Finished cleaning the dishes, Kirby said, “I am going to head out.”
Esmeralda seemed disappointed as she played with Fiona.
“I want to make sure I’m not late to my shift,” Kirby said.
“Of course,” Esmeralda said, with a smile. “I will see you at lunch.”
Kirby entered the mass of moving workers, all heading in different directions. She veered toward the shops, taking a diagonal path as she looked through the flurry of faces. A few guards emerged from behind their closed doors, smearing the sleep from their eyes, or popping last bites of food in their mouths. Each of those guards reminded her of Ollie, who probably kissed his wife with his foul lips as he set off for the courtyard, like his comrades. She avoided a path that might intersect with his.
Rounding a corner several alleys from the shops, she spotted a familiar, gaunt figure walking through the streets. Catching up to him, Kirby didn’t look over as she initiated conversation.
“We have some information to share,” she told Drew, keeping her eyes forward.
Drew nodded. “Would you like to meet tonight?”
“Yes.”
With a furtive nod, Drew said, “We will see you then.”
Chapter 36: Bray
Guards walked in a menacing group across the courtyard, heading for the long building.
The people lingering in the courtyard skirted out of the way.
“What’s going on?” Bray asked.
“I think they are letting Gabe out,” Teddy told Bray.
Bray and Teddy stood at the doorway of their house, watching the guards walk toward one of the middle rooms, fanning out around the doorway while one of them fished keys from his pocket, and the others unsheathed their knives. Unlocking the door, the guard pulled it open and stepped back.
They had only seen the slave from the fight once or twice, when guards had opened the door and thrown food in. A few times in the night, they had heard long, disconcerting cries coming from his room—sobs that sparked the curiosity and shame of all who passed by. Most had hurried past, afraid to get the attention of the guards.
But the guards hadn’t paid Gabe any mind.
Now, days after his indiscretion, Gabe was still there. Or was he? It seemed as if the room were empty. Dark shadows covered most of the area they could see. Perhaps the guards would pull a starved, bloodied body from that room.
Or maybe he had escaped.
“Come out, forest-dweller,” a guard yelled, clanging his blade against the inside of the door.
The noise echoed through the courtyard, prompting a few people to take up at their front-row doorways to watch.
“Come out, or I’ll yank you out!” another guard threatened.
A slow groan escaped from the cell. Moments later, a few scrapes echoed from the dark room. The lingering people craned their necks, trying to see inside. The guard banged his sword again, his impatience growing.
A shaggy-haired man stepped out of the shadows, walking a few feet into the sunlight. Gabe’s face was swollen and flecked with stubble. His clothes hung off him in tattered strips. If Bray hadn’t seen Gabe thrown inside, he might’ve thought this was someone different.
Stepping out into the courtyard, Gabe squinted at a sun he hadn’t seen in days.
The guards watched him for a few moments, as if he might make a vengeful lunge. But Gabe was in no such condition. His legs wobbled as he took another step. He seemed disoriented and confused. Bray knew the solitude of that dank cell, when days and nights blended together, connected only by the smell of stale piss and hours spent scratching at the door.
Gabe’s treatment was undeserved.
But he was alive.
Looking around the courtyard, Bray saw wonder on more than a few faces. A few scampered back to their houses, telling others, or heading back down the streets, perhaps to tell his family.
“Some say he wouldn’t walk again,” Teddy said to Bray.
“He’s walking now,” Bray said.
Teddy blew a long breath as Gabe took another, staggering step. “It is a miracle to see him alive.”
Looking at Gabe, Bray couldn’t help but relive the fight. He’d never forget the chants, the guards’ provocations, and the families’ screams.
But something else struck him.
With the battle’s end imprinted on their brains, it was easy to forget what had transpired earlier.
Gabe’s friend, Jonah, had battled Roberto before he died.
Jonah’s struggled had been brief and defiant, but it had inspired the crowd.
Almost everyone had rallied around their fellow slave.
Looking around at the gawking people in the courtyard, Bray recalled the anger beneath the fear. Almost everyone did their toil without complaint, but he saw rage in too many eyes, as they took their beatings. Too many sat silently through scoldings that would’ve prompted more than a few fights in the wild.
What if that rage could be harnessed?
Perhaps a spark was all that was needed to swing seven hundred slaves to their side to win a battle.
And two hundred Shadow People was no small number.
The Shadow People already outmanned the guards. With weapons, a battle would go quickly—especially when the attack was a surprise. Who would attack their brothers, sisters, or relatives when they started a battle with weapons against those that had enslaved them? Who would fight on the side of their oppressors, especially when a battle was going poorly? Some of the more bloodthirsty would jump into the fray without hesitation. Others would fight for their freedom, defend themselves, or perhaps get revenge. The most timid or complacent ones would swing to the side of the winner, once a revolt started. They’d want to preserve their lives.
That didn’t solve the problem of The Gifted, or the demons, but it was a start.
No one would preserve a miserable system.
A few, perhaps, out of fear. But certainly not all.
Bray watched the guards flanking Gabe, escorting him across the courtyard, prodding him when he stumbled.
