Garrett removed the pot from the fire and stirred the tea with a stick. Avros appeared at the cave mouth and hauled himself up onto the ledge. Adjusting his bad leg beneath him, he used his walking stick to stand. Coming to the fire, he seated himself on one of the logs the men were using for chairs. “I think it’s going to be a cold night,” he divulged. Garrett nodded and filled a mug with tea. Passing the cup to Avros, he took a sip from the pot. “There’s another mug there,” said Avros, giving Garrett a curios look.
Garrett shook his head. “I don’t like to use Minx’s stuff. It’s bad enough I have to use his bedding.”
“He doesn’t need it,” said Avros, not understanding.
Garrett shrugged. “When I was in the service, if a man was killed, it was alright to share his possessions amongst his friends. What wasn’t of use was buried with the man. It doesn’t feel right to use the man’s things, having not known him.”
“I didn’t know him very well, either,” admitted Avros. “He seemed like a funny guy, though. He wasn’t mean spirited, from what I could tell. Not like his buddy, anyway.”
“You married?” asked Garrett, changing the subject.
“Hah,” snorted Avros. “I like to keep my options open. I have a few girlfriends, if you know what I mean.” He chuckled to himself and drank from the mug. He started coughing, and then laughed at the same time. His laughter came out in a strangled gasp for air. Garrett watched as the younger man pulled a minced wintergreen leaf from his mouth.
“Drink it slowly,” advised Garrett with a wink. “It’s chunky tea.”
Avros nodded and stuck the leaf back into his mug. He used a finger to push it down in the water. “Bael’s the married one. Erika is a beautiful woman, too. They have two little girls; Lyli is four and Ania is three. They keep their uncle very busy when he visits.” Avros seemed lost in thought.
“I like kids,” admitted Garrett, into his pot. “It doesn’t take much to entertain them, and they’re usually good company.”
“Said like a man who doesn’t have to get them to eat their veggies or get them into bed at night,” replied Avros. He grinned at Garrett. “You don’t have any of your own, do you?” he asked knowingly.
Garrett shook his head. “I think that someday I’d like to. For now, it’s enough to keep Merle in line.”
“Is that your dog?” asked Avros. Garrett broke into laughter. The woodsman tossed the sludge from his tea onto the fire and stood clumsily. Going to their supply of firewood, he brought back two logs and laid them over the flames.
“Merle is my roommate,” said Garrett. “He’s probably getting ready to head out to the bar right now.”
“Real ladies’ man, is he?” asked Avros.
Garrett shrugged. “Something like that.”
From the back of the cave, a low moan drew both their eyes. Garrett stood immediately, his tea forgotten as he went to Willie’s side. The bowman was awake and shaking uncontrollably. Sweat was visible on his face. “Garrett,” he moaned, reaching for his friend.
“Lay back,” fussed Garrett, hovering over the other man. “It’s alright, we’re safe.”
“Where did Chief go?” asked Willie, his eyes wide and unseeing.
“Here,” said Garrett using the water pot beside Willie to dribble a few drops into Willie’s mouth.
Willie coughed and sputtered. “Chief!” he cried out.
“He’s gone to get horses for us,” said Garrett, not understanding, but wanting to ease his friend’s symptoms. He looked to the mouth of the cave, where Avros stood nervously watching them. “Lay back,” repeated Garrett. He pushed the older man down with a hand on his friend’s forehead. He caressed Willie’s cheek, uncertain how to calm the man. Willie’s skin was hot.
“A Pinto Pony?” asked Willie, settling back.
“Sure,” agreed Garrett.
For several heartbeats, both men were silent. Garrett took Willie’s hand into his own good hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Willie’s eyes closed, and his breathing calmed. After a minute Willie’s eyes opened again. “Where’s my bottle?” he asked. “I need it.”
“I’m sorry,” said Garrett firmly. “We lost it.”
“Noooo,” moaned Willie. “It’s by the bridge.” His eyes were closed, again.
“Here, I have your drink,” said Garrett. Willie opened his mouth and Garrett dribbled more water into the man’s throat. This time, to Garrett’s amazement, Willie swallowed. “Good,” cooed Garrett. “That will fix you up in no time.” Willie continued to shiver. Garrett set the pot aside and went to Minx’s bedroll and brought it back. He used it to cover his friend. “Do you want another drink?” he asked.
