~Meticulous Mudslide, An Old Man Remembers
Chapter 37
Holding her arm twisted up behind her back, the dungeon master shoved Repentance ahead of him as he descended the stairs. "Two demons playing tricks on the dungeon master!" he yelled. His breath came hot against Repentance's cheek. He smelled as if he'd already had a trickle of Mountain Magic. "I know all about the deeds and doings of mischievous little boys. I'm having none of your nonsense, thanks all the same."
With her free arm, Repentance tried to stick her paddle in between the man's feet to trip him.
The dungeon master saw and gave an extra jerk, pulling her arm farther up behind her.
She cried out.
Tigen, an indignant look on his face, threw his platter and his jug at the man. With a wild scream, he scrabbled up the man's back and pummeled him with his small fists.
The dungeon master shoved Repentance away. She slammed into the wall beside the desk, the ice burning her cheek on contact. She spun off the wall and turned in time to see the man reach one beefy hand over his shoulder, pull Tigen off his back, and toss him down as easily as a man in the swamp would peel off a leech and shake it back into the water.
Tigen's head hit the corner of the desk with a sickening, hollow-sounding clunk. He landed on the floor, a puddle of scarlet blood spreading out from his head.
"You've killed him!" Repentance screamed. Ice crystals immediately formed at the edges of the puddle. "He's freezing to the floor!"
The dungeon master grabbed Tigen from the floor, strands of frozen hair breaking in the process, and laid the limp little body on the desk. He leaned over the boy. "Still breathing," he said.
Tigen's head flopped to the side.
The dungeon master gasped when he saw the birthmark behind the boy's ear. "A prince! Providence have mercy. I'm an honest man just trying to do my job and keep my life in the process." He leaned over Tigen, searching his face. "Wake up! You must! Why do you young princes want to bring this trouble crashing down on my head?"
Repentance took aim with her paddle and brought a little more trouble crashing down on his head.
He slumped over Tigen on the desk.
She shoved him, so he was draped over the boy's legs. Looking closely, she saw Tigen's chest rising and falling steadily. She would carry him out of the dungeon after she saved Sober. They could drop him in the kitchen. Cook would know how to help him.
She ran past the dungeon master's quarters to the first cell door and opened the window. She could see nothing outside of the little square of light on the cell floor.
"Sober?" she whispered. "Are you in here?"
"Repentance?" his voice was weak. "No, no, no. Tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me you aren't really here."
"That's a fine way to greet your rescuer and future button mate. Get up, Sober, we have to hurry."
He groaned. A moment later he was at the window. His face was battered— dried blood matted in his hair, his nose was bent and swollen, both eyes were black and puffy. He looked at her, shock registering in his eyes. Reaching one hand out, he touched her head. "Your hair."
"It will grow again. Stand back, now, I'm going to open your door."
"You can't open my door." He spoke slowly and was obviously having a hard time understanding what was going on.
She held up her paddle so he could see. "I can." She stepped back to take aim at the door handle. "Move away, Sober."
"No!"
"We don't have time to waste. Tigen is hurt."
"If you open my door, the other prisoner dies."
Another prisoner? "But if I don't open your door, you die."
He reached through the window and cupped her face in his hands. "Yes. I die. Let me die. Go save the king."
"The who?"
"He's in another cell. Find him. Set him free. He'll help you. He'll save Hot Springs."
She shook her head. "I can't do that. You can't ask me to do that, Sober."
He rubbed one thumb over her cheek. "I know you can do this. I know you will do this for me. Let me go to Providence bravely and not crawling like a coward. My parents, Repentance. They're still in Hot Springs. Along with a couple of hundred more."
His eyes, in his swollen, bloody face, were filled with love and sorrow. But they also held a determined light
Tears streamed freely down her cheeks. "You're asking me to kill you."
"No. Don't think that." He brushed his hand over her short hair. "I'm asking you to save my parents. I know I'm laying a heavy burden on you, but I'll die happily, knowing you love me and knowing my death will help so many people."
She shook her head.
"Please, Repentance."
Maybe she could free them both. It took the floor a few seconds to slide back. If the king's cell was close by, she might be able to knock the door handles off both doors.
She crossed to the cell opposite Sober's and slid the window open. "Your Highness?"
No answer.
She went to the next cell, and the next. Back and forth across the hall.
She was met with silence in each cell.
At the last cell, when she slid the window open she heard someone coughing.
"Your Highness?"
"Repentance, is it you?" She heard him scrabbling around. "It can't be. No, it can't be. No one knows I'm here. He brought me down in secret and shoved me in the last cell. No one knows, not even the dungeon master. I'll die here and no one will ever know."
"I have to get you out." she whispered. "The prince is going to destroy Hot Springs."
He hobbled to the window. His face was gaunt, but he hadn't been beaten. "You are real? Not a dream?" He reached out to touch her. "Tell Provocation. She'll get my troopers. Don't go to the dungeon master, he won't believe—" he broke off, coughing.
