The Nine

by Terry Cloutier

  ​ “Excuse me, lord,” Twent said to Fanch’s broad back. “May I have a word?”

  ​ Fanch stopped just before the bridge and lifted his head to the sky. “There’s always one,” he said with a sigh. He turned to face Twent and put his hands on his hips as he spread his booted feet on the ground. “What is it?” The rest of us unconsciously moved several feet away from Twent.

  ​ “Well, you see,” Twent said weakly, clearly unnerved by the look on Fanch’s face. I hadn’t noticed before, but Twent had a huge lower lip that jutted out from his mouth and it was quivering uncontrollably. “I think there’s been a mistake,” Twent managed to say. “I really shouldn’t be here.”

  ​ Fanch leaned sideways on one foot, looking past Twent and the rest of us to the soldiers who stood in the rear. “Did you hear that?” Fanch demanded. “The dandy says there’s been a mistake and that he doesn’t belong here.” The soldiers all laughed and Fanch grinned and then, moving faster than I would have thought possible, he punched Twent in the stomach. The skinny man doubled up, grasping his stomach in shock as the air flew from his lungs with a whoosh. Fanch cursed him and then brought his right knee up, flattening Twent’s nose and sending blood spraying. Twent fell heavily onto his back and he cried desperately for mercy as Fanch grabbed him by his long, greasy brown hair, and dragged him to his knees. “Don’t you ever talk to me again you worthless whore-son!” Fanch growled. He shook Twent’s head from side to side. “Do you understand me?” Blood streamed freely from Twent’s ravaged nose and his eyes were tearing uncontrollably as he nodded weakly. “Good,” Fanch said. He glared at Jebido. “You, help him up!”

  ​ Jebido knelt and helped the skinny teacher to his feet and we proceeded over the bridge and up the hill through the trees while Twent sobbed softly to himself. Once past the trees we entered a huge clearing where several wagons and thirty or so men waited near what had to be the largest hole in the ground I’d ever seen. A wooden platform had been built overlooking the western side of the hole and as we watched, one of the wagons was carefully manoeuvred onto it. A confusing array of beams and ropes and pulleys were built above the platform, with the largest pulley set where the beams met in the middle. A long rope ran over that pulley and then dropped down through an open section of the platform into the pit and the other end was attached to a powerful looking horse that was standing patiently waiting. A small man with a club foot was holding the horse’s bridle and whispering to it. I noticed there were two more platforms, one to the east, and one to the north of the pit, and that they were in use as well. Fanch led us to the eastern side of the huge quarry as the man with the club foot abruptly shouted and urged the horse forward. The rope attached to the horse and pulley began to move reluctantly and as Fanch halted us at the edge of the pit, a large stone block appeared from the hole and rose into the air. Men who’d been standing waiting for it leapt forward and, with a lot of cursing, they managed to push the stone onto the wagon using long staves. I turned my attention away from the workers as four men dressed in leather armour stepped out from a wooden guard post and greeted Fanch. The men all carried long spears in their right hand and rectangular shields painted yellow with the black stag emblem on them on their left arm. Fanch spoke with them briefly, then returned to us. He pointed at me and then to the pit. “You, down you go.”

  ​ I glanced at the pit and saw that the top rung of a ladder was sticking out over the rock rim by about a foot or so and I nodded my head in understanding. I moved cautiously to the edge of the hole and my breath caught in my throat as I looked down. The ladder sat on a narrow ledge at least twenty feet below me and was tied into the rock with rope and metal pins at the base and at the top. The ledge was perhaps two feet wide at the most and covered with moss. Below that another ladder lay propped against the ledge, leading down another twenty feet. I leaned forward to get a better view, resting my hand on the ladder to steady myself. Beneath the second ladder were more, perhaps as many as ten before finally I could see a wide basin down at the bottom. Tiny figures were moving around the basin and I drew back, suddenly feeling dizzy.

  ​ “Get your ass down that ladder, boy!” Fanch snapped at me impatiently.

  ​ I shared a look with Jebido and then grabbed the top of the ladder and swung my leg out and over onto the first rung and started to descend. I’ll get out of here, I told myself as I made my way down. Somehow I’d find a way. I had no idea at the time that it would be nine long years before I finally climbed back out of that cursed pit.

