by Robert Evert
There was a listless murmur as everybody shambled to the piles of quarried stone. Pond Scum lifted an end of a slab and told Edmund to grab the other side. Edmund nodded and tried to bend down to pick it up.
“Use your legs,” Pond Scum said. “Keep your back straight.”
“I can’t move my back,” said Edmund, lifting his end.
“Stiff?”
Edmund groaned. “M-m-more than stiff. I feel like I’m about to break in two. I feel, I feel . . . ” He trailed off.
Use your spell!
I can’t. Everybody is around us. The guards keep staring in this direction.
Step by step, he and Pond Scum inched sideways toward the stream.
“Are we allowed to, you know, drink the water?” Edmund asked, the stone getting heavier in his blistered hands with the passing of every second. “Or wash?”
“After we’re finished. But you might not want to do that even then.”
“Why—?” Edmund stopped, pain shooting up his legs. It felt like they were on fire. He cried out.
“Because water here is damn cold,” Pond Scum said, wading into the knee-high stream. “They say that if you fall in up to your neck, you’ll freeze to death in a couple of minutes.”
He guided the whimpering Edmund where he wanted to go, and set his end of the slab into the water. When he pulled his hands out of the stream, they were a pinkish shade of blue. Edmund followed suit and then lumbered back to dry land as fast as his tormented body would allow.
“At least you have boots,” Pond Scum lamented. “Then again, my feet are so callused I probably could stand on flaming nails and not feel it.”
“They don’t keep the water out.” Then seeing Pond Scum’s bruised and swollen feet, he added, “B-b-but I suppose they’re better than nothing.”
“Don’t worry. Pretty soon you’ll be completely numb. You won’t feel a thing below your knees.”
That would be a pleasant change. Shame it isn’t everything below my hair.
He staggered to one of the piles of stone waiting to be moved, passing Turd, Vomit, and Crazy Bastard as they struggled with an eight-foot-long block of granite resembling a coffin. Turd’s face twisted in pain.
“H-hold,” Edmund said to Pond Scum, breathless. “Hold on.” Bending over with several fitful groans, he began tearing the seam at the bottom of one of his pant legs. He ripped it up to his thigh and then tore the pant leg off. He did the same with the other side.
“What are you doing?” Pond Scum asked.
Both of the guards were watching him. One cocked his crossbow.
Having dropped their load into the stream, the rest of the slaves approached. Turd appeared as if he were about to snatch Edmund by the neck and snap it.
Tearing the two pant legs lengthwise, Edmund produced four long strips of fabric. “Here.” He handed a strip to the perplexed Pond Scum, Vomit, and Turd. “Wrap . . . wrap each end around your hands. Then slip the loop underneath the stone. It’ll be easier to carry them.”
“Wonderful idea,” Vomit said, with no hint of emotion. “I’ll keep this in mind when I allocate food.”
“Get to work!” the guard with the loaded crossbow shouted. “Or you’ll not like what happens.”
The other guard cracked his whip.
Turd wrapped the ends of the strip around his bloated hands. He flexed his fingers.
“Thanks,” he grumbled and went back to work.
Pond Scum slid his cloth loop underneath a slab of stone and waited for Edmund to do likewise on the other side. “That was good of you.” He lifted his end off the ground. “And you’re right. This is much easier. Hopefully the guards won’t up our quota for the day. They hate it when we do something smart.”
Like two crabs tied together, Pond Scum and Edmund carried their slab into the burning cold water and let it drop next to the rest of the rubble. The splash sent water leaping at them, biting their chest and face. Edmund stumbled backwards out of the stream.
I’ll be frozen soon.
At least you’ll be clean. You haven’t had a bath in weeks. You stink to high heaven.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Pond Scum said. “Last time I did all the talking. Which is fine, but I’d like to listen for awhile. Gets my mind off the work and all.”
“I’m sorry. In, in . . . in all honesty, I’m really not in the mood.”