The dungeon master! She could use his key and open both doors. She was as dumb as a catfish! "I'll be right back," she said to the king, and she turned toward the desk and the unconscious dungeon master.
She took two steps and came to a sudden halt.
Coming down the steps were a pair of men's legs in silk britches. She couldn't see the top of the man but she didn't need to see. She knew who it was.
No time for the key. And no way could she open both doors with the paddle. She looked at Sober's door ahead of her. She could make it. She could leave the king and save Sober.
From the dungeon's master's desk she heard the familiar voice. "What's all this?"
Her heart failed.
She had the paddle, though. The prince was not a strong man. He had other people do his fighting for him. With the paddle, she and Sober could knock the prince over the head and escape. But Sober didn't want to live like Hamchett Banniss—living while others died.
"Repentance," the king said. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you, child."
The king deserved to die. He kept slaves. Sober had done nothing wrong. He was nothing like Hamchet Banniss.
"Are you drunk?" the prince demanded, yanking the dungeon master's head up.
The prince's voice brought her back to the truth. If she and Sober escaped and the king died, the prince would take the throne. And all the people of Hot Springs would pay the price.
Sober didn't want to live, carrying that weight on his conscience.
"You'll swing for this," the prince said dropping the man's head.
The injured man slipped off the table onto the floor and lay there moaning.
The prince bent over Tigen. "I told you!" he said to his unconscious son. "I said that your fascination with slaves would bring you no good." He shook his head in disgust.
He didn't even care if Tigen was alive or dead.
Rage filled Repentance.
She backed up. "Stand away from the door," she whispered to the king.
She had no time for troopers, and no help would be forthcoming from the dungeon master, but she would free the king and knock the prince over the head with her paddle. She would save Hot Springs. For Sobe
r.
The prince looked up, then. Straight down the hall and into Repentance's eyes.
He flashed a wicked smile.
"Well, Repentance. I'm happy to see you again."
"Sober," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "Forgive me."
"Get back away from the door," she called to the king. Then she raised her paddle and swung at the door handle with all her might. The paddle connected with a shock ran up her arms and rattled her teeth.
The door flew open.
The prince laughed. He stood at the end of the hall, clapping his hands and laughing. "You keep on surprising me, Repentance. You just killed your farmer."
She stared at him. She could hear the words, but she wasn't sure what they meant.
"Repentance, help me." The king was backed against the far wall in his cell, his floor receding.
What had happened? Something was terribly wrong, but she wasn't sure what exactly. She tried to replay events, but all that came to her were pieces of pictures and phrases. Sober telling her to free the king. His sad smile. His hand on her cheek.
"Repentance!" the king called.
She jerked back to her right mind. She'd chosen to save the king.
She held out her paddle. The old man came to the edge of the receding floor and grabbed a hold.
She counted to three.
He jumped and she yanked.
He was so frail that he flew across the void and slammed into her. They both went down onto the floor. The back of her head bounced on the hard ice. Lights flashed before her eyes. She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision.
The king lay on top of her, coughing. The prince was still laughing. The ice floors under the cells receded fully into the walls with a scrape and a click. She looked down the hall at Sober's window. It gaped at her. Empty.
She tried to roll the king off of her, but before she managed that, the prince arrived. He looked down on her, gloating.
Repentance blanched.
The dungeon master stepped up behind the prince, rubbing the back of his head. He peered over the prince's shoulder with bleary eyes. "Still here, then," he said. "No one has escaped?"
"No credit goes to you on that account," the prince said with a sneer.
He used his foot to roll the king off Repentance.
The old man hit the ice and cried out.
The dungeon master, seeing the king's face, gasped.
The prince dug his toe under the king and rolled him over again, moving him toward the open water under his cell.
Repentance bit her lip, trying to think. This was not going to happen. Sober did not die for nothing. She was not going to lie there and watch the prince throw the king into the lake.
The king pulled his feet up, bracing them against the wall. He tried to say something but only succeeded in breaking into a spasm of coughing.
The prince leaned over to yank the king's feet from the wall.
"Arrest him," the king managed between coughs.
Repentance lay still, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Where was the paddle? She looked out of the corner of her eyes.
The dungeon master, obviously afraid to touch the prince, said, "That's the king."
The prince threw a look over his shoulder at the man. "I am aware. Do you want to help me and live, or will you stand there and make me do all the work myself?"
Repentance felt around the floor, her hand burning. Finally her search was rewarded when she brushed the paddle with her fingertips.
"Are you sure you want to throw the king in the lake?" the dungeon master asked.
"You, my dear dungeon master, just made the wrong choice," the prince said. "Did you never learn that it's dangerous to question those in authority over you?" He turned back to the king, bent down, and grasped the king's legs.
Repentance had the perfect opportunity. She slammed her heel into the center of the prince's face. His head jerked up.
He stood, blood gushing from his nose. "You will die for that."
