by R. J. Lucas
I shake off the disorientation and push the pity party out of my mind as Braam and I quickly hide behind some bushes. A couple of Royal Ladies walk by, talking and laughing. I dig my fingers into the soil. Feeling the Earth of Fairbourne is strange. The dirt does not feel like the dust of Arcmire or the rich soil of Isaiah’s kiju fields. It feels synthetic almost, like it is manufactured.
Braam points to a nearby building with reinforced bars on the windows. “The holding cells are in there,” he says. “It’s a short-term holding facility. It’s where we will find your Papa.”
“Short term?” I ask.
“There aren’t really any long-term prisoners as most punishments consist of limb removal.”
“Of course,” I say.
“Or exile.”
“Got it,” I say.
“Or execution.”
“I got it, Braam. I’m sorry I asked.”
“Oh…” he says. “Bad on me.”
“What is his sick obsession with removing limbs and replacing them with clunky metal proths?” I ask. “Why must he do that?”
“It’s just about control,” Braam says. “About making others weaker than him. Incomplete. Less than.”
We quietly make our way through walkways and mazes of well-manicured shrubbery toward the building where they are holding Papa. The only sound is the swish of a bush as we scrape by it.
We reach the building and Braam guides me around to the side where we find a service entrance door. It is locked, but Braam explains there is a roof hatch above.
“I can get up there,” I say. “Then I can drop down and open the door for you.”
“My plan exactly,” he says.
“You sure you don’t want to do it?” I ask him. “I know how much you love heights.”
“Very funny,” he says as he squats with his back to the wall. He offers his hands to boost me up.
“You’re adorable,” I tell him with a smirk, and I jump to the roof with ease.
As I reach down to open the roof hatch, I hear the sarcasm in Braam’s voice.
“Show off!” he says.
35 - Firefight
I open the door for Braam and take a moment to orient myself once it closes behind me. We are standing at the end of a long hallway. Approximately thirty paces ahead of us, the hall appears to make a turn to the left. The walls are slick and white, as is the floor. It’s exceptionally clean and makes me think of a medical treatment facility more than a prison. It smells of lavender and I wonder if the place has been recently scrubbed down with cleaner.
Braam walks forward along the corridor, and I follow. I forget he knows this place and doesn’t need time to get his bearings. I trust his lead and pay close attention to the line of doors along the left wall. Each large door contains a small, solid look-through that can be opened from the outside by sliding it to the right.
When Braam pauses, I reach across to a door and begin to open a look-through, eager to find Papa, but Braam grabs my hand and places me back behind him.
“Not yet,” he says quietly. “We have to take out the protectors first.”
I nod in understanding and we continue to creep forward, soft-footed but sure. Up ahead, the sound of voices drift down the corridor.
Reaching the bend in the hall, I realize it opens into a large room that is empty of furniture aside from an oversized desk in the center of the room. I crouch and Braam flattens himself against the wall. As we sneak a look around the corner, I anticipate an army of protectors to be waiting on us…ready with their blunderbusses aimed at our heads. But no one appears to be expecting us.
I spot only two protectors in the cavernous room.
There is a short stumpy man sitting at the desk, shuffling Atomic Toad cards. The second protector, taller and not quite as pudgy as the first, is standing alongside the far wall. It has an alcove built into the wall, that runs most of the length, and is full of assorted fruits, cakes, and snacks as well many decanters of various liquids.
No wonder these guys are chunky, they probably sit around eating and drinking the entire time they are on duty. Proving my point, I realize the second protector has fixed himself a drink as he turns and leans against the wall. Both men look tired and bored. I hope their lack of readiness ends up being a costly mistake for them.
Four small cells line the wall across from us. They aren’t much more than cramped little cubbies with bars on the front. Three of them are empty, but in the last one sits a thin man with gray hair. His head is down, and his clothes are tattered, but I know in an instant it is my Papa. My heart leaps for joy as I recognize him.
He is alive!
From the moment I received news of his capture, the notion of his death has haunted me. I haven’t wanted to admit it, but I knew it was a very real possibility. Not until this very moment did I realize how greatly I feared losing him.
I look at Braam, whose eyes are locked on Papa as well. He turns to me and squats down, putting his mouth so close to my face I can feel his hot breath on my cheek.
“I’m going to cause a distraction,” he whispers. “When I have their attention, you quietly take them out before they can sound an alarm.”
“What are you going to do?”
“You’ll see,” he says. “I have more skills than just brute force.” He dances his eyebrows at me before focusing on the protectors again.
Something tells me he gets a little too much enjoyment out of creating havoc.
Standing tall he straightens his clothing. He tucks in his shirt and dusts the dirt from his shoulders. Without hesitation he walks around the corner and straight toward the protector at the desk, looking arrogant and strong as if he belongs here. I watch as Papa looks up. His eyes widen, though he stays quiet.
“Hey, you lobcocks!” Braam says as if he is an old-school buddy. “How did you guys get stuck with prison duty?”
“Who is this shmendrick?” The protector standing at the gluttony wall asks the other.
