131 Days [Book 4]_About the Blood

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “Dying Seddon,” Pig Knot groaned, pain flaring along his right side.

  He slumped against the wall, inspecting the incredible display of purples, blues, and reds blotching his torso.

  “Dying Seddon,” he repeated, having never seen such colors upon his person.

  He prodded the worst of the bruises with a finger, exploring the hot tightness of his skin, discovering egg-sized bulges. Then he felt his mouth and discovered two back teeth missing. One tooth was accounted for, but he couldn’t see the other.

  “Oh Dying Seddon,” he whispered and tentatively touched his eyes, swollen like a pair of plums. He pressed those inflated mounds of flesh, gently, the pressure restricting his vision to slits. Blood covered his face, hands, and everything else. He scanned the area the best way he could and spotted his shirt. He leaned toward it, spikes of pain lighting up his frame.

  When he pulled the shirt back, it came away in shreds.

  Miserable, Pig Knot grunted and inspected the damage, realizing his loincloth was especially damp. After a quick check, he let loose an exasperated sigh. Battered, bruised, and practically naked, he’d also pissed his underbits.

  “Lovely,” he whispered.

  Even though he knew better, he searched for his purse—gone.

  Pig Knot dabbed the cloth in a nearby puddle, which he hoped wasn’t piss, and wiped away sticky blood. He stopped, cursed himself for doing things backward, and sniffed the rag. A slick chunk of something went down the back of his throat, and Pig Knot gagged before swallowing. He sniffed again, nasal passages that much clearer, and took a weaker whiff of the water. It wasn’t piss, but it wasn’t the cleanest, either. He continued cleaning himself, eyeing the broken wood that used to be his cart.

  That hurt.

  A dagger of poison went through his heart.

  Why did they break the cart? He whined to himself, dismayed at the thorough destruction. They’d taken his remaining coin so there was no need to break the cart. Where could he hide extra gold on the thing? Whoever had beaten him within a lick of his life had thought otherwise, leaving Pig Knot without coin as well as a means of travel. The money bothered him, but it wouldn’t have lasted anyway. He’d only planned to be drinking, eating, and rutting until being robbed and killed.

  The thieves had only half finished the job, though.

  Pig Knot groaned and took in the mighty blue overhead… before passing out a second time.

  With a snort and a chin dip, he awoke much later. He glanced around to see if anyone was nearby. No one was. The alley wasn’t well traveled. It was long and cluttered with refuse. The thieves had chosen well.

  He needed water. His drinking had left him parched.

  “Never again,” he swore but wished for a pitcher of anything.

  People walked by the alley entrance, not bothering to stop and gawk at the once gladiator. For that, Pig Knot was grateful. Tonguing the holes where his teeth had once resided, he dragged his soiled rump across bare stone. His hands weren’t the only things developing callouses.

  Daylight loomed like a blinding portal, periodically halting him. He knew how he looked and how he smelled, and he knew the reactions he’d soon be receiving. He took shallow breaths to avoid the sparkling pain in his ribs and waddled to the nearest corner, into sunlight.

  Faces morphed into expressions of shock and hostility as he eased into view. He moved a few paces and stopped against a wall. He smiled weakly, the bruises and swelling distorting his face. Still, not bad for a man left for dead, he figured. People passed by, and Pig Knot kept his blackened eyes downcast.

  Sandals and boots swished by him.

  “Get on with you,” someone commanded.

  Pig Knot looked around. There, standing before an open doorway, between two piles of timber, was a man––perhaps a merchant––wearing tailored breeches and a bright, yellow-dyed shirt. “Get on, I said. And don’t you dare bleed on my property.”

  “Do you…” Pig Knot croaked, “have any water?”

  That infuriated the merchant. “I’ll give you my boot if you don’t drag your legless ass away from my property! Go!” He took two steps toward the once gladiator and shooed. “Go, or I’ll summon the watch!”

  The merchant raised his hand to slap Pig Knot’s shoulder, but he stopped with a grimace, revolted at the thought of making contact. “Go, I said!”