"I'll die either way," she said. She closed her hand around the paddle, rolled over, sprang from the floor, and took a swing at his head.
The paddle connected, and the prince slumped and landed, unconscious, on top of the king.
The dungeon master stepped forward. Repentance waved the paddle at him.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I'm trying to help."
"Move back."
"I swear," he said. "I didn't know the king was locked up here. The prince brought him down with a bag on his head, packed him into this end cell, and wouldn't let no one near him. He brought the prisoner's meals his own self."
From under the prince came the sound of the kings racking coughs.
"Get the king off the cold floor," Repentance said, weakly.
The dungeon master pushed the prince aside and picked the king up as if he were a small child.
As the king came up, the prince's unconscious body rolled off his legs, balanced for a moment in the cell doorway, then started to roll over into the lake.
"No!" Repentance yelled.
The dungeon master threw the king over his shoulder and reached for the prince.
Missed.
They heard a splash. Nothing else.
Repentance peered into the lake. The prince floated facedown, perfectly still.
"Pull him up," she said.
The dungeon master shook his head. "With what? By the time I get the hook, it will be too late. He's dead already. There's no coming back once you hit that water."
Repentance looked at Sober's door and started shaking.
The dungeon master set the king on his feet. "Can you stand, your majesty? I had no idea you were a prisoner here. No idea at all."
The king gave him a searching look, "I ordered you to arrest him."
"I was thinking how best to obey, your highness. I was waiting for my opportunity to arrest him."
The king turned away without answering. "Come, Repentance," he said, between coughs. "We need our wounds attended to."
She walked to Sober's door. She had to look.
And there he was, at just that moment, floating through the shaft of light that poured through the window in the door. Frozen. Stiff and white. His swollen eyes were forever frozen shut. Never again would he wink at her.
She shuddered, her heart screaming for a chance to talk to him one last time, for a chance to tell him goodbye.
But there he was, cold and lifeless.
Her last look was not upon the vibrant handsome face she remembered but upon a face she didn't even recognize—beaten and frozen and mottled and dead. He was past all pain, at least. His gray flannel button scarf floated around his head like a crown and trailed across his mouth and nose.
When she saw that, a foggy memory drifted into her mind. She remembered lying beside Sober in the slave cart, sharing her blanket and dreaming that his button scarf would suffocate her. And there it lay, floating across Sober's misshapen face. She felt like all the air had been sucked from her lungs. Yes, I will take the scarf, a voice screamed in her head. Oh, please. I didn't know what I was doing. I want to be his button mate. I want to take the scarf.
The king looked over her shoulder. "What is this about?"
"Sober Marsh," she said, moving aside so he could look in the window. "He was such a good man." Tears dribbled down her cheeks.
"Your farmer?"
"My friend," she whispered.
"Come," the king said. "We'll take care of what we can tonight. We'll have to wait for time to heal the rest."
"I came to save him," Repentance said. "I wanted to save him. I was supposed to save him."
"Come away, Repentance." The king took hold of her elbow and steered her from the door.
Tears washing down her face, she did again as she had done months earlier. She mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," and she turned her back on Sober Marsh.
To die as an honest man is better than to live as a liar, to die fighting evi
l is better than to live with your eyes and ears and heart clamped shut to the pain around you, and to die serving a friend is to die the best way of all.
~Lord Harding Banniss, Letters to a Young Man
Chapter 38
The king led the way, shuffling along, stopping often to cough. The dungeon master followed, carrying the unconscious Tigen. Repentance watched her feet as she walked, but what she saw was Sober, dead and frozen. So cold. He must be so cold.
At the top of the stairs, the king stopped to instruct the dungeon master, "Take the boy to his quarters. I'll send a doctor."
The dungeon master strode off, and the king turned to Repentance. "Do you remember where the family parlor is? Across the hall from my small library?"
She remembered the dungeon. Everything else was shrouded in fog.
"Can you hear me?" he asked.
Sober was dead.
"I'll take you," the king said kindly. He took her hand and led her through the great room and down the wide hallway to a small parlor. "Wait for me here."
She wandered to the window. Outside, the Moonlight Festival celebrants feasted and laughed and danced, completely unaware. Repentance had an urge to run into the courtyard crying, "He's dead, he's dead. The universe has been torn open and can never heal. Stop your dancing. Weep and wail. Sober is dead and there can never be joy again."
She stood at the window, tears streaming down her face.
If she hadn't run out of Lord Carrull's house without a plan, he might still be alive. Why had she run out so foolishly?
If only he'd never come to rescue her. If only they'd never fallen in love. If only she'd buttoned with him in the beginning and had never come up the cursed mountain in the slave cart.
If only, if only, if only.
How far back did she want to go with the blame? If only the overlords had never enslaved the lowborns. It was no good. Time moves forward. Going back and assigning blame all around would do nothing to bring Sober back.
She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall, letting the cold bite through her leather jerkin. She wanted to feel something besides the ache that filled her chest.
The Button Girl Page 31