“Don’t be such a plugtail. I’ve got the shipment out back, but I need the two of you to help me unload it,” Braam says, smiling and jovial.
“We’re guarding this prisoner,” says the protector at the desk, clearly suspicious of Braam and his story. “Since when do protectors unload shipments?”
“Well, I can’t do it by myself and you only have the one prisoner,” Braam says while turning his head to look at Papa. He gives a wide grin and adds, “One measly, shaggy, scrawny looking one at that.”
I watch as Papa lowers his head and rubs his hand across his jawline to hide a smile.
“No one sent an update we were to get a shipment,” says the protector still sitting behind the desk. He looks down at a notepad and flips a page over. Without looking up, he asks, “What’s in your shipment?”
“You don’t know what I’m shipping?” Braam asks while feigning shock and surprise. “I guess you guys haven’t heard the news.”
“What news?” the protector asks while sitting his drink down.
With both protectors thoroughly distracted, I pull one of my knives. With the flip of my wrist, it flies across the room and finds its target. The look of shock on his face almost causes me to pity him…but not quite. He grabs his throat where the knife protrudes and gasps for air. He coughs blood across his desk and slumps forward.
Before there is time for the other protector to react, my second knife hits him. He never even realized he was under attack until the knife entered his temple and he crumpled to the ground.
“That news,” Braam says with a grin.
My attack was quiet, precise, and deadly. Exactly the way it needed to be.
I rush past Braam to reach Papa. He is waiting at the bars and I reach through to hug him tight.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, holding onto my hands once I release him from the hug.
“We’ve come to save you.”
“That’s exactly what Solomon is expecting of you! I thought you were smarter than that.”
Braam grabs the keys from the desk and kicks the protector’s lifeless foot for good measure, before making his way over to unlock the cell door.
“And why didn’t you talk her out of this?” Papa asks Braam, looking straight up at him as if to scold a child. “You could have used those acting skills to persuade her.”
Braam looks down at Papa, places his hand to his chest as if hurt by Papa’s scolding and says, “I save my acting skills for special occasions.”
“Wait,” Papa says as if he has had a revelation. “There is a third protector. He went to the latrine a few minutes ago.”
“Then we have to hurry,” Braam says as he urges Papa through the cell door. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I embrace Papa again, this time without bars between us, but he pushes me away. At first, I am confused. Then, I hear blunderbuss fire as it echoes through the room.
A bullet hits a bar to the cell exactly where I had been standing a split-second earlier.
Braam reacts the quickest. He reaches over his left shoulder and slings the double-sided axe with his right arm. We watch as the axe flips end over end, cutting through the air as fast as a loosed arrow. It finds its mark and buries itself deep into the chest of the third protector. If only he had taken a little longer in the latrine, his life would have been spared.
We each move forward as if we are one, toward the corridor Braam and I had entered through. Braam stops only to retrieve his axe from the poor bloke’s chest and decides to grab the now unclaimed blunderbuss as well. As an afterthought, he turns and snatches up the blunderbusses from the other dead protectors, handing them to me and Papa.
“They aren’t going to need them anymore.” He shrugs.
Making our way down the corridor, the other prisoners are now alert and quietly calling out. I believe they dare not become rowdy on the chance the outside noise is a test of their obedience to remain quiet on all accounts. It makes me sick that I can’t stop and free them all.
Within a few paces of reaching the door to freedom, it slams open and three protectors step into view with weapons aimed and ready. An exchange of fire ensues, causing one protector to fall to the ground almost instantly, the result of a bullet penetrating his brain.
We retreat the way we had come, backing our way up the corridor while still firing to protect ourselves.
“Is there another way out?” I ask Braam.
“Only the front,” he replies.
Upon reaching the bend in the corridor, we sprint across the now empty room and slam through the double doors leading out into the courtyard, only to be met by more protectors, armed, and waiting on us. Bullets pelt the building and ground all around us as we drop and take cover behind a large concrete container full of ornamental greenery.
“They’ve got us boxed in!” Papa yells over the sound of black powder exploding.
“Neeka and I will cover the courtyard,” Braam exclaims, turning to Papa. “You watch inside the building.”
No sooner do the words leave his mouth when a bullet whizzes by his head from a protector in the building. We all return fire, and the protector drops to the ground with three bullets in his chest. Another protector peeks from behind the inner door jam and Papa drops him with a bullet to the forehead. I am impressed with Papa’s marksmanship and turn to him with a smile. He simply shrugs and says, “Dumb luck, I guess.”
The firefight continues with protectors in the courtyard. The remnants of leaves, flowers and broken branches rain down on us from the planter as bullets rip through the foliage.
“I don’t think there are any more in the building. Should we try to go back inside?” Papa asks.
“We can’t leave cover,” Braam shouts.
“Well, we can’t stay here. I’m out of bullets,” Papa replies as he tosses his blunderbuss to the side.
Braam reaches over the planter and blind fires a couple of rounds. “I’m out as well,” he says tossing the useless weapon to the ground and pulling his axe from his back.