  So Pig Knot went… slowly, and not before adjusting the soiled cloth that irritated his nether bits, just so he wouldn’t frighten any decent ladies of the day or make their husbands jealous. That made him smirk, which brought the entire gurry weight of the morning down upon his head in a deluge of madness. Pig Knot chuckled at his wretched luck. He stopped and rested against a stone foundation of what might have been a house. The chuckling became a laugh, which died away in a painful wheeze.

  He wiped his face and saw fresh blood smearing his hand.

  People avoided him, shunning his space. Some spied him, only to quickly look away. Pig Knot didn’t know what was worse, being seen or being outright ignored.

  Not one person offered to help.

  Giggles rattled him, sinister in their sound, and Pig Knot held out a hand. He didn’t see the harm. He’d seen it done often enough. His palm trembled at times, reminding him of a certain old taskmaster, and that made him chuckle until the weight of his arm became too much. His arm dropped. He stayed where he was, no doubt frightening the children.

  A boot nudged his thigh, getting his attention. Pig Knot glanced up, knowing he looked unfit.

  The leer melted from his face.

  Street Watch—an entire column of the armored bastards.

  “Well, then,” Pig Knot said to the Skarrs. “I might look like a dead man’s hole, but I still know my manners. Greetings, good watchmen, greetings. And, please, when you have a moment, I invite the lot of you he-bitches… to lick the dew off my man pearls. They’re right here.” He pointed, a smile creeping back into his devastated face.

  The nearest Skarrs exchanged glances, their visors hiding their expressions.

  One lifted a very solid-looking club.

  Pig Knot groaned. He preferred a sword.

  The hardwood slammed across his head, dumping him into yet another bottomless vat of unconsciousness.

  *

  Pig Knot’s hearing returned first, signaling that he was indeed awake. He discovered he was lying on his side in a cell. He was above ground, or so he believed, since a barred window was just above him. The mat he was lying upon stank of smoke and unpleasant sweat. He rolled onto his back, grunting at the pain, and stared at a low ceiling. Bare, solid-looking timbers loomed above.

  Dying Seddon.

  The day just kept getting better.

  He caught a whiff of water. He propped himself up on an elbow and spotted a bucket, just inside a small grate inserted into the bigger cell door. Brick walls surrounded him while the window’s iron bars allowed daylight to mark the opposite wall. Sounds of the street reached his ears, a low steady rush not unlike the roar of waterfalls.

  It sounded peaceful—relaxing, even.

  Pig Knot pulled himself to the bucket and cupped water to his mouth. When he’d drunk his fill, he splashed some over his face and body. He was still wearing the soiled loincloth, so he stripped that off, poured water over it, and scrubbed at his unmentionables.

  Once finished, he considered the rest of himself and regarded the loincloth. He hadn’t planned his cleaning well enough. With a shrug, he hefted the bucket, emptied it over his head, and cleaned himself as best as he could.

  The noise attracted attention.

  A door opened and closed with a bang. Feet shuffled along, approaching Pig Knot’s cell, making him pause while rooting around an armpit. He finished his wipe-down, shook out the cloth, and draped it over his manly bits for modesty’s sake.

  The jailor appeared at the cell door. He was a large man, with twin belts of studded leather crisscrossing his broad chest. A short-cropped beard hung off the j
ailor’s chin, and blue eyes the color of the open sea focused upon Pig Knot.

  Never had the sea uneased him so much.

  “Well,” he muttered. “Greetings, good jailor. Pleasant day out there?”

  The jailor studied his prisoner with all the indifference of an animal studying a piece of meat.

  “Ah,” Pig Knot said. “Not in the mood. I understand.”

  No response.

  “Well, when you’re ready,” Pig Knot carried on, weakening just from talking. “And willing. Please refill the bucket. Let me clean myself. A little more. Before I fall unconscious. Again.”

  “What happened to you?” the jailor asked.

  That took Pig Knot off guard. “What’s that?”

  “What happened to you?” he finished and pointed. “The Skarrs do all that?”

  “Ah, no, no,” Pig Knot answered, surprised the man was talking to him. “I was robbed. At night. Maybe last night. Thieves took my coin, ruined my shirt and a cart I used to wheel myself around in. Then they paddled me senseless. Foul luck all over.”

