The Ruins Box Set

by T. W. Piperbrook

  “I will try them,” William said. Looking over at Barron’s smiling, repulsive face, he said, “Perhaps I will even check some out this afternoon in The Library Room.”

  But William already had a passion, and a goal.

  He would check out those books. But the only thing he would think about while he stared at them was how he’d destroy The Gifted.

  Chapter 24: William

  William sat at one of the smaller desks by the window, staring at a page he wasn’t reading. Bright sunlight splashed across the page, illuminating some of the simpler sentences that he was starting to grasp. Across the room, Amelia perused the bookshelves, taking out a few worn tomes, compiling a new stack for him to study, based on Barron’s recommendations.

  If he weren’t so afraid of her, he might have thrown her books in her face.

  Instead, he steeped himself in thought.

  Tech Magic. That had to be his answer. But where could he get it? It was possible The Gifted had weapons in their rooms, but it wasn’t a certainty. Guards were stationed at the building’s entrance, and on the seventeenth floor, beneath The Library Room. All of the other floors were inaccessible without an enormous risk. The only time he might sneak into a room unsupervised was at night, when The Gifted were in their quarters, or in the afternoon. But opening the wrong door might lead him into a vicious encounter. He’d learned where a few of The Gifted’s rooms were, like Tolstoy’s and Amelia’s, but not all of them. And neither of those floors promised weapons. He certainly hadn’t seen any weapons in Tolstoy’s room.

  Frustrating thoughts.

  He considered what he knew. The square, secure box on the ground floor had once contained their confiscated swords and Tech Magic guns. But who knew to where those weapons had been relocated? The box had been empty when they’d arrived; certainly The Gifted had moved them. If there were a storehouse past the guards, he’d never make it without a weapon to get him there.

  One weapon, to have a chance at getting more.

  William’s circular thoughts led him nowhere.

  The only weapons of which he was certain were those in the glass cases.

  William shook his head as his gaze drifted over the desks and out the windows. His eyes roamed back to Amelia’s desk.

  A thought struck him.

  Amelia’s gun.

  He’d forgotten about the old, sentimental relic.

  Even if that gun was still there, it was empty. Amelia knew better than to keep ammunition with it. It wasn’t loaded before, and she certainly wouldn’t have armed it so that a desperate, captured boy could get a hold of it. It would be foolish to risk his safety for an empty gun, which would be just as effective as the microscope, or any other weapon only good for hitting someone.

  But some hope returned as he considered something Amelia had said: “It should work. I keep it clean, even though I no longer have the need to use it.”

  If it worked, she must have ammunition.

  And where might she keep the ammunition for a sentimental gun?

  In her room.

  William’s heart pounded as an idea solidified. Perhaps William had found the first secret to his escape. Rummaging through one room was much less risky than fruitlessly searching through several. If he could find ammunition, it would be worth the risk to go to her floor.

  William had hope, now that he had a destination.

  He just needed to figure out how to get there.

  Chapter 25: Bray

  All around Bray, workers dispersed, splitting off to their homes, grateful for the only reprieve they got in this hellish place: dinner and a few hours with their families. Those brave enough to leave their homes after supper spent their time by the bonfires, after the demons had fed.

  He looked down at his dirt-caked fingernails. He needed a wash. Returning to his house, he found Teddy using a bucket in the corner.

  “I got our water,” Teddy said, cleaning himself with a rag.

  “Thanks,” Bray said, shucking off his sweaty shirt. “It seems as if the dirt always finds a way to our skin, regardless of what we wear.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Teddy asked. Finished cleaning up, he passed the bucket to Bray. “I saw Kirby in the metal shops today.”

  Bray nodded. “They pulled her from the fields this morning and gave her a new role.” He kept his answer brief.

  Teddy said, “It is hard work, as all the jobs are. Her hands will get used to a new ache.”

  “How were the sewing rooms?”

  “The same as always: too much clothing to finish, but never enough time to do it. The guards treat each day more urgently than the last.”

  “They’re pushing us harder with the crops, as well,” Bray muttered.

  “It will get worse, as the season ends,” Teddy said empathetically.

  Bray cleaned in silence for a few moments as workers outside hurried to their homes. With a few moments before the demon bells started ringing, Teddy sat back on his bedroll.

  With a sigh, he said, “Back in the earliest days, there were far fewer jobs in New City.” Teddy wiped some water from his face. “Most of the earliest people spent their days clearing the rubble from the crop fields, or planting seeds that didn’t always take. Some spent time building the wall, or constructing the houses where we now live. Others lived in The Learning Building, serving The Gifted.”

  Bray nodded. He looked out the door and up to the tall building, as if he might see past the glistening windows and find William.

  “Back then, The Gifted kept swarms of The Plagued Ones nearby for protection, while they let out the rest to hunt in the forests,” Teddy said, looking out at the guards carrying bells toward the gate. “They didn’t hand feed them the way they do now.”

  “That life seems more suited for an animal like a pig or a cow,” Bray grumbled.

  “It is an unnatural life,” Teddy agreed. “The Plagued Ones might listen, but they are always on the edge of hunger. They fight their instincts by living this way.”