I examine my blunderbuss. “I still have four rounds, my knives and oh yeah…I’ve got these.” I pull three springrazors from my pack and Papa’s eyes light up. “Oreen gave them to me this morning before we left,” I say.
Papa takes one of the springrazors from me and holds it as if it is a prized trophy. “Oh, how I love that big, beautiful woman.”
I smile at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” he replies. “I just hope they work.”
“Here, take this as well.” I hand Papa the blunderbuss. “I’m better with my knives anyway.”
Papa peeks around the side of the planter to size up the situation. He turns back to us and points to the west telling Braam to watch the two protectors over by the statue while we focus on the two groups directly in front of us.
“Once we take them out, hopefully they will be distracted enough for us to make a run for it,” Papa says.
“Run to where?” I ask.
But before anyone can answer, something unexpected happens.
A gruff voice projects across the courtyard. “Stop firing! They are useless to me dead!”
36 - Surrounded
For the first time in my life, I am happy to hear Lord Solomon’s voice. Blunderbuss fire ceases and my ears gradually stop ringing. For a moment, the only noise I hear is the shuffling of protectors and heavy breathing coming from Braam.
I look over and notice blood on his sleeve and reach over to look at it. He pulls away announcing it is only a flesh wound.
“Those plugtails barely nicked me,” he says. “Look, now’s our chance. If Solomon won’t let them fire on us, we may survive this thing after all.”
Braam is right. Without blunderbusses, they are only left with shocksticks, net cannons and hand to hand combat. The worst of those being the net cannons. If we can avoid those, we may be able to escape. I try to hype myself up by thinking of worse situations I’ve been in and survived, but I can’t. This will truly be my greatest test yet.
“Bring in the shields!”
It’s Commander Atwood’s voice. I can recognize it as easily as Solomon’s. They both stir up a primal rage within me and I want to rip open their throats with my bare hands. The next sound is of heavily armored men marching on the brick surface of the courtyard streets and the metal of their armor clanking against itself.
“Time to see what we are up against,” Braam says as he stands to face the courtyard.
Papa and I follow suit.
As I scan the area, I can see six heavily armored protectors with shields as tall as they are. They look like a moving building as they march toward us. Off to the right is a group of five protectors with shocksticks held out in front of them. To the left, I see three with net cannons. If that’s not enough, there are about sixty more protectors that have come out of cover, ready to fight. They all begin to move toward us, slow and alert.
“No need to fight. As you can see, we are in control here. We have you surrounded.” Lord Solomon stands at the rear like the coward he is. Sending other men to their deaths while he keeps a safe distance. Commander Atwood stands beside him. His crimson uniform is decorated with metals and awards as if he has accomplished something with his life other than terrorizing the weak and innocent.
If they were only a few paces closer, they would be within my range and I could leap over, slitting both of their throats within seconds. Looks like we will have to save that for another day, though. We’ll be lucky to escape this place as it is.
“We better think of something fast,” Papa says as beaded perspiration drops from his brow. “They’re coming from everywhere.”
“The only way out of here is through them,” Braam grunts. He reaches over and takes one of the springrazors from me. “First, we use these. Jeremiah, you take the group to the right holding the shocksticks.”
“Got it.” Papa holds the springrazor close, ready to pull the pin.
“Neeka, drop yours on the heavies. I’ll throw mine at the po
or souls with the net cannons.”
I nod.
“After that, Neeka and I will take down whatever heavies are left standing and work our way down to the lesser armed protectors.”
“Who should I go after next?” asks Papa.
“You just use that blunderbuss to stay alive.” Braam plops his hand on Papa’s shoulder and nods. He turns back toward the courtyard and asks, “We ready?”
Papa and I nod simultaneously without a word. My mouth is dry, and my hands are shaky. I’m not sure why I’m anxious. I’m usually not, but this time it feels different. Maybe it's because Papa’s life is in my hands. Fighting in the arena was different. I was fearless, excited, and sure of myself. Now…not so much.
Braam says, “Let’s see what these things can do,” and he tosses his springrazor at the group of net cannoneers. The small round container bounces at their feet and rolls up next to one of their boots without a fuss. All the protectors just watch, unsure of what is happening.
“Did you pull the pin, Braam?” Papa’s eyebrow is raised, and I can sense the sarcasm in his voice.
“Bobblegash!” Braam exclaims, placing his palm to his forehead. “Sorry, rookie mistake.”
Papa just shakes his head and pulls the pin on his springrazor. I do the same. He nods at me and together we toss them. His lands at the feet of the group to the right and immediately springs loose. The small metal bands fling out like a lashtail, slashing at four of the men. Two of them drop dead instantly and the other two cry out in pain. One has lost an arm and the other has a slice across the right side of his face. He grabs it with his hands and falls to the ground, writhing in pain.
Mine connects with one of the shields and does less damage. Only one of the bands finds a suitable target. It slices across the neck of one of the heavies and blood sprays from the wound like oil from a busted hydraulic hose. The heavily armored protector falls to the ground, gasping for life, but losing it within seconds.