The sight of the beaten, bloodied man should have ripped away his dreams, but instead it gave him hope.
Maybe the revolt had a better chance than he’d originally thought.
Chapter 37: Bray
Moonlight illuminated the two figures next to Bray and Kirby as they stood behind the putrid-smelling building, waiting for the others. The tall, ashen monoliths of Ashville towered above them, reminding Bray of the danger they were in, but for the first time, he had hope they might escape this hellish place. The thoughts he’d put together in the courtyard inspired him.
The hour of revolt was a step closer.
A new set of footsteps approached, and a new face he could hardly see joined the circle. Moments later another huffing, nervous person arrived. The others shifted, making room for their comrades. Bray looked through the shadows, making enough of an identification to see it was the same group who met before.
“Kirby says you have information,” Drew said to both of them, in the same, stern voice he always used.
“We have news,” Kirby agreed, ready to share the things she and Bray had discussed on the way. “Possibly, some solutions.”
The group fell silent as they anxiously waited.
Kirby started. “A few days ago, I was transferred to the metal shop.”
“I saw you there,” Drew said, with a knowing nod.
Kirby elaborated on her experience working with the sheet metal, and her access to some of the scrap bins. “I have learned enough of the routines to find some opportunities. I cannot take a lot at once, of course. But each shank will arm another person. If we are close to a solution, I am willing to take more risks.”
“That would be a big help,” James told her. “You are not the only one taking from the shops. We have a few others ferreting away what they can.”
Kirby nodded at the information she and Bray had suspected. “Perhaps it is time to increase the amount we take.�
�
“The guards will frisk anyone they find suspicious,” Clara warned. “Be careful.”
“It sounds as if you have a bigger plan than shanks,” Giovanni said.
Bray took over the conversation, sharing what he had learned in the fields. “I spoke to some of the traders that do their business in front of the shimmering building.”
“Which people?” Drew asked.
“The Yatari.”
The others nodded. A few shifted uncomfortably.
“Not many have risked speaking with the traders,” James said. “It is an easy way to death.”
“I took a risk that seems like it paid off.” Bray told them of the information he’d provided on the ships, and the escape route they unwittingly—or perhaps knowingly—gave up.
“You told them of New Hope,” Drew said, with a similar nostalgia to Kirby’s.
“I did, but what I got was more important. The mountain pass might be an alternate route to freedom. When the time is close, we can break a hole in the stone wall, as the other slaves did, all those years ago. We will have a backup plan, if the revolt goes poorly.”
“I know of the pass of which you speak,” Giovanni said, after a pause. “I traveled it a few times, before I was captured. I believe the Yatari tell the truth. There are fewer Plagued Ones there, but that doesn’t mean it is safe. We might bring our own death, if the wild men follow us.”
“That is what Kirby mentioned,” Bray said. “But it is fresh information, and more than we had before.”
No one disputed it.
Taking back the conversation, Drew said, “You sound as if you have something else to say.”
Bray shared what he’d observed in the bloody battle, all those days ago.
“I think we have more people on our side than we think,” Bray said. “Most are too afraid to start a revolution, but they will join one, once it starts. The fight in the courtyard is proof of that. I saw the defiant looks in those eyes when Jonah attacked Roberto. I saw an obstinacy in the others that can turn into a will to fight.”
Kirby chimed in. “Some of the people may flee, or be shocked when a revolt starts, but many more will fight for their lives, and their freedom. Once they see the first guards topple, their anger will erupt. A small group will become a large one. Even the most timid of them will defend themselves, if they are forced to.”
“And if they don’t side with us?” Clara asked, not ready to accept the proposal.
“It is a risk,” Bray said. “But I think we have a good chance at succeeding. With two hundred people against the guards, we should be able to make quick work of them. That will dispose of one layer of danger.”
“That is a big chance,” Giovanni said, shaking his head. “A mob can turn ugly. A well-conceived plan might turn to chaos.”
“Anything would be preferable to the system under which we live,” Kirby muttered.
A few in the group muttered responses, but no one rebutted her argument.
“You are talking as if the guards will be standing in one place, waiting for their deaths,” Giovanni said. “That is not the case. They have long knives, and plentiful meals that give them strength. It is not as easy as you think.”
“Perhaps if we ambush them in the morning,” Bray said, “we can take them when they are half-awake, with full, slow stomachs. Two of us can certainly take one man. Do you know the locations of all their homes?”
“Yes,” Drew said. “We have lived here long enough, and discussed that often enough, to have them memorized.”
A few in the group nodded as they envisioned the scenario.
“And then what?” Giovanni asked. “Say we take down the guards. We still have The Plagued Ones with which to contend, and The Gifted, who will surely bring their guns and other weapons. They might attack us from the balcony, or even through the gate.”
“By that time, we will have greater numbers,” Bray said. “We will have the guards’ weapons, as well as our own. We will have a mob that can take a stand in a city surrounded by walls, and filled with houses. We will have the keys to the gates, and the ability to defend ourselves, if The Gifted let the demons inside, or if they attack.”