  The jailor listened.

  “I…” Pig Knot hesitated, “might’ve been a little harsh. In my explanation to the Skarrs. The ones who happened upon me.”

  “What was it you said to them?”

  “Ah. You heard about that.”

  “I might have.”

  “I don’t remember. Not the exact words. But it was enough to bring me here.”

  “It was,” the jailor said. “Skarrs usually can’t be bothered with beggars. Unless given good reason.”

  “I might have given them good reason.”

  The jailor smiled. He walked away then, only to return a short time later with another bucket filled with water. He also had a thin towel. The bucket went through the smaller grate while he threw the towel into Pig Knot’s face. It smelled clean, at least.

  “Stay quiet in there, and don’t annoy me,” the jailor stated in a reasonable tone. “Do that, and you’ll be fine.”

  He walked away.

  Still surprised at the man’s relatively good nature, Pig Knot completely missed the chance to ask about how long he was going to be imprisoned.

  A door closed with a bang.

  “That’s Sharo,” someone said from the next cell over. “Not a difficult man. Fairly honest. As far as I can tell. Treated me fairly, anyway, thus far. And by that, I mean he hasn’t taken a club to my head.”

  Pig Knot ripped the towel in half. He draped one piece over a knee then dipped the other into the water. He applied it to his forehead and squeezed. Water rushed over his face.

  That was the best thing to happen to him all day.

  “Who’re you?” Pig Knot asked wearily.

  “Zepedos.”

  “Pig Knot.”

  “Well met, Pig Knot.”

  Pig Knot chuckled, the sound a wheezy rattle. “Well met.”

  “You say you were robbed?”

  “Last night. I think it was last night.”

  “You were dragged in here early this afternoon and just awakened.”

  Pig Knot smiled. “And only now, you’re introducing yourself?”

  “I don’t usually speak to my fellow captives. Most times they’re brazen gits or killers. Killers only wish to intimidate you. Not very interesting to talk to.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Caught stealing coin from a merchant. Three days ago, just so you know I wasn’t involved in your… ah… bad fortune.”

  “I see,” Pig Knot said, taking care while wiping his face. The aches and pains leached his energy. “They didn’t execute you?”

  “They don’t execute thieves. They imprison them. Until such time they grow weary of them. I’m fortunate in a way. This is the first time I’ve ever been caught. They say a good thief needs to be caught at least once. Twice, well, you’re not so good. Or smart.”

  Pig Knot grunted.

  “For a thief,” Zepedos clarified. “The underworld isn’t very fond of thieves that get caught.”

  “You could move on to killing.”

  “Pah,” Zepedos said. “I’m a thief. Not some cutthroat. I’ve yet to kill anyone over a few coins. Or for any other reason. And it would have to be a damn fine reason. Luckily, I haven’t been in any such situations. No. I just rob others of a few coins. Nothing more.”

  Nothing more. To Pig Knot’s eyes, the cell seemed to turn.

  “Zepedos, you say?” he asked.

  “Aye that.”

  “The room is taking on… a slow spin.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just so you know. I won’t be talking. For the next little while.”

  “I see,” Zepedos said, sounding pleased with the explanation. “Thank you for telling me. I would have figured it out. Rest then, Pig Knot. I caught a look at you when they dragged you in. Not a pretty sight. I didn’t think you’d live. Truth be known, I was as surprised as Sharo. You rest. We should have plenty of time for talking later.”

  But Zepedos’s words became a whisper, as Pig Knot’s senses began to spin. He closed his eyes, and the cell still spun, the sensation sickening to the guts. Worse, it seemed to speed up.

  He slumped onto his right side. Cold stone kissed his cheek.

  Then… nothing.

  *

  He woke in a cold sweat. Pig Knot could barely open his swollen eyes, so he licked a finger and rubbed them. That helped a little, allowing him to see. He remembered where he was while his ribs twinkled with pain, warning him to keep his breaths shallow. The rest of him wasn’t much better. He push-crawled off his mat to the far corner, away from the cell door, and found the hole in the floor. There, he relieved himself, gasping at a stream of red that lasted a moment before clearing.

