it all down if he wanted to. So maybe keep your big mouth shut around the store next time, eh?” 

Freddie raised his arms in defeat and smirked. “Ok, ok. Mister fancypants wants his precious bookstore nice and quiet I guess.” He clapped a hand on Carson’s shoulder. “Ya’ know those rich bastards need ‘Ta Green Knight as much as you need their business. It’s puttin’ money in their pockets as well.” He pointed at his arm and grinned. “Ya’ know imma get you back for that, right? Now c’mon, we are gonna have to hoof it if we want good spots.” He turned and ran down the alley, picking up the errant tennis ball as he went.

Carson sighed and sprinted after. It was pointless to continue a conversation when Freddie deemed it was over. The blinding white midday sun hit him as they left the alley and he almost ran right through an older woman carrying her groceries. Her irritated shouting faded behind him as he weaved through the crowd of people jostling for their spot at the reading. Freddie’s larger frame easily shoved through the mess and in moments he was twenty feet ahead. Carson cursed his smaller size and ducked off to the left into the road. Thankfully, the traffic into Pope Urban VIII Square had been shut down for the reading but he kept an eye out for bicycles. He followed a familiar faded Red Sox hat as it bobbed through the crowd until it rose up into the air and Freddie’s wide grin came into view. He was standing proudly on an electrical box, gazing around like The King on his throne. Carson pushed back onto the sidewalk and scrambled up next to Freddie, who was in the middle of devouring a sandwich from his coat pocket. Flecks of mustard and crumbs showered down on the crowd beneath them. Several people looked up to say something but immediately turned back when faced with Freddie’s mustard-smeared glare.

Carson had to admit that Freddie had found a perfect spot. The entire working population of Cambridge had turned up and he shuddered at the thought of being crunched in there amongst the sweaty dock workers and half-drunk locals. The bright white tower and golden cross of the Lowell House of God shone in the distance. A beacon of the church’s influence on the unwashed masses of Cambridge. He spied the local clergy sitting atop the wooden stage built in the center of the square. With their black robes and haughty expressions they looked more like birds than people, like a murder of crows on a power line. Most of them ignored the crowd, instead choosing to stare intently into their phones. Except for one. Carson noticed the man who had been in the shop previously. He was lounging in his folding chair reading the book he had purchased. Freddie pointed to the man, “What a fuckin’ prick. Thinks he’s better than us. Why’s he even here if he can just read ta’ damn news his’self?” 

Carson sighed. “It’s because they want us to think this is charity, Fred. They reward us for being good subjects by allowing us to hear how the world is. They don’t think we are worthy of it, they think their knowledge is God-given.” 

Freddie gave him a side eye and raised an eyebrow. “An’ ‘ow do you know that? You becoming chummy with them, eh?” 

Carson chuckled and patted Freddie on the back. “Fuck no, Fred. These assholes get real chatty when they think they’re in a safe space. I hear a lot of things behind that counter.” Freddie opened his mouth to reply but it was drowned out by an intense, squealing feedback. They both winced and turned to see a small, bookish man tapping the microphone on the stage.

The man cleared his throat and stared out into the teleprompter in front of him. The average local would think he was surveying the crowd. His face split into a well-practiced grin and his voice boomed over the square. “Thank you all for coming to this month’s News of the Kingdom. As you are all aware this month was our King Charles the Third’s birthday.” He waited for a small smattering of applause. “Yes, yes it’s quite exciting. Now, we learned last month that an uprising had crossed our borders in The Colony of Texas. I am pleased to report that it has been quelled thanks to the brave efforts of our King’s Royal Marines. In more somber news, our fellow citizens in Calcutta have been struck by an earthquake. All royal efforts are being made to-.” Carson jumped as a figure squeezed on to the box next to him. Freddie twisted around, fist raised, then just nodded his head and went back to listening. The stranger patted Freddie on the shoulder in greeting and turned his head to look at Carson. The boy was in his late teens, most likely the same age as Carson and Freddie. He was wearing all black and holding a backpack in front of him. 

His brow furrowed and he looked Carson up and down. “You a friend of Freddie’s?” He looked closer and his face relaxed in recognition. “Oh, you’re the bookshop boy. Look the other way, don’t draw too much attention. Can you read?” Carson tried to determine if the question was genuine or accusatory. The ability to read was usually reserved for those chosen by The Crown and he had tried to keep it quiet. Freddie knew and chose to still be friends regardless, to his credit.

“Yes, I can read.” Carson said cautiously. “What about it?” 

He heard the boy chuckle behind him and glanced back to see several small, black objects in his backpack. “We will be in touch. That store of yours is a treasure trove you know? Rumor is, it houses some of the oldest books in the Colonies.”

There was a ripping sound and Carson snuck a peek again to see the boy had taped the objects together and pulled a pin of some kind. His heart skipped and he froze in place. Freddie had shifted himself into a crouch, as if preparing to leap from the box. “What are you doing, Fred?” Carson squeaked out. Freddie grabbed his arm and pulled him off of the box as the strange boy stood tall and heaved the taped object out into the square. Carson watched it soar for a moment before his body hit the ground and it dropped out of sight behind the heads of the crowd around him. He heard only a surprised yelp from the Crier and a gasp from the crowd as a fountain of red paint sprayed high into the air. The people around him covered their heads as the blood-red spray came raining down on them all. The boy on the box was yelling at the top of his lungs. “Fuck the Church! Down with the Crown! Fuck the Church! Down with the Crown!” He felt huge hands pull him up by his coat and scrambled to catch his feet underneath him while Freddie dragged him through the crowd. He slapped Freddie’s hands away and stopped. “Where the fuck are we going, Fred?” Freddie spun on his heels and pointed far behind Carson to the four huge policemen barging through the crowd towards them. The strange boy had disappeared. Carson looked to the stage and saw the Crier and clergy being shuffled off-stage by security. They were all soaked in red paint, as was the front of the stage and most of the square. He felt a twinge of satisfaction, seeing the fear on the clergy’s face. Now you know what it’s like to feel powerless. 