Pond Scum selected another stone from one of the piles. He lifted an end. Edmund lifted the other. They waddled toward the surging stream, the stone suspended on the straps of cloth dangling from their fatigued arms.
Pond Scum said, “Do you think you’ll ever be in the mood? I mean, take it from somebody who has been here a while . . . ” They lurched into the water and lowered the stone next to the previous one. “Take it from me. There’s nothing about this place that instills the desire to communicate.”
There’s nothing about this place that instills a desire to live . . .
“It’s just that I’m . . . I’m dead tired,” Edmund said. “And I hurt . . . everywhere.”
“Hey, get used to it. You won’t have many days as easy as this.”
Easy?
“You should be positive,” Pond Scum said.
Positive?
“If you want to know what pain is, wait until you get to work in the forges where they smelt the ore. It’s so hot your eyes sizzle, and that’s not an exaggeration. Your skin actually cooks. I worked there once and I have to say, it makes me thankful for days like these.”
He tapped the stone he wanted next.
“That’s how I got all of these burn marks. Working in the forges, I mean.” Edmund didn’t look. “At the very least, you won’t go thirsty here. And, like I said, pretty soon, your legs won’t feel a thing. That’s nicer than it sounds, believe me.”
They waddled to the stream, waded in, and set the slab into place.
“And, like I said before, you know. Talking helps. It gets you out of your head. That’s where all the pain really is. A man can will himself to death with too many dark thoughts.”
If only that were true . . .
With his good eye, Edmund studied the great mounds of stone that towered above them. Even if they were all as strong as Turd, it would take them several days to move it all. He moaned.
We’ll never get to all of this. Never. I don’t know why we’re even pretending this is possible.
Pond Scum exhaled, disappointed. “Okay, suit yourself. But trust me, you don’t know what it’s really like yet. And you would do yourself well to listen to the advice that people give you freely.”
Edmund pointed to a stone that looked light enough to carry. “You’re right. You, you, you got me through yesterday. If you can get me through today, I’d appreciate it. What do you want to know?”
“Anything, actually. How did they catch you? What was your profession? You don’t appear to be a soldier, or have things gone poorly for your people?”
Your people?
“Where are you from?” Edmund asked.
They deposited another block along the growing wall. The frigid water raced over it. Edmund slapped his bare calves, trying to get the feeling back into his blue skin.
“I’m from Mogador,” Pond Scum said. “Ever hear of it?”
“The island? Yes. Yes, I have. I’ve read—”
“Calm down,” Pond Scum whispered, looking sidelong toward the guards. “Perhaps we should talk about something else. Something that’s less enjoyable for you.” He tilted a boulder so that Edmund could slip his strap under it. “Are you married?”
“N-n-no,” Edmund replied, regretfully. “No, not really. Not at all actually.”
Straightening their legs in unison, they lifted the large rock.
“But there’s a woman, am I right?” Pond asked.
Edmund fumbled over some words, none of which made any particular sense.
“Molly?” Pond Scum suggested.
Looking up at him, Edmund nearly let go of th
e strap of fabric wrapped around the stone.
“You talk a lot in your sleep,” Pond Scum explained.
They dropped the boulder in the stream and rolled it into position.
“So tell me about her. Is she pretty?”
Edmund smiled for the first time since being captured. “I think so.”
“Well, you won’t ever see her again. Just keep that in mind. She’s probably with some other guy right now, perfectly happy. She probably doesn’t ever think about you!”
Edmund stopped, mortified. “Wh-wh-why, why would you say such a—?”
“To get that grin off your face. You can’t go around smiling like that or the guards will knock it off with their clubs. Trust me. Be happy, but don’t let it show.”
Edmund nodded. Certainly picturing Molly with another man made him feel broken. It also made him forget about the freezing water, numb legs, and his aching arms as they strained to carry rock after rock to the dam site.
They carried three more boulders to the stream without so much as exchanging glances.