“Yes please,” said Willie, his voice reminding Garrett of a scared child.
Garrett obliged the man, and then used one of their homemade rags to wipe the sweat from his friend’s face.
“Garrett!” hissed Avros, from the front of the cave. His voice was ripe with fear. “There’s something out there, and it sounds big.”
“To the spears,” hissed Garrett, “and get some more wood on that fire!”
15
A Question of Murder
Cecil, Troy and Merle sat at their table in the back of the Meat Hall. The two Bearded Bandits had been amazed when the Poncemen and the Monarchs continued to give the dragon a wide berth. “Did you really shockwave him in the mulberries?” asked Troy. The younger of the two inmates stared at Merle, unwilling to drop the subject. He had asked similar questions, over the previous two days, but Merle had managed to change the subject.
“I heard they are blueberries now,” said Cecil with a wink.
“I did what I had to do,” replied Merle.
They had their usual ‘slop on a plate’ for lunch, only this time, it tasted vaguely like brown beans. Nibbling on his half bun ration, Cecil’s eyes assessed a nearby table of Monarchs. Johnny hadn’t been the only one recovering in his cell, and today was the first day since the shower incident that Marcus had joined the rest of his pals in the Meat Hall. “You’ve made a nasty bunch of enemies,” he said to Merle. The bearded inmate dipped his bun into his beans. “Do you see the way Marcus is staring at you? You’ll really have to watch your back now.”
“Oh boy, and up until now it’s felt so cosy in here,” remarked Merle. Leisurely, he turned his head, his eyes locking with Marcus’. The other inmates hushed around their tables as Merle stood on his chair, staring Marcus down. Marcus swallowed and glanced away.
“That’s only going to work for so long,” whispered Cecil. Merle didn’t acknowledge the comment as he reseated himself and attended to his beans. “He’s going to corner you, at some point, and with enough guys, they will get the upper hand. I don’t think their goal will be to hurt you,” he added with a meaningful look. Around them, the other inmates had gone back to their quiet conversations.
“I know,” agreed Merle. “I’m working on a solution.” Cecil questioned him with his eyes, but Merle refrained from further comment.
“You coming to the baseball game today?” asked Troy. “Our boys are playing the team from the Wildman Correction Center. We beat them fifteen to three, last time.” He finished mopping up his beans and belched loudly.
“Sure why not?” agreed Merle. “I could use a break from my notes.”
“Excellent!” Troy stood and reached for Cecil’s tray. “I’m going to get my milk. Did you guys remember that it’s cookie day?”
“I’ll pass,” said Merle. “Marcus is eyeballing me again, I can feel it. There’s nothing about cookies and milk that screams ‘I’m a stone cold killer!’”
“You’re wrong man,” said Troy. “If you can stomach these, you’re tougher than most.”
“Grab me a couple,” agreed Cecil. “Just make sure they’re not peanut butter, this time.”
“Gods no,” agreed Troy, “You think I forgot what happened last time?”
“I haven’t forgotten either.” Cecil unconsciously massaged his throat.
“What happened last time?” asked Merle, not understanding.
“Cecil’s allergic to nuts,” revealed Troy. “His whole head swelled up like a balloon. He was frothing at the mouth, rolling around, and he couldn’t breathe. I thought I’d killed him.”
“You’re right,” said Cecil to the dragon. “On second thought, I’m going to pass, too. I’d have to be pretty desperate to risk that again. I’ve worked kitchen duty with some of these guys, and I know cross contamination when I see it. Hell, I’m probably lucky there were no nuts in these beans!”
“Have it your way, boys, it just means more for me.” Troy grinned at the pair of them. “I don’t suppose I can have your milk too?”
* * * *
Merle worked on his knees, in the dirt of the courtyard, a garden trowel in his hand. Despite the cool autumn temperature, sweat trickled from his scales as he dug the brown weeds from the crevices between the paving stones. Beside him, Cecil pushed a flat headed broom, removing the dirt from Merle’s path. “Did you get the info?” whispered Merle.
