“Merle,” admitted Garrett.
“I hope that meathead has enough sense to keep quiet.”
“He does,” said Garrett. He was offended that Maury would lash out about Merle, but he reminded himself it was Maury’s life on the line and remained quiet.
“You keep your lips sealed until I have time to think about this.” Maury began to pace in front of the table. “I can’t just walk away, they’ll know.” He glanced at Garrett, a nervous look crossing his features. “You don’t work with a bunch of guys for four years and not become close. I mean Kline’s business is one thing, but Frank and Hector are security, they only take orders.”
“I’m sure this is difficult for you,” said Garrett. “You have to do what you feel is right.” He thought about mentioning the ogre’s duty as a policeman, but knew that Maury was already well aware of his obligations. In the end, the ogre would have to decide for himself what action to take.
Maury was startled as the door to the guardhouse banged inward and Vic trundled in with his muddy rubbers and an empty feed pail. “Hey, I tought you might be in here. Dere is two barns!” he said grumpily, and holding up three fingers. “You left me all by myself to finish de job again.” Vic closed the door behind him and set the stinking pail down. He removed his thin jacket and dropped it on the floor, before making his way to the table. “What’s for supper?”
“Here,” said Maury, pushing the plate of untouched food towards Vic.
“My favourite!” said Vic, reaching for the plate.
“Your hands,” chastised Maury distractedly.
“Oh ya, I forget.” Vic trudged off to the shower room to clean up. Garrett and Maury remained silent until the younger man returned. The quietness of the guardhouse was evidence enough that the ogre had a lot on his mind.
“Can I play my game?” asked Vic, carrying his plate of noodles into the sitting area. He placed the plate on the coffee table and flicked on the G.V. unit with the remote. The screen blazed to life with the image of dancing fairies. Pipe music resonated from the speakers and Garrett cringed at the frantic melody.
“No,” said Maury. “I need to think.”
“Ah come on, Maury,” pleaded Vic, a half mouthful of supper hanging from his lips. “I’ll turn de volume down.” As if to prove his good intentions, he tapped the remote and a solid bar of yellow lines decreased in sync with the fading volume.
“Damn it,” yelled Maury. “Why are you always under foot? Just eat your supper and be quiet, for once.”
Vic jumped at the sudden explosion from the ogre and then looked crestfallen as Maury’s words hit him. He put his head down and ate in silence.
Garrett frowned at Maury and then went to Vic. “It’s alright,” he said quietly. “Maury has a lot of security issues he has to work out.”
Vic slurped up a noodle and frowned at the floor. “I miss Sal,” he whispered. “He let me play my game whenever I wanted.” His eyes raised from the floor his gaze pleading with the Ogre.
“Oh for the love of Pete,” ranted Maury, pulling out his chair and sitting again. “Play your game, Vic. Just do it quietly.” The ogre cradled his head in his hands and did not see the grin covering Vic’s face. Vic reached for the remote again. This time he flipped through the channels until he came to a signal displaying a series of alternating coloured bars. Timing the rhythm of the flashing blocks, he began to depress a succession of buttons on the remote.
“Is that your game?” asked Garrett mystified.
“No silly. Dis just to get into de game. You have to match de pattern with de numbers on de remote.” He rolled his eyes at Garrett’s foolish question.
“What pattern?” asked Garrett.
“Red one. Red Tree. Green two. Yellow eight,” said Vic lowering the remote exaggeratedly with each depression of the buttons. Still, Garrett could not identify the pattern.
“Don’t ask,” mumbled Maury from the table, “no one but Vic gets it.”
The screen changed and a list of options was displayed across the globe. Vic moved the selection until the words “Troop Movement” were highlighted. He clicked a button and a giant map of the globe swirled into view. “Where do you want to move de army men?” asked Vic “I tink we should stop attacking Ho-Horaan with de Sung-Ti troops. Dey is getting dere butts kicked good.”
“I don’t care,” grumbled Maury.
“Frank always helps me,” sulked Vic.
A feminine voice issued from the speakers, cutting off Maury’s reply. “You have Mail.”