Hot breath mixed with mustard filled his nose as Freddie’s face appeared, inches away. “We are running. No questions. I’ll not ‘ave my face bashed in because of your whingin’.” 

Carson looked back, the policeman had slowed as the crowd began to retreat the other way from the square. “But we’re innocent Fred!”

Freddie’s face darkened. “I’m not, Car. An’ you’re with me. So they won’ care. Start runnin’.” 

Carson felt his face flash hot and his heart started slamming at the inside of his chest. He wanted to haul off and beat Freddie to a pulp. He wanted to step back and let the police deal with it. But he couldn’t. Freddie was right. He’d seen how the police dealt with the September Riots. Some of his schoolmates still had noticeable limps. And they wouldn’t care who he was, only who he was near. Screaming and yelling rose up behind him and he looked to see the policemen proving Freddie’s point. Their patience had worn out and the crowd scattered in all directions as the four men clubbed a path of destruction.

“Go, go, go. I get it lets go!” Carson yelled as he pushed past Freddie and sprinted away from the chaos. Freddie quickly caught up and moved in front, using his frame to plow through the crowd. They reached the edge of the square and turned down an alley. Freddie squeezed himself into a gap in the buildings and Carson followed. They both stood there in the dark, trying to breathe as quietly as they could through tired lungs. Heavy footsteps clattered past the entrance and echoed away. Five minutes passed. Ten. Twenty? It could’ve been an eternity. Their breathing slowed and only silence remained. Carson felt a tap on his shoulder and Freddie motioned for him to step out. They left the space and sat in silence on the stoop of a back door.

“I’d say that went rather well.” A familiar voice came down from above and Carson nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around and looked up into the irritating grin of the strange boy, perched on the fire escape above them. His black clothing was gone, as was the backpack. He looked far too calm for Carson’s liking. In Carson’s experience, fear made someone smarter, more cautious. The stupid were never afraid. Freddie, of course, was a prime example. The boy dropped down to their level and extended a hand to Carson. “James, pleasure to meet you.” 

Carson ignored the hand and raised his own, backing away. “Nope, I want no part of this.” He turned to Freddie. “The fuck is the matter with you? What made you think this was a good idea?”

 Freddie furrowed his brow and waved James away. “Give us a sec, James.” James nodded and walked down to the other end of the alley, whistling as he went. 

Freddie leaned in close. “I had no choice, Car. They was gonna do a smash n’ grab. Burn it all down. I convinced them to let you in on it. Said that you had a way in that was cleaner. I know you love ta’ place and I know you ‘ate the Clergy so I figured this was best. Ya, know?” 

Carson stepped back. “Burn what down Fred? Who are ‘they’?” 

Freddie looked down and rubbed his chin, he looked nervous. In all of their years together Carson had never seen Freddie look nervous. It erased his anger and put him back on edge. Then, he remembered what ‘James’ had told him earlier and his chest tightened. There was only one place Freddie could be talking about. But that didn’t make any sense. Why burn down The Green Knight? What was of value to steal? The church controlled all book sales and smuggling them had become so costly that no one dared to do it. Not to mention that the literate had enough money to buy their own anyway.

Freddie looked back up and sighed heavily. “There’s something they want in Ta’ Green Knight. A map or some shit. I don’t know. They tried telling me once and I didn’t get it.”

 “It’s not quite a map, my friend.” The smarmy voice of James crept into the conversation. 

Carson jumped again, despite himself. He could see how the boy evaded the police so easily. James sidled up next to Freddie and looked Carson up and down, his hands relaxed in his pockets.

“It’s a blueprint. A set of designs that the church has kept under lock and key for decades. And until recently we thought that they had it locked up tight somewhere at The Vatican. But it seems a copy was made. And as luck would have it, it has been right here this whole time. Lost in the shelves of The Green Knight’s basement vault. We want to steal it.” He looked around the alley quickly and moved in closer. “Do you know what keeps revolutions down?” 

Carson rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.” 

James continued on as if he hadn’t heard him. “It’s lack of communication. The inability to organize. No one in these bloody colonies can read anymore, save for the rich, the clergy, and those who get lucky.” He looked pointedly at Carson, then held up a finger to silence his retort. “But I’m sure you deserved it. My point is if we were to find a way to educate the people. To get them on the same page, so to speak, then who knows what we could accomplish? In ten years? Twenty? We could be an independent country in our lifetimes. And all you have to do, my nervous little pal, is go into your back shelves and retrieve it.”

Carson looked in disbelief at Freddie. Freddie’s face was dead serious. James was practically bouncing with excitement. He looked like a cat preparing to attack a toy. 

“And if I don’t?” Carson asked. “What if I say no?” 

James shrugged. “Then we sneak in, take it by force, and burn the whole shop to the ground to cover our tracks. But that would be messy and the cameras would see us. We want to try and keep this discovery from the church's eyes as long as possible. The robbery and burning of a local bookstore would raise suspicions.” 

Freddie spoke up. “Listen, Car. It’ll be super easy. No one will know what happened. This keeps you free and clear later on.” 

Carson glared at James. “Well I don’t seem to have much of a choice, do I? So what am I looking for?” 

James clapped his hands and patted Freddie on the shoulder excitedly. “Excellent news!” His eyes narrowed and the joy left his smile. He leaned in close and whispered, “It’s called the Gutenberg Printing Press.”