  They watched a few more guards pass by.

  Shifting on his bedroll, Teddy said, “Life was simpler back then. Not as many machines to keep up, or guards to make our tasks harder.”

  Bray asked, “How do you know so much about those first days?”

  “When I used to go out to the bonfires, I’d hear stories passed down from the workers’ families.” Teddy averted his eyes. “The Gifted also used to tell tales when they came down here years ago. Now they stay up in the tower. They’re more secure in the life they’ve built. Or maybe they value their safety too much.”

  Bray nodded. He knew the safeguards all too well.

  Looking at Teddy, Bray said, “You know a lot, for someone who mostly keeps to himself.”

  “I might be quiet, but I pay attention,” Teddy said. “I hear many things.”

  “In the shops, I imagine,” Bray said.

  Teddy nodded.

  The bells started ringing. With too much commotion to talk, they turned their attention out the doorway.

  Chapter 26: William

  “I can’t believe how much better you’ve gotten at writing, in only a few weeks,” Amelia marveled at William, as the daylight waned through the windows. “Your letters are more legible than some of The Gifteds’.”

  “My name looks different than I ever would’ve expected,” William said. Not for the first time, he marveled at the strange symbols for the word he’d been saying all his life.

  Amelia pointed to the word she’d written underneath his, which started with the symbol ‘A’. He compared both names.

  “My name is a little longer than yours,” William said.

  “Only by a letter,” Amelia clarified.

  “I still don’t understand why some of these letters appear twice,” he said, frowning as he looked at the middle of his name.

  “The language can be complicated in its rules,” Amelia said. “In fact, our language is one of the most difficult to learn. But you have done it c
orrectly.”

  William stared at the strange symbols, wondering who had decided those rules, and why everyone else had agreed.

  “Are you ready to go downstairs for sleep?” Amelia asked.

  William looked around. In the time they’d been writing, most of the other Gifted had left for their quarters. Thinking back, William recalled a few goodnights he hadn’t acknowledged.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  Finished with the lesson, they put away their materials.

  “You are fortunate to have such a library,” Amelia said, gesturing at the bookshelves, as they put some books away. “The price of some of those books was steeper than you might imagine.”

  “It is hard to think about how many different places you must have foraged to get them.”

  “In some of the earlier days, we took large risks. Sometimes, we went into buildings that were mostly collapsed, sifting through the rubble. The price of knowledge is never cheap. But knowledge leads to greater things, as you know.”

  William nodded.

  “Let’s get going,” Amelia said.

  William followed her out of The Library Room and down the stairs. He looked out the windows into the cornfields, watching the windmills churn through an evening breeze that he missed as dearly as his friends.

  Passing one of the landings, he glanced over at Amelia’s doorway. He looked away before he caught her attention. As they took another flight of stairs, William put a hand to his stomach, stifling a cough.

  “Are you okay, William?” Amelia asked, pausing with concern.

  “I’m fine,” William said, continuing.

  “It sounds as if you are getting sick.”

  “I’m okay,” William said, putting on the happy smile that he’d practiced for weeks.

  “Some of us get illnesses as the summer season ends. Perhaps you should sleep a little later tomorrow,” Amelia suggested. Reaching the landing to his floor, she opened the door to his quarters.

  “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” William said. “I don’t want to miss a lesson.”

  Chapter 27: Bray

  Bray cracked his neck under the morning sun, tossing a piece of corn into his wagon.

  Loud chatter drew his attention to the end of the row, where two guards moved faster than usual, striding in the direction of the forest. A moment later, a few more passed, accompanied by Rudyard. Grabbing his wagon, Bray wheeled it down the row and stopped at the edge of the dirt path, where he could get a clearer view.

  Deep in other rows, slaves pulled fresh ears from tall stalks. A few looked over as they saw something more interesting than a wagon full of crops. Bray waited until they looked away before he peered after the guards and Rudyard, toward the forest.

  A few of the men called the Yatari engaged in conversation with Rudyard and his guards at the head of the path. They held large bags in their hands. The Yatari spoke with animated expressions, raising their shoulders and arching their backs. Rudyard said something. A moment later, a Yatari that might’ve been a leader let one hand off of his bag to motion over the wall at New City, waving his hands angrily.

  A few interested demons crept to the edges of the path.

  Rudyard pointed at them, making a show of power.

  The Yatari handed the bags to Rudyard and the Head Guards, who started back down the path, toward the gate. Bray ducked back into the row, waiting for Rudyard and his guards to pass. When they were gone, he saw the Yatari standing, waiting.

  Maybe their discontent was something he could use.

  Bray crept through the dirt rows of corn, cutting between the stalks, avoiding the eyes of slaves and demons as he worked his way toward where they stood. Many of the other slaves had wandered away, probably afraid to get too close to a cluster of guards, and Rudyard.

  Or they were afraid of the demons, who kept everyone in check.

  Soon he was near the end of an aisle beside the Yatari. All wore loose, white garments, with boots that seemed slightly shorter than what he normally saw in the woods. Necklaces made of strange, multi-colored rocks and shells hugged their necks. One man wore a hat made of a thin fabric, cocked to the side, covering a shock of thick hair. They spoke in strange accents, muttering, or perhaps arguing. Bray couldn’t hear much, but every now and then, he picked up a familiar word.