“He’s being transported to the foundry on the twenty-first,” said Cecil, leaning into his broom and shooting a cloud of dust into the air.
“Are you sure?” asked the dragon. “If you are off, even by a day, I’m done for.”
Cecil pawed at his beard. “It cost me three cartons of smokes for that information,” he said. “You know what you can get for three cartons of smokes, in here?”
Merle shrugged. “I probably don’t want to know,” he admitted.
“Well then, be satisfied with the date I’ve given you. That information cost me and Troy a fortune.”
“Thanks,” said Merle, with a nod. “I owe you guys one.”
“You owe us three,” replied Cecil, without any hint of humor.
“Quit yer yapping,” snapped the guard, from across the courtyard. The man was seated on a picnic table and enjoying a smoke of his own. Watching the inmates separate, he went back to shooting seeds onto the ground for a flock of pigeons at his feet.
“What about my cutters?” asked Merle when he was certain the guard was preoccupied with his birds. He shuffled down to the next stone and was jerked up short as the chain on his ankle reminded him he was attached to twenty pounds of iron. Even though his wings were secured in his jumper, the guards never let him outside without fettering him. Giving the chain an angry jerk, he started work on the next stone.
“Can’t do it,” admitted Cecil. “It’s too short notice.”
“I need them!” said Merle. “You just told me they’re transporting him on the twenty-first, that only gives me five days to get everything on my list and to finalise my plan!”
“I’m not a miracle worker!” snapped Cecil. The guard shot them a withering look, and Cecil broomed over three stones before circling back within earshot. “There is a way,” he whispered, his back to the guard, “but it ain’t cheap.”
“What is, around here?” asked Merle, fighting with a particularly tenacious weed.
“You need to see Apprentice Artero. The kid holds court in the boiler room and has amassed more supplies than anyone in Rockhaven. If anyone can fill that list of yours in five days, the kid can.”
“Kid?” asked Merle.
“I don’t know his exact age, but he’s pretty young; brilliant too, they tell me. Apparently he’s some kind of master mechanic or something.”
“What’s a kid doing in a place like this?”
“Rumor has it, he’s a real drinker. Got caught after he stole the mayor’s horse and buggy one night and took it out for a joy ride. Let’s just say neither the horse nor the buggy made it back in one piece.” Cecil shrugged.
Merle sliced through the last tendril of root he was holding, a gleam of victory in his eye. “If he can help me, then I say let’s go for it!”
“The problem is, the kid’s a real hustler. It’ll cost you two cartons, just to book the appointment,” warned Cecil with a shake of his bearded cheeks. “I don’t have anything left. Your information completely drained me and Troy.” Merle’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “I know how you can collect some more smokes, though,” Merle perked up instantly. “But you ain’t gonna like it.”
Merle sighed in defeat. “Tell me,” he muttered.
* * * *
“Hurry up!” said Cecil excitedly. “The guard’s going to be back, any second.” He stood by the open back door of the prison and was peering down the hallway. Behind him, rested an empty trolley. Outside, a narrow alley ended at a gated entrance, where several overflowing garbage bins stood. Merle was hunkered down between the mounds of refuse, his back to the prison.
“Hold on, this is a big one. It looks like this ain’t his first go, either. He’s eyeballing me, and it doesn’t look like he wants this sausage.”
“Come on. I didn’t say it had to be a big one. Any one of them will do.”
“Here we go, just a little further. GOT YA!” Merle spun triumphantly, a squirming pillowcase in his hands. He tied a knot in the cloth as he struggled back to the cart. Tossing his prize into the trolley, he pushed the conveyance forward, just as the guard elbowed Cecil out of the way.
“Quit yer dilly dallying,” chastised the uniformed man. His billy club smacked into the palm of his hand before pointing down the hallway. The guard was one that Merle had only met this morning, and he wasn’t sure if Oldtimer had become ill or if this was some kind of rotation of shifts he was witnessing. Either way, guard McGibbons did not appear to be a patient man. Merle nodded in apology and hugged the twenty pound ball of iron to his chest. He had been surprised when the new guy insisted he be fettered while outside. Somebody had obviously warned him about the dragon’s ability to fly.