  That one fright set his heart beating and his ribs afire.

  A door opened, somewhere out of sight.

  “Here,” Sharo said and tossed in a few pieces of bread and an apple.

  The food fell about Pig Knot’s mat. “Thank you.”

  But the jailor was already gone.

  A door closed.

  Grimacing, Pig Knot hauled himself to the food and ate what he could. The apple had just as many bruises as he did, half of them brown, but he downed it all the same. After eating, he retired to his mat and rested against the wall.

  “Zepedos?”

  The thief didn’t answer right away. “Yes?”

  “You finished eating?”

  “Aye that.”

  “What was the best meal you’ve ever eaten?”

  “Ahhh.” The thief recalled a tavern in the western part of the city. He described a honeyed ham complete with sweet vegetables and a dark, rich gravy that one could drink straight from the dipper. “And you?” he asked after finishing.

  “Can’t remember right now,” Pig Knot said. “But I know I’ve had a few. And I’ve eaten some terrible ones. This… is one.”

  “This?” Zepedos scoffed. “This is nothing. Sharo treats us well, you know. The bread is fresh, the water’s fresh, and the fruit isn’t rotting. Some jailors will piss in the water before they hand the bucket to their prisoners. And the poor bastards drink it. It’s that or perish of thirst.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “Harsh enough. I’ll never be caught again.”

  “Going to give up the life, are you?”

  “Hardly,” Zepedos said. “Just be more careful, that’s all.”

  “I hope you are.” Pig Knot quieted then.

  “How did you lose your legs?” the thief asked. “If it’s not too… painful a question.”

  “I was a gladiator.”

  “Really?”

  “Free Trained. At first. Then as part of the House of Ten.”

  “I’ve heard of them. Yes, yes. The Free Trained one.”

  “Aye that.”

  “I imagine the other, more official houses despise you.”

  Pig Knot smiled. “They do.”

  “So how did you get here? Didn’t you
have a house to take care of you? They should do that at least, for their warriors.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “The only thing I might do here is sleep or die. And I’m not tired in the least.”

  Pig Knot supposed he had little chance of dying while imprisoned. “Very well then…”

  He spoke of everything, from the first day of the games, from meeting Halm the Zhiberian and the Krees, Muluk and Goll. In halting sentences, he told the thief about the band of cutthroats who’d tried to kill Muluk and steal their savings. He talked of Goll ordering him to lose a gladiator match in order for the House of Ten to come into existence, the very reason that cost the Sunjan his legs and nearly his life. He talked of watching the training sessions at the villa of Clavellus, how he gradually hated being there, and how he convinced a trainer called Koba to help him to leave.

  “So they didn’t want you to leave,” Zepedos assumed.

  “Ah, I don’t know. But truth be known, Koba surprised me. The bastard tried to persuade me to stay. But I wanted no part of it.”

  That silenced the thief for a beat. “You wanted no part of it.”

  “That’s right. Unfit, eh? But I couldn’t stand sitting on a mat, watching whole men prepare for their matches in the Pit. I felt useless. Less than useless. Wretched. Worthless. I wanted to live as I did before. When I still had legs. So I came back to Sunja.”

  Zepedos said nothing to any of that.

  “I’d rather be here,” the once gladiator stated. “Even if it’s in a cell.”

  “Why?”

  Pig Knot pondered the question. “It’s more like living… than back at the Ten’s house.”

  “You mean you felt more free, somehow? Even locked up here?”

  “Aye that.”

  That set the thief to chuckling. “I’ve only just met you, Pig Knot, and I’m not one to judge another so quickly—especially a man who’s in the cell next to mine—but I think you made a mistake coming back to Sunja. Perhaps Seddon wishes to show you your mistake.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You don’t sound convinced. I think you will be, however. In time. How much time is the question. You came here to live? As you did before? I don’t think that’s possible. Not at all. You strike me as a stubborn man, Pig Knot. Perhaps your time here, in a cell, with me as a neighbor, will soften your ideas on things. Maybe change your thoughts.”