“So,” Pond Scum said, waiting for Edmund to catch his breath, “how did they catch you? Like I said, you don’t seem like a soldier. No offense. You look more like a cook, if you ask me. Do your armies have cooks? If not, I’m guessing you were a traveling merchant.”
Edmund didn’t particularly feel like talking anymore. Images of Molly touching the backs of strange young men, stroking their broad shoulders, playing with their clean, neatly-combed hair wouldn’t leave his mind.
“Filth?” Pond Scum persisted.
“No. I was, I was just . . . traveling.”
“So you weren’t a merchant. But you were away from home traveling. Seeing relatives? Friends?”
Struggling to lift the next stone, Edmund shook his head.
“Okay, so you were away from home, but you weren’t a merchant or a soldier. You weren’t on holiday visiting anybody. You don’t look like a tax collector. Are you some other sort of government official?”
Edmund swore as the stone banged into his knees, leaving a bloody gash. “No.”
“Well then, I’m stumped. You’re a mystery to me, Filth.”
They dropped the stone in the water. Edmund bent over, breathing hard, not even caring about his bitterly cold feet.
“I,” he began and then realized he didn’t know what to say. “I was . . . I was just walking.”
“Just walking?” Pond Scum left the stream. “I don’t understand. Are you from around these mountains? I didn’t think anybody lived this far north except them.”
Edmund followed him to the closest stone pile. Crazy Bastard was on top of the mountain, sending slabs sliding down, smashing at their feet. Pond Scum selected one of the bigger pieces. Edmund stretched his back, cringed, and then bent down to lift it. Straining to straighten his legs, he let out a muffled cry. His knee throbbing, he fought with the weight of the stone for a moment and then let it fall back onto the other rocks.
“I, I can’t,” he said. “I can’t . . . I can’t budge that one. Maybe . . . maybe, the others can.”
Pond Scum chose a smaller block. “Go on. What do you mean you were just walking?”
Yes, tell him about your brilliant idea to give meaning to your life!
Sliding his strap under the stone, Edmund put his feet hips’ width apart and lifted.
“I just . . . left. I just started walking.”
They shuffled to the stream, waded into the icy water, and lowered their load.
“I don’t understand. Did they banish you or something? You don’t look like you were homeless. No offense, but it doesn’t look as if you have missed many meals.”
“I wasn’t. Homeless, that is. I, I just . . . I just needed a change.”
“So you just started walking?”
Edmund’s head bobbed lethargically. “Something like that.”
Go ahead. Tell him how you were going to become a world famous adventurer!
“Why? What was so bad about where you were? Famine or something? Was it a dangerous place? Highwaymen robbing everybody? Corrupt government?”
Edmund arched his back again and tried to twist his torso. He grimaced.
“No. Nothing like any of that.” Images of Rood flooded his mind—the bakery, the park in the middle of town, the Wandering Rogue. He was surprised by the fondness that bloomed inside of him. “You know . . . I . . . I really can’t say. It seemed so clear back then, why I left, I mean. Now . . . I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
Something loomed up behind them. Turning fast, Edmund threw up his hands to protect his swollen eye.
“Scum,” Turd said, “why don’t you go help Vomit and Crazy.” Turd inclined his huge head at Edmund. “I’ll work with him for a bit.”
Oh, great! What does he want?
Who cares? Just don’t make him angry.
Evidently surprised, but not daring to disagree, Pond Scum went to help Vomit and Crazy Bastard with a boulder the size of a wagon wheel. When he had gone, Turd pointed to a slab bigger than anything Edmund had attempted before. It was as large as his dining table back in Rood and two feet thick. With a fierce snarl, Turd wrestled it onto its side.
“I . . . I can’t,” Edmund said, shaking his head. “I can’t lift—”
“We’ll push it.” Turd set his shoulder to the block.
Unsure what to do, Edmund got on the other side and put his shoulder just below Turd’s. With a great heave, Turd began sliding the slab to the stream, plowing aside the pebbles carpeting the ground. Edmund pushed as well, his boots slipping with each step.