“Oh come on,” yelled Vic. “I told Frank to check de mail on dere. How come I’m de only one who does dat? You know I can’t play my game without getting dese messages.”
“Nobody checks the damn thing, because it’s always advertisements. Besides, the boys don’t know how to use the G.V. mail feature.”
“I already show dem,” said Vic impatiently.
“The last time I cleared your account there were four G.V. mails in there and not one of them was from someone you know, Vic. There was an invitation from the college to support their new science centre, an ad from the witch’s conclave selling a new non stick broom powder, the ferry schedule from the harbour, and the last one had a subject line that read ‘Wish you were hung like an ogre?’ I didn’t bother reading that one.”
Vic growled in frustration and hit the mail button. The map disappeared and a picture of an envelope twinkled onto the globe. “You have one new message,” echoed the feminine tone from the speakers.
Vic waved the remote at the G.V. and the envelope icon was replaced by a dark screen. The view shifted slightly and a man’s naked body became visible in the dim light. Ropes tied the man’s wrists above his head and he was secured to a wooden beam. The man’s head hung limp and his body was slumped forward against his bindings.
“Vic,” said Maury sharply. “What is this?”
“I dunno. You want me to delete it?”
“Wait!” said Garrett, tugging on Vic’s arm to aim the remote at the floor.
The G.V. picture closed on the disheveled man and a glove shot out of the darkness to grab a handful of his hair. The fist jerked the bound man’s face up to look into the G.V. camera. Despite the blood and the swelling, there was no mistaking B.S.’s features.
Recognising his friend, Vic shrieked and dropped his bowl of noodles on the floor. “Dey killed him!” he wailed.
“Shush,” said Garrett, trying to sooth the other man and listening closely as a deep accented voice echoed from the speakers. Maury ran into the sitting room, his eyes locked on the suspended globe.
“Daniel Kline, we have your son. You crossed the wrong people when you started meddling in the dons’ affairs.” The voice was chastising. “It is lucky for you that the men we work for are lenient. They realise the value of networking and accumulating new business partners. They also realise that sometimes these new ventures sever older commercial ties. Now you have a decision to make. Realign with your old friends and pay your fines or dissolve the aforementioned bonds with my employers and push forward with your new endeavours. I do not suggest the latter, however. I have never known it to be a profitable or health conscientious choice.”
Garrett glanced at Maury and the ogre’s look was bewildered. Beside him, Vic curled up into a ball on the sofa, his eyes locked on the shadowy scene unfolding on the G.V., his whole body trembling.
“If you wish to set things right with the dons, you have until midnight tomorrow,” continued the cold narrative. “There are three conditions you must satisfy. One: you will deliver fifty thousand gons to the west end pier and a ship named the Siren’s Call. Do not attempt to accost the Captain. He has been hired as a third party and knows only that you will bring several chests for transport. He does not know the whereabouts of his destination or the men who have hired him. You may bring three men to unload the money. Do not involve the authorities. Two: your monthly dues have now doubled. Three: you will pay in body as a reminder of your transgressions a
gainst the dons. You may have your son fulfill this debt on your behalf; the choice is yours. We shall leave his fingers unmolested until we have your decision. The boy will be released when you have satisfied the first and third conditions.”A knife flicked out of the darkness, drawing a line across the boy’s cheek. B.S. grunted as the blood trickled from the shallow cut and the screen went black.
Garrett swung to face the ogre. “What do they mean they have his son? B.S. isn’t Kline’s son.”
“No,” agreed Maury. “The boy was picked up on a ship and brought to Deep Cove years back. Everyone knows B.S. works for Mr. Kline though. The men who took him probably heard B.S. referred to as Kline’s boy. That would be my guess.”
“Are dey going to kill B.S?” asked Vic, his voice trembling.
“They mean business,” returned Garrett. He looked to Maury again. “Will Kline pay for his release?”
“Of course Mr. Kline will pay!” piped up Vic. “He likes B.S!”
“He will pay,” said Maury, resting a hand on Vic’s shoulder in assurance. The look he gave Garrett, however, was not so certain.