  Chapter 4: Tannet’s Find

  ​ The quarry was called Tannet’s Find, named after the Ganderman surveyor who had discovered it where it had lain overgrown and forgotten for many years deep in the forests of Southern Ganderland. We prisoners never called it that, though. We called it Father’s Arse, or sometimes just the Hole, and we referred to each other as Father’s Turds. The stone of Father’s Arse was instantly prized by the Gandermen builders and they declared everything else inferior to it and, within a year of its discovery, almost all of the quarried stone in the kingdom came from there. The quarry had been dug a long time ago, so we were told, possibly centuries, maybe more, no one knew for certain. Whoever those original miners had been, they had just started digging straight down, slowly widening the perimeter as they mined the creamy-grey, finely-textured limestone from the surface. The original miners had expanded and deepened the quarry over the many years it had been worked, until eventually reaching a point where the limestone began to lose its fine texture and durability. Rather than abandon the site, those first miners began to dig sideways, cutting out a dizzying maze of tunnels in all directions. They’d also somehow drilled an opening on the southern side about thirty feet down from the rim and about the width of a tall man. I can’t even begin to understand what it must have taken to accomplish that, but water poured continuously from this opening the entire time I was held there, rolling down the wall into a deep basin cut into the floor that formed a natural reservoir. A narrow channel led from this reservoir to another tunnel, where the water flowed back out. Sometimes when it rained the floor of Father’s Arse would flood, occasionally up to our ankles, but it would always eventually drain away through that tunnel. No one but The Mother and The Father knows why the Hole had been abandoned or where the water came from or went to, nor did we much care. We were just grateful that we had continuous fresh water to drink and to bathe in. It was the only luxury that we would ever know deep down inside that quarry.

  ​ Life in Father’s Arse was harsh, as we Turds were forced to work in near darkness in teams of four in exhausting twelve-hour shifts, with two men and two boys per team. When the shift was over, we’d go to the eating hall where we were fed weak stew, crusty bread, and once in a while, a hunk of moldy cheese. A mug of acrid ale that looked, smelled, and tasted like piss, was given to us to wash it all down with and then we were free to do what we wished until our next shift. For me, at least in the beginning, that meant stumbling to the sleeping hall and collapsing in bed like one of the dead.

  The boy’s sleeping halls were built along the western curve of Father’s Arse and the men’s along the eastern curve, while the eating hall and guards’ quarters were built along the middle, dividing the two. We called the guards Heads for some reason. I never thought to actually find out why. The Heads were prisoners as well, though they’d gained some trust from our captors above and had been promoted. Each Head was responsible for five teams of workers. If a team missed a quota, it was the Heads fault and he would be demoted back to being a Turd. The Heads were armed with whips and a small club and, believe me, they used them, as none of them wanted to miss their quota. It was also the Heads responsibility to keep the peace among the Turds and to guard the ladder. There were always two Heads at its base at all times, though it probably wouldn’t have mattered if they were there or not, as we all knew there were still those guards at the top to contend with.

  ​ I won’t lie and try to tell you that those first
few weeks weren’t tough, because they were, but I was young and resilient, which helped immensely. I was still recovering from the fever I’d had, but once I started getting regular food, foul as it was, I started to recoup my strength fairly quickly. Luckily for me Jebido and the boy with no name were both assigned to my team and they watched out for me as much as they could. Jebido was partnered with a huge bald man named Listern Wes, who spoke rarely, but worked tirelessly. The two men made a formidable team with picks and chisels and not once during the entire time we were teamed did we miss a quota. Jebido and Wes would use picks to expose a rough block of stone, while we boys cleared the debris away around it. It was hard, difficult work in the cramped space of the tunnels, which were weakly lit by faint candlelight. Once the stone was suitable in size, we’d use hammers, chisels and wedges to cut along its base, separating it from the rest of the rock. From there, the four of us would wrap ropes around it and we’d drag it along a specially designed trench to one of the three cutting rooms, whichever was closest. The cutting rooms were massive chambers, each one dug out of the limestone precisely the same distance from the center of Father’s Arse, one to the north, one east, and one to the west. Within these great chambers teams of stonemasons labored, cutting and shaping the stones to their desired sizes with chisels and saws. The stonemasons were actually free men and they worked for wages and, I was told, would come from all across the kingdom to work in Father’s Arse. Once the finished stones were shaped to the desired size, Turds would drag them away so that they could be drawn up to the surface above.