  They stood in a tight group, shaking their heads in disgust.

  They were clearly upset.

  Bray set down his wagon, feigning work as he watched them. A few turned their heads as they eyed the demons skulking through the crops, clearly uneasy. One drew a flask from his side, sipping nervously. Bray looked down the front of the path, near the gate. A few guards ambled about, yelling at slaves, but Rudyard and his posse had disappeared. It seemed as if they were behind the gate, getting whatever goods they meant to trade.

  None returned.

  Yet.

  Catching the eye of one of the Yatari, who stood at the rear of the group, Bray made a show of glancing up at the sun, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “Another hot day,” Bray said, only loudly enough that the man could hear.

  The man shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t respond. The other Yatari kept their focus in the direction of New City. Bray’s eyes roved over the man’s necklace. What he’d thought were rocks or shells were actually bones, or teeth. Seeing them, he recalled the Semposi, pulling settlers from the forest and using them for trades, or other purposes the gods only knew. But these teeth were too battered, too yellowed, even for settlers or barbarians. Most were chipped.

  Taking a guess, Bray asked, “Are those Plagued Ones’ teeth?”

  The Yatari man shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his pack. Feeling the weight of Bray’s unanswered question, he nodded.

  “I used to slay them,” Bray said, spitting on the ground.

  The Yatari man’s friends gave him warning stares as the Yatari man nodded again.

  Bray smiled. “They are vile creatures. I might be forced to live among them, but I’d rather they were at the end of my sword. At least you have found some use for them.”

  The man refocused on the path in front of him. Bray was the property of another, bound by death and punishment. Of course, they wouldn’t speak to him.

  “I’ve killed over a thousand of them in my lifetime,” Bray said, trying to hide some of the frustration in his voice. “Though that doesn’t help me much here.”

  He was surprised when the man answered in the same strange accent Bray had overheard. “The necklaces scare away the barbarian tribes. They help us avoid danger.”

  Bray nodded. With a knowing smile, he said, “A good idea. I wish I had thought of that myself.”

  The Yatari man seemed pleased at the compliment as he scratched his tan face.

  Making a show of wiping away his sweat, Bray said, “It seems you are a bit more used to the temperatures than I am. I’m from up north. It was much nicer when I had more trees to hide behind. And a sword to slay the nagging beasts.” He looked sideways, where a demon lurked between some stalks, watching them.

  “I don’t envy your work,” the Yatari man said sympathetically, before looking away once again.

  Bray leaned around the last corn stalk, checking for Rudyard and the guards. Deep in the distance, some guards chastised one of the slower slaves pulling a wagon toward the path, but no one else approached.

  The Yatari man lifted his flask to his mouth again, taking another sip.

  “That wouldn’t happen to be snowberry, would it?” Bray grinned, recapturing the man’s attention.

  “Snowberry?” the man asked. “I’m not sure what that is.”

  “That’s what we drank in the taverns where I’m from.” Bray shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you the last time I had it.”

  The Yatari examined his flask, as if he wasn’t used to getting a question about it. “It’s Gutrot,” he said finally.

  “I’d kill for something other than lukewarm piss-water,” Bray lamented.

>   Pity crossed the Yatari man’s face as he looked at his flask.

  “Not a good idea,” one of his friends grumbled. “They don’t want us talking with them.”

  Those words seemed to stir something in the Yatari man, whose eyes flashed a moment of anger. Putting his anger into a step, the man strode into the corn to talk with Bray. “Fuck them.”

  He handed Bray his flask.

  The other Yatari shook their heads, clearly nervous. They kept their eyes focused on the path, making it clear they didn’t agree with the first man’s actions. Bray tilted back the flask, swallowing a sip of the beverage. It was bitter and had a strange aftertaste, but it warmed his stomach.

  “Thanks,” Bray said gratefully, handing back the flask. “What’s your name?”

  “Xavier,” the man said, with a quick nod.

  “You live by the ocean?” Bray said, remembering some information he’d heard.

  Xavier studied him, surprised. “You know of us?”

  “Only what I’ve heard from here,” Bray said. “As I said, my people came from up north.”

  “What is the name of your people?”

  “We don’t have a name,” Bray said, thinking about it. “But we’re from a town called Brighton.”

  “Brighton?” Xavier asked, clearly intrigued.

  “It is a township many days walk from here. We were a ways from home, traveling, when the Semposi chased us,” Bray said. “The Gifted captured us not long after. Now we are slaves.”

  Xavier shook his head, as more pity crossed his eyes.

  “I heard your people have boats,” Bray said. “One of my friends used to sail the ocean.”

  Xavier looked over at his friends, a few of whom had been casually listening, and were now eavesdropping closer. “What types of boat did your friend have?”

  “She had several. I don’t know the names, but they were large,” Bray said, making a grand show with his hands. “A storm ravaged them. Most have turned to wreckage.” He frowned as he thought on it. “Although, a few parts could probably be salvaged, if someone had the right knowledge.”