“Thanks for the cloth for my hands,” Turd said, driving the stone forward.
Heaving as hard as he was able, Edmund could only grunt.
“I want you to know,” Turd whispered, “that I think we can get out of here—the two of us.”
Stunned, Edmund stopped pushing, though the megalith kept sliding toward the dam at the same pace.
What’s he up to?
Shut up and listen.
“There’s no reason why we can’t be the two out of five who escape into the mines,” Turd went on, almost to himself. “You and me. If you can figure out how to get food and carry water, like you said, I can take care of the fighting. I can get us out of the mines.”
Edmund resumed pushing.
“All right,” he found himself saying.
He’d kill me as soon as I’d served his purpose.
Shut up. And don’t look skeptical! Make him think you are willing to do what he wants.
Turd’s expression toughened.
“It isn’t like Vomit or Crazy would be of much help. Vomit knows that. He can’t run. But he wants to at least try. He wouldn’t mind us thinking about ourselves. He just wants to have a chance. We can make sure he dies quickly.”
The massive block slid into the water.
“What about Pond Scum?”
Seizing his upper arm, Turd yanked Edmund backwards.
“Scum’s an idiot. If he survives, fine. If not, I don’t care. Like you said, we can’t all make it. You and me have the best chance. If you can get me in the mines, I can get you out and into the mountains. I know how to survive in the mountains. They’ll never find us.”
He let the slab fall away from them. It hit the stones already heaped in the stream and shattered with a terrific splash.
Turd leaned closer. “What do you say?”
Edmund opened his mouth as Turd’s fingers dug into his flesh.
Just agree and get away from him. Make him believe that—
An eerie silence settled around them. The stream still burbled, rushing over the newly placed piles of rubble, but all else was deadly still.
Edmund straightened.
“Where are the guards?” he whispered.
Turd twitched.
“Where are they?” Edmund repeated, turning.
The guards were nowhere to be seen.
Lowering their load, Pond Scum and Vomit gla
nced into a nearby passageway. They looked back at Edmund, puzzled.
“Quick,” Turd said in Edmund’s ear. “This is it. Get a pick and let’s get out of here!”
Pond Scum and Vomit had already converged on the pile of tools.
Giggling, Crazy Bastard shoved pebbles in his mouth.
There’s something wrong . . .
“Wait,” Edmund said.
Everybody stood motionless.
“What?” Turd replied. “Now, while we have time!”
“There’s something wrong. This isn’t right. They wouldn’t simply leave.” Edmund scanned the darkness around them. “This has to be a trap. A test, or something.”
“Who cares?” Turd hissed. “We have a running start. This’ll increase our chances. This is what we were hoping for. Let’s go!”
Clutching their picks, Vomit and Pond Scum wavered.
“No,” Edmund said, firmer. “This isn’t right. They wouldn’t just leave like this.”
“I don’t care what you say. I’m going. I can’t wait any longer!” The big man took a step toward one of the tunnels.
“Stop! I just heard somebody load a crossbow,” Edmund lied.
Everybody held their breath.
Scowling, Turd’s body tensed. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“I just hear the water on the stones,” Vomit whispered.
Pond listened a moment longer and shook his head. “I don’t hear anything either.”
“It’s a trap. Trust me.” Edmund swung his pick at a stone, his eyes flitting from shadow to shadow. Pond Scum followed his example, then Vomit. Reluctantly, Turd turned and swung his pick.
Standing by the stream, Crazy Bastard shrieked, his voice reverberating in the subterranean chasm.
“Death!” he cackled.
He dove to the ground, his digging hands sending a spray of pebbles in every direction.
“Death!”
He shoved his head in the hole he created.
“Death!”
Cowering from the unknown, Edmund collapsed to his knees. Vomit and Pond Scum cast aside their picks. Hesitating, Turd stood above them, unsure what to do.
Then a familiar voice broke the stillness.
“What did I tell you, Mr. Gurding? There’s more to our new friend here than meets the eye. Wouldn’t you say?”