  ​ “Why don’t they just shape the stones at the building site?” I remember asking Jebido after we’d delivered a particularly fine block to the cutting room.

  ​ “They’re harder to carve up there,” Jebido had grunted, motioning with his head to the world above. “Different air, so I’ve been told.”

  ​ The work was hard, but so was working the fields in Corwick and, as time went by, I found myself becoming stronger and my endurance increasing. We four grew to become dependent on each other and rarely did we even need to speak while we worked, as each of us knew what to do in any given situation. As the weeks passed, the boy with no name began to talk more and we finally learned that his name was Baine. Though he was small for his age, Baine was quick and stronger than he looked and he quickly gained the admiration and respect of the rest of the team. He was a year younger than I was and he and I had developed a deep friendship, necessitated in part, I suppose, by us working so close together every day. Not long after we arrived, Jebido began sitting on the moss-covered rocks by the reservoir and staring into the water after we ate. So now that I wasn’t as tired as I had been after shift, it became a habit for me and Baine to go and sit with him and we’d talk. The sound of the water cascading into the reservoir was loud, but not enough that we had to shout to be heard and, in fact, we all found it strangely soothing. Listern Wes would join us as well sometimes, though the huge bald man never spoke more than three words at a time.

  ​ Almost a year after our captivity, Baine, Jebido and I were sitting by the reservoir in our customary place when I saw a familiar figure working with the men drawing the stones from the cutting rooms. I’d seen Klotter around from time to time, but not often as we usually worked different shifts. He was thinner and fitter looking than I remembered, but it was undoubtedly him. Klotter had originally been partnered with Twent, the skinny teacher from the wagon, but Twent had developed a wet, bloody cough and had died less than a month after we’d arrived. Over the many years that I would spend down in Father’s Arse, I would see a lot of good men die that way. Seeing Klotter got me to thinking about Carspen Tuft and his fat wife Hielda, and that horrible trip in the wagon. “Baine,” I said to my friend. “You never did tell us how you got caught by Carspen Tuft?”

  ​ Baine blinked his large eyes at me and I could tell he was thinking. He had a habit of doing that and rarely, if ever, did I see him speak without choosing his words carefully. He always thought about things first, chewing on the words in his head before finally spitting them out. “I don’t remember you telling us how you did either,” Baine eventually said. He turned to Jebido. “Or you for that matter.”

  ​ I realized he was right. I don’t think any of us had ever said anything about that trip or that horrible little man since the day we climbed down into Father’s Arse. I guess we’d all just wanted to wipe it from our minds. “Forget it,” I said, regretting I’d brought it up.

  ​ Baine shook his head, pausing to flick his long black hair from his eyes. “Actually, I’d like to tell you,” he said. He squared his thin shoulders and composed his thoughts, then said, “I met Tuft in Gandertown.”

  ​ “Gandertown? You mean where the king lives?” I interrupted.

  ​ “Of course where the king lives,” Baine said as he rolled his eyes. “What do you think?” I grinned and motioned for him to continue while Jebido sat listening with his arms crossed, his face expressionless. “I was heading to bed after doing my rounds on The Waste when...”

  ​ “The what?” I interrupted him again.

  ​ Baine frowned at me. “Don’t you know anything? The Waste is the main street in Gandertown. That’s where I lived and worked most of the time.”

  ​ “By yourself?” I asked. Baine just nodded.

  ​ “Your family are dead, I take it,” Jebido said, his face unchanged.

  ​ Baine just shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know for sure. I never knew them.”

  ​ “Who raised you then?” I asked.

  ​ “Nobody.”

  ​ “Nobody,” I repeated. I thought of my mother and father and sister and two brothers. True, I hadn’t had them long, but at least I’d had them. I couldn’t imagine being as alone as Baine had been all his life.