19
Jack’s Back
Jack sat on the grassy hillside enjoying the heat of the summer day. Hundreds of feet down the slope, the channel waters lapped at the rocky shoreline. There were vessels on the water: small boats mainly and most likely other families enjoying the warm weather. Jack’s eyes sought out his wife and she turned to gaze at him. She wore the yellow sun dress he had purchased for her. She twirled in the sunlight, her smile wide and loving. Small arms were draped around his shoulders and the words ‘daddy, daddy’ were giggled into his ear. His daughter he knew, and he sighed with contentment. The thought occurred to him that his daughter was only a week old when he had left home. Now, here she was big enough to walk and talk. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. All that mattered was that they were together again.
“I said wake up, pig’s breath,” came the voice again. This time, his dream was washed away with the harsh words and the kick at his leg. Jack rolled onto his side, blinking in the unaccustomed torchlight.
“What …what time is it?” he asked lamely. He looked into the light and made out three figures standing in the opening of his cell. Unkind hands grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him to his feet.
“It’s time you shut your mouth, Vellian dog.” The guard shoved Jack toward the door and the other two men stepped back. “Get the other one,” he continued and pointed to Rowgar’s cell. Jack risked a glance into Rowgar’s pen and saw the soldier staring back. He looked like a caged cat Jack had seen at the carnival as a boy – ready to tear out the throat of the first man he could reach.
Jack felt his knees go weak and he stumbled. His bowels turned to water with the realisation that their dreams for escape had vanished with the arrival of these men. Tonight was supposed to be the night they fled. One more day and they would have been free. The image of Jack’s wife on the hillside flashed through his mind and he felt hot tears running down his cheeks. ‘I wish I could have looked upon your face,’ he thought, referring to the daughter he had not seen in over two years. ‘I bet you look like your mother.’
“Look, Buck, he’s crying like a baby,” laughed the guard holding the torch. Jack scowled at the man and wiped his face on his arm. He now recognised the man as Dom, a mean spirited fellow who had enjoyed tormenting the dignitaries once held in the cells with Jack.
“He’s sad to leave us,” said Buck in a singsong voice. “I wouldn’t want to leave either, if I was treated so well.”
“Yes, I’ve been treated like a prince,” snapped Jack, angry at himself for showing weakness.
“You’re alive, ain’t ya?” said Dom.
“Not for long!” squealed Buck and both guards laughed.
“Be quiet!” snapped the man holding Jack. This was Toma, their superior. He had been just as cruel over the years, but today he was all business. “Bind his hands and then get that other cell open. Be careful with that one, he was a soldier.”
“We ain’t stupid,” said Buck. “We know he was a soldier.”
“Then you should take your job seriously and be ready to take him into custody,” returned Toma in a cold tone. Buck thumped Jack hard on the back as he grabbed for the man’s rags. He grunted in displeasure and spun Jack around to tie his hands.
Dom moved to Rowgar’s cell and inserted his key into the door. Rowgar lay on the floor watching him. “That’s right, soldier boy, don’t you move a hair or my friend will stick you in the guts.”
Jack realised the men were speaking in Ponce and Rowgar wouldn’t understand them. He also knew that living on the border of the two great nations, all government officials were bilingual by law. “Where are you taking us?” he asked in Vellian. “Are we to join the other soldiers?” Dom stopped halfway into Rowgar’s cell. He glanced at Jack, the curious question registering. Dom’s surprise reminded Jack that he was not supposed to be aware of the other prisoners.
“Shut him up,” returned Toma in Ponce. Jack felt a blow to the back of his head and he hit his knees.
Instantly, Rowgar was on his feet and lunging for Dom. The guard reeled back, his hand going to the knife on his belt. Rowgar stepped in to Dom, his right hand closing on the man’s wrist and stopping him from pulling his weapon free. Rowgar’s left fist took Dom in the eye, rattling him against the steel bars of the cell. Rowgar grabbed at the torch and wrenched it from his opponent’s grip. He thrust the burning brand into the jailor’s face and Dom screamed in pain. Pulling the blade from the man’s belt, Rowgar rammed the knife into Dom’s neck.