“And if things go poorly, we will have our escape route,” Kirby finished.
With the proposition in the air, Bray and Kirby waited.
The group shifted.
It seemed as if no one wanted to speak first.
“It is strange talking about these things, after planning for so long,” Clara admitted, breaking the silence.
“For months, we have discussed a plan, but this is the closest we have come to action,” said James.
“All of us are willing to risk our lives for our freedom, but I am worried,” Drew admitted. “Hundreds of Plagued Ones are no minor threat, and neither are The Gifted. The slaves in this city are workers, not fighters. Those in our revolt are better suited for battle, but many have no experience. How will they fare, if we become outnumbered?”
“I am fairly confident we can kill the guards,” Clara said. “But Drew has a point about the other threats.”
“Everything about this city is a risk,” Kirby said. “We might die at any moment, like some of the others we’ve watched. We might spend so much time planning that we die before we finish.”
Bray heard a frustration in her voice, born of too many nights of uncertainty, lying in a cell, or even in bed, waiting for the knife at her throat.
A few of The Shadow People shifted, uncertain, or perhaps afraid.
“I will not lie,” Clara said. “The Plagued Ones still concern me. Perhaps we should give it a few days, before we commit. We can take it to some others with whom we meet.”
“In any case, your plan with the weapons seems like a good idea,” Giovanni said. “We can have our people step up our weapons collection. Anything you can get will help.”
“We will make a decision when we meet again,” Drew said.
Chapter 38: Kirby
Kirby placed the stack of metal in the pile, watching the guards at the doorway. Whirs, scrapes, and bangs echoed across the room. She adjusted the small, rolled-up pieces of fabric she’d put in her ears, which she’d made at the suggestion of Esmeralda’s friends. The fabric didn’t protect her from all the sounds, but it dampened them. Hopefully she wouldn’t need them much longer.
Hopefully, a revolt would come soon.
Behind her, Rosita said something over the noise. Kirby turned, taking out one of the pieces from her ear to rid some of the muffle.
“We received a new batch of sheet metal,” Rosita repeated, pointing at a new pile in the corner. “That will keep us busy for most of the day.”
Kirby nodded. More metal meant more scraps, which meant more things to ferret away.
Picking up a fresh piece to work with, she brought it over to her bench and picked up her shears. She risked a glance at the doorway. Three of the same guards idly chatted, watching some slaves pass. None looked at her, at the moment. The guards were complacent in their duty. Not only that, but they were assured in their power. They lived in a city where most would rather walk in the other direction than confront them. They lived in a city where most were afraid to whisper.
Hopefully, that complacency would cost their lives.
Shearing off a long strip of metal, Kirby curved inward, making an angled cut. She left a shank-sized scrap at the end, cutting it off separately and placing it on the table. She repeated the action. With two pieces set aside, Kirby glanced at the guards. One of the guards, a dark-haired man, watched her, foiling her immediate plans.
Averting her eyes, she picked up all three scraps and walked them to the bin.
Dammit.
The shank in her boot moved slightly with each step, reminding her of the danger she was in by carrying the contraband. Rosita smiled as she passed, working her way through a large, stained piece of metal. Finishing her cut, she joined Kirby and dumped some scraps.
The guards stepped out of sig
ht.
“I’ll be glad when this project is over,” Rosita said, tossing a few pieces of metal in the bin. “Too many days of cutting the same thing have me longing for something else to do.”
Kirby nodded, removing one of her plugs.
Rosita clapped a gloved hand on her shoulder. “Some who start here struggle. You have taken to the task.”
“Thank you,” Kirby said, returning her smile.
“We will finish the project in a shorter time than I planned,” Rosita said, walking away from the bin and toward her workstation.
Replacing the plug in her ear, Kirby turned and took a step.
She rammed into a thick, meaty stomach.
A blubbery body shoved her backward, cornering her against the bin.
“Where are you going?” Ollie boomed, pinning her.
The three guards from the door stood behind him, laughing.
“I told you I’d be checking up on you,” Ollie said. With a regretful frown, he said, “It seems as if you’ve been doing a little too much talking.”
He looked sideways at Rosita, who stood by her workbench, watching with fear.
Kirby’s eyes flicked to her boot, but Ollie had her pressed tightly. She couldn’t bend down more than an inch. She frantically checked her surroundings, looking past Ollie and his guards, toward the rest of the machine shop. The whir of a few last machines stopped, as a few people set down their hand tools or pieces of metal, or held them in the air in surprise.
She had no clear path.
Even if she could make it around an obese man, the guards trapped her.
Ollie made sure all eyes were on him as he leaned in close, making a show of his authority.
“Remember what I told you about making me happy?”
His eyes narrowed.
Kirby had no room to throw a punch.
She had no room to do anything.
Ollie raised a hand, as if to caress her. Kirby leaned back, recoiling as far as she could against a bin that wouldn’t bend, or move. She could barely get back a knee. But she had to. She wouldn’t let him touch her.
Ollie surprised her with a punch from his other hand.
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