  ​ “The Waste is pretty much all I’ve ever known,” Baine said. He glanced around Father’s Arse. “Until this place, that is.”

  ​ “So how did you meet Carspen Tuft?” Jebido prompted.

  ​ Baine grinned sheepishly. “I tried to rob him.”

  ​ “What?” I gasped. “You’re a thief?”

  ​ Baine gave me a cold look. “Don’t look so surprised, Hadrack,” he said. “You would have been too in my place. There aren’t a lot of choices on The Waste.” He glanced at Jebido. “I was a pickpocket and I was good at it. Tuft was sitting up on the wagon with that woman sitting beside him. It was really early in the morning and they were just sitting there in the middle of the street talking. I couldn’t believe anyone would be dumb enough to be on The Waste at that time and I figured it’d be easy. I remember wondering what was in the wagon.” Baine shook his head. “I guess I know now, huh? Anyway, Tuft got down when he saw me and he waved me over, all cheery and happy like he is. You know what I mean.” Both of us nodded and Baine continued, “He said that he’d taken a wrong turn and had gotten lost and he needed my help. I told him what he wanted to know and that’s when he offered me the bottle. I took a few sips and we chatted while I tried to figure out where he was hiding his gold. Then I started to feel strange. The next thing I knew I was a prisoner.” Baine glanced at Jebido. “I remember you tried to talk to me when I woke up.”

  ​ “Yes,” Jebido agreed. “You weren’t much of a talker back then.”

  ​ Baine grinned sheepishly at Jebido and then gestured to him. “Now you go.”

  ​ Jebido shook his head and looked at me instead. “Let’s hear your story first.”

  ​ I hadn’t spoken to anyone about what had happened over a year ago in Corwick and I looked down and swallowed, composing my thoughts. “I lived in a little village called Corwick,” I began. Beside me Jebido stiffened and his eyes widened. “What?” I asked him, surprised by the expression on his face.

  ​ “Corwick?” Jebido repeated. “Would that be part of the fiefdom of the Lord of Corwick?”

  ​ “Yes,” I nodded in agreement. I felt my jaw tighten at the lord’s name. “We were vassals
to the Lord of Corwick,” I said. “The first and the second one,” I added.

  ​ “Mother Above!” Jebido whispered as he ran his fingers through his hair.

  ​ “Are you all right, Jebido?” Baine asked.

  ​ “I’m fine,” Jebido said. He took in a deep breath and turned to me. “Please, continue, Hadrack,” he said, though his voice had an odd shake to it.

  ​ I gave him a look, perplexed by his behaviour, but by now I was starting to see that day vividly in my mind and my thoughts drifted inward and I forgot about him. I don’t know how long I talked, but I told them everything. About how my father and I had gone to Hestan’s farm and about the nine showing up and how I’d run back to our farm only to find the Reeve and my sister that way. They sat in stunned silence as I told them of how I’d tried to stop the Reeve and how he’d hit me and how, by chance I’d manage to kill him.

  ​ “Mother’s tit!” Baine exploded at that point. “You killed a Reeve?”

  ​ I nodded gravely to him and then told them of Crooked Nose and Hape, and of the youth Calen, and how they’d chased me into the bog. How I’d fooled them by making them think I’d been sucked down by quicksand and how I’d watched as my family and friends had been herded together at our farm. I told them of Lord Corwick’s arrival and how relieved I’d been, only to see my father cut down before my eyes. I explained how the Lord of Corwick had ordered the nine to destroy everything before, like a coward, he’d slunk back to his castle with his men. I told them of burying Jeanna and my father and my vow to them that I would find the nine and kill them all. I told them of the leader of the nine, Quant, and of Heavy Beard as well, and that I didn’t know the others’ names, but someday I would find them. And I told them of being on my own after that, starving and ill until finally I’d stumbled across Tuft and Hielda. When I was done, I looked up at my friends and I fought back the tears that threatened to overwhelm me, determined not to cry in front of them. We sat there in silence for a time, alone with our thoughts with just the sounds of the water and the pulleys above us screeching and the men working keeping us company before finally, Jebido cleared his throat. What he said next has stayed with me my entire life. Never before or since have I been as shocked by anything as I was at that moment.