A few days later, on another frosty morning, Arnold was riding to the factory, studying the pattern embroidered on the seat in front of him.

  The tram swayed slightly from side to side along the tracks, and with the rhythmic clatter of wheels, many passengers felt drowsy.

  He savored the last moments of relative calm before a grueling day. The new position turned out to be far more demanding — constant commotion, frequent dashes between different factory sections, either preparing reports or overseeing processes. Low energy made it hard for Arnold to concentrate; even the smallest problem could throw him off, making him irritable and short-tempered.

  Suddenly, the tram jolted to a stop, and Arnold was thrown slightly forward by inertia. The crowd inside rushed toward the windows and gasped in shock.

  Arnold tried to see what had caught everyone’s attention. He overheard several indignant voices.

  “Vandals!” “Heretics!” “Illyrians!”

  Looking out the window, he saw a group of people running toward them from a familiar square, with policemen in pursuit. It seemed the tram driver had stopped to avoid running anyone over.

  The group darted across the road, narrowly avoiding oncoming cars, while the police, whistles blaring, chased after them. The pursuit disappeared around a corner, and the tram slowly resumed its movement.

  Arnold turned his gaze toward the square and saw papers swirling around the monument of Frank Rupert — each page filled with images and lots of text. On the monument itself, bright green paint marked four-digit numbers, likely years.

  Arnold immediately realized that those dates were from before the Liberation and turned away from the window.

  That settles it. Illyrian propaganda. Not even worth a glance, he decided.

  Arnold had never been this close to the activities of Illyrian infiltrators before, but he knew the protocol: don’t look, and if necessary, report it to the police. In this case, the police were already involved.

  The passengers in the tram continued murmuring in disturbed tones. Pondering the incident, Arnold arrived at the factory. It turned out Bill lived near that square and had witnessed the situation as well.

  "Did you see what those heretics did to the monument?" he asked.

  Peter shook his head.

  "No," Margaret answered without looking up from her typewriter. "Which monument?"

  "The second statue of Frank Rupert," Arnold said. "There were leaflets flying everywhere, and the statue was defaced."

  “Terrible,” Margaret muttered with little enthusiasm, more focused on her task.

  "It's just unacceptable," Bill declared. "Ruining a real work of art."

  "Exactly," Arnold agreed. "At least they didn’t tear it down completely."

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  "That's true," Bill nodded. "Peter, what do you think?"

  "Those heretics aren’t such a big problem," Peter said. "There haven’t been any real attacks. All they do is throw leaflets and scrawl stuff, right?"

  "Seems like it," Bill said, though he didn’t sound entirely sure. "What’s even in those leaflets? Has anyone picked one up?"

  "Not me," Arnold replied immediately.

  "Me neither," said Peter.

  "I saw one," Margaret admitted.

  "What was in it?" Bill asked with interest.

  "Nonsense. Fake historical facts supporting Illyria. I guess they’re trying to sway Eratian citizens to their side, so our country turns against the Empire."

  "Stupid plan," Arnold said. "The Empire freed us. No one would ever go against it."

  "Well, someone did," Bill sighed. "I mean the heretics. It’s kind of sad. Their minds are poisoned, and they betrayed their own."

  "Yeah," Arnold agreed and got back to work.

  About an hour later, he was called to the construction department. Another inspection was needed for an unfinished airship. He had to go.

  Every time Arnold entered that section, memories flooded back. Just five years ago, he’d stood by one of the conveyor belts, fastening parts. Dirty, exhausted, but proud of his place and motivated to help society.

  Thinking about it, not much had changed. He was once again walking through smoke alongside the assembly lines, sparks raining down from above. The same familiar fatigue, though now his motivation stemmed from the basic need to afford more food.

  His time in the office had made him grow to dislike construction. Every loud noise made him wince — and the construction zone was full of them. The clang of hammers, the crash of metal, jets of steam, and the constant rustling of conveyor belts.

  Irritated by the noise, Arnold reached the airship. The entire machine was surrounded by scaffolding, where workers sat, welding the frame. At the bottom was a large, elongated cabin — that’s where he was headed.

  A worker in his fifties stood beside the cabin, shouting instructions to others on the scaffolding in a hoarse but powerful voice. Arnold approached him.

  "Inspection," Arnold said. "For the report."

  The man nodded a few times, and Arnold headed into the cabin. It was empty — the builders had likely cleared out to avoid getting in the way.

  He walked through the corridor, examining the work. Almost done. Only the steering wheel, engine, and shell remained. He took notes and exited.

  "Well?" the worker asked.

  "On track. Keep it up," Arnold said in a commanding tone.

  Back at his desk, he finished the report and checked the remaining tasks. A few more inspections awaited. Arnold spent the rest of the day running around the construction zone.

  The next day, worn out from work, he sat down with a newspaper — and spotted something familiar on the front page. Apparently, the incident in the square had made the news.

  Arnold curiously glanced at the accompanying grainy, gray photo and was slightly surprised to see that all the green writing on the statue had been covered with paper. Probably the police thought it best to hide those years from public view. Makes sense. People shouldn’t dwell on propaganda, Arnold thought and began reading.

  The article started as expected — with a loud headline:

  “Major Act of Vandalism: City Treasure Damaged.”

  It then detailed the event — how many vandals, when and where it happened. There were six of them, it turned out, but none were caught.

  Arnold’s assumptions were confirmed — the press also believed the culprits were heretics and Illyrian sympathizers. Because of that, the article didn’t mention what exactly was written on the monument. In the end, the square was closed for a couple of days to remove the leaflets and erase the dates from the statue.

  At the end of the article, there was a police message repeating instructions for what to do when encountering heretical activity. In the bottom corner of the page, there was an address for sending donations to help restore the monument.

  Arnold would have gladly chipped in and sent a few bills — but there was one problem.

  He didn’t have any money.