Jack watched breathless from his knees. He had heard both Buck and Toma draw their swords, but he could not tear his eyes from the awful visage of Rowgar. His friend’s face was twisted with rage. There was no trace of humanity in his features as he turned the blade in Dom’s neck.
Ignoring Jack, Buck raced to the cell and tried to spear Rowgar through the bars. Rowgar rolled to his right, closing the cell door and pinning the sword between the metal posts. Buck’s blade was snapped clean off. Rowgar’s next strike lashed through the lattice of steel, taking Buck high on the inside of his thigh. Buck fell away screaming, his blood splashing Rowgar.
Rowgar wrenched the door open and took two steps and stopped.
Jack felt the blade come up under his chin and Toma’s fingers ripping at his hair as the man yanked him to his feet. “Drop that knife,” hissed Toma.
The torch flew through the air and Jack was certain it would hit him square in the face. Toma’s sword swept out instinctively and knocked the blazing missile aside. The torch thumped into the wall with an explosion of sparks as Toma gurgled and released Jack’s hair. The dungeon was smothered in darkness. Behind him, Jack heard Toma hit the floor, the man’s sword clanging down beside him. He did not need to see the body to know that Rowgar’s knife had taken him in the throat.
Rowgar was beside him in an instant, his hands working on the rope. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
“I’ll be okay,” returned Jack, pulling his hands from the bindings. He heard metal scraping on stone as Rowgar retrieved Toma’s sword. The hilt of the blade was pressed against his palm. “Kill without hesitation, Jack,” breathed the elite soldier into his ear. “If ever you want to see that little girl of yours, the next few minutes will decide our fate.”
“I know.”
“Good. Our plan is now forfeit, Jack. It will be daylight above. Once we have drawn the guards off, it is up to you to get to the southern griffon pens. Your main concern is remaining invisible. Once you get there, I am relying on you to get the beasts saddled and ready for flight. Remember, we need eight griffons ready to carry the sixteen of us.”
“Eight,” repeated Jack. He heard rustling noises from where Buck continued to bleed out on the floor. Rowgar’s footsteps approached the man and the rustling ceased. The soldier worked in the darkness and Jack heard something fleshy slap the stone. Rowgar returned and pa
ssed over the balled up jailor’s uniform. It was wet through with blood.
“Put that on,” said Rowgar. Jack swallowed as he heard Rowgar stripping Toma down. “I will strike for the eastern compound and our boys. They may already be on the move and there is no telling how many guards are with them. I want you to promise me that if I am not at the stables in twenty minutes, you will ride on without me.”
“I can’t do that,” said Jack. He felt a lump rising in his throat.
“You must,” growled Rowgar. “Do it for your daughter.”
“But I owe you,” said Jack, his voice cracking. “We said no one gets left behind.”
“Then do it for me! You must get out of here and bring my story to the King. If I do not show at the stables, then I am dead.”
Jack hugged the blood soaked clothing to his chest. “I will do it for you, Chief,” he agreed.
* * * *
Jack and Rowgar waited in the dark tunnel on the first floor beneath the guard room. This echelon of the chateau contained only a few deserted cells and had, to Jack’s knowledge, never housed any prisoners. Instead it was used for personnel that misbehaved or had a little too much to drink during their off shifts. No one had been detained here for months.
“Why isn’t it going off, Chief?” whispered Jack.
From the blackness beside him Rowgar answered. “I left a good length of fuse. It will be soon.” He had barely spoken the words when a potent explosion rocked the compound. The floor and walls shook under the powerful detonation of the black powder. Seconds passed and a wall of dust washed through the tunnel. Then the door to the guard room opened and a man carrying a torch burst through the opening. Two others were right on his heels, swords drawn.
“Are we under attack?” yelled one of the men, but if his comrades answered him, their words were lost in a second blast that shook the prison with even more force. The men halted as a second wave of dust and debris rushed up from the lower tunnels and washed over them.
Welcome to Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 3) Page 19