The next hour was spent pushing the cart down two of the five cell blocks, collecting the bedding and laundry from the inmates therein. McGibbons set a relentless pace, and there was very little talking between them and the prisoners they collected from. When they reached Merle’s cell, Johnny did not stir upon his top bunk. “Come on, Johnny, it’s laundry time. Pass them sheets through.” Merle was nervous, with McGibbons hovering over him. Still, Johnny did not move.
“I’ll rattle your skull!” threatened McGibbons, but Johnny only rolled over to face the wall. Below him, Stoneman looked over as the threat was issued. McGibbons reassessed his options. “OPEN ELEVEN,” he bellowed. He shoved Merle in to gather the dirty laundry and didn’t bother to follow up on his threat.
With the floor’s collection complete, the three of them headed to the lower level and the washing tubs. The air down here was noticeably more humid. From the chamber at the end of the hall, came an assortment of sloshing sounds and great wafting clouds of steam. McGibbons, stopped at the guard station to talk with two of his coworkers, while Cecil and Merle continued down the tunnel with their loaded cart. The washing chambers were on the right at the end of this corridor, and they could now enjoy a twenty minute reprieve before McGibbons would complete his mandatory roll call and progress check.
“Your cell mate…Johnny?” asked Cecil.
“What about him,” replied Merle. He stole a glance over his shoulder, to make sure McGibbons and his pals had stayed put.
“He’s given up.”
“I know.” Merle glanced at Cecil as they neared the entrance to the washing chamber. “What do you care?”
“Normally, I wouldn’t,” admitted Cecil. “I used to follow his exploits in the golem wars, that’s all. He’s just a stupid kid who doesn’t belong here. He’s not hardened, like some of these other guys.”
“You feel sorry for him?”
“I guess,” admitted Cecil. He muscled the cart over a small lip leading into the washing room. “I’ve seen others when they’ve given up, in here. “They never last long.”
Merle considered the bearded man’s words as one of the laundry workers approached them. “Cecil,” greeted the newcomer, a fat man with a mole on his cheek. He nodded at Merle. “You guys in for
the meet?”
The room was not all that big, but it contained four large tubs of soapy water. Four men with paddles stood by each of the drums. At Cecil’s nod, the newcomer turned back to the men. “Empty number three and refill, we need more steam.” He snapped his fingers at two men, and they rushed to the door and took up a throaty work song.
“Look outs,” divulged Cecil, rummaging through their gathered linens and tossing them to the cement floor. Locating the dragon’s pillow case in the bottom of the trolley, he passed the goods to Merle and they watched as two of the men removed a wooden stopper from the bottom of drum number three. Warm liquid spilled out onto the floor. The water raced along a channel before hitting an open drain. Another man turned a spigot in a pipe above the drum, releasing a fresh cloud of steam and a torrent of scalding water. The first men replaced the stopper, once the drum had cycled sufficiently.
All sixteen of the workers descended on the dirty laundry and divided it up amongst the washtubs. When this was done, the man with the mole led them to a back arch and a smaller room. To Merle’s surprise, all of the workers, with the exception of the lookouts, came with them. Inside this back room, an ogre sat on a stool, a clipboard in his hands. Beside him, a solitary washtub was filled almost to the brim. Looking up as the men entered, he smiled a gap toothed grin and jumped down from the stool.
“Cecil Bro! Long time no parley!” The Ogre and the bearded man thumped chests in greeting. “Are you here to run the gauntlet?”
“Nah ah,” disagreed Cecil, throwing his hands up. “I’m too pretty for that.” He gestured to Merle. “I brought a guy who wants to try his luck. This is Merle, he doesn’t have a beard, but he’s with us if you know what I’m saying.”
The ogre nodded and thrust out a beefy green hand for Merle to shake. “I’m Pavao, and this is my operation. I call the shots.” Merle nodded. “Is that your entry fee?” Merle passed the pillow case to the ogre. Pavao stuck the clipboard under his armpit and pulled a thick glove from the front of his orange jumper. Donning the gear, he undid the knot on the sack and reached in. “Oh, that’s a nice one. Good and fat.” Pulling the feisty rat from the pillow case, he held it high for the men to see. “The dragon goes in at three to one, adjustments made on his choice of protection.”
Something Stinks in Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 4) Page 19