by Adam Dreece
Three crank lanterns hung from the middle of the room, over a desk which was only used when the guards put down their mugs of ale before tormenting him. Sometimes they’d throw water at him, sometimes they’d just call him names, and a few times they’d poked him with his own shock-sticks. He’d almost grabbed one once, and would have been more than happy to show them it was a lot more than a simple metal stick.
The door to the office never closed properly, and the day’s summer breeze was bringing their voices in all the more clearly.
“In the morning, I’ve got a meeting with the new magistrate. I hear he might be open to selling the exotic kid to the Kaban ambassador,” said a deep, aggressive voice Richy knew all too well. Bernardo was a short, heavily-bearded man with a huge, twisted personality. Though the youngest of the half dozen guards of the town, he’d become the ring-leader in recent weeks, taking advantage of the chaos and darker side of human nature. Richy’d heard there was a red-hooded advisor accompanying the new magistrate everywhere he went. He wondered if the Red Hood was connected to the Lady in Red. If so, she was much more powerful than he’d imagined.
Gunter scratched his old, tired face. He’d worked with Bernardo for years, and men just like him for decades. They played with fire until they got burned. “Bernardo, though you know well about such things, I think…”
“Yes?” asked Bernardo, the giant awaiting the advice of the mouse.
“Don’t you think that selling people is wrong? I mean, it’s slavery. We stopped that here in Laros a long, long time ago.” Gunter’s voice was laced with hopelessness, but the fragment of his noble soul that remained had to speak up. He’d always been the one to bring Richy a towel when they’d doused him with water, or give him the tray of food if Bernardo had left it just out of reach.
“I’m surprised at you, Gunter,” said Bernardo condescendingly. “Do you really think that’s what the Kaban do? It isn’t slavery at all. They just allow people an opportunity to have purpose and fulfillment, while they earn their way to citizenship in that paradise.”
“But they have no freedom, no—”
Bernardo gave Gunter a shove. “Do any of us really have freedom? You have a home with a leaking roof and mold on the walls, I’ve seen it. Where is your freedom to get rid of that? Others are getting rich every day out there. What if you could trade this boy for some of that? For a house that didn’t leak, for food on the table every night? He’s young, he’ll survive. If he doesn’t, who’s to say that he wouldn’t have died on his own?”
“I think—”
Grabbing Gunter by the collar, Bernardo growled at him. “I’m trying to make you feel better, old man. Careful you don’t end up on the cart to Kaban with the kid. Got it?”
“Yes… yes, I understand,” said Gunter, cowering.
A gunshot, and then another, cracked the night. Richy sprang to his feet and crossed the cell. He grabbed the bars and strained to listen. Several more shots rang out down the corridor. He could hear Bernardo cursing and struggling with someone. “Don’t hurt the old man!” yelled Richy. “Is that you, Bakon? Eg? I’m over here! Don’t hurt the old man, though!” His heart was racing.
He grabbed his yellow cloak and put it on, hoping that any stray bullets would find it instead of him. Suddenly, a lantern shattered, and then another.
“Eg? Bakon?” called Richy, worried. His almond-shaped blue eyes squinted in the dim light as he backed up. Reflexively, he reached into the pockets of his cloak, only to be reminded his shock-sticks weren’t there. Something was moving in the shadows. The moonlight bounced off of two long blades. “Who are you? What do you want?”
A female voice asked something forcefully.
“I don’t understand. Do you speak Frelish?” asked Richy, his hands in tight fists.
“Dragon?”
“What? Who are you? Why are you here?” asked Richy.
The silhouette unlocked his cell door and gently pushed it open. She was about the same size as him, her head and body hidden behind a dark hood and cloak. She raised empty hands.
“Your hood, pull it back,” said the woman in angry Frelish. “I mean you no harm, but I must see your face. I need to know if you are the blue-eyed dragon.”
“What? I’m just a kid,” he said, glancing around.
“Show me your face, please,” she asked.
With a deep breath, he pulled back his hood and looked at her.
“Riichi!” she said, leaping forward and hugging him.
Without a thought, a name long forgotten rocketed out of him, “Amami!”
CHAPTER TEN
Lost Beauties
“Belly! Belly! Banging! Banging at the door!” yelled a terrified little Selvin. He shook his sleeping older brother as vigorously as he could. “Wake up!”
Beldon sat up, squinting. “You were just having a nightmare, Skelly. It’s dark. Go back to bed.”
“Scary,” said the second outline beside his bed.
“It’s okay, Bore,” said Beldon, patting his little brother on the head. Then he stiffened as he heard screams coming from downstairs. “What’s that?”
“Don’t know,” said little Selvin.
“Okay,” said Beldon, slipping out of his bed and tip-toeing to their bedroom door. Opening it a crack, he peeked out. He saw smoke and people running about.
He stared at his brothers, trying to hide his panic. Selvin was still looking sickly, having nearly drowned a second time two weeks ago.
“Mama?” asked Bore.
“That’s what I’m thinking, Bore,” said Beldon. “Maybe she needs our help.”
“We go help?” asked Selvin.
Beldon nodded.
Holding their hands in a chain, they opened the door.
An hour later, Caterina stumbled up to the boys’ room, the ruined manor still alive with the sounds of fighting and a raging fire. She dropped her mother’s short sword, covered in the blood of her husband, and stared at the broken lock on the bedroom door. She stepped into the room, her eyes darting about. “Boys?!” she screamed, as she ran from bed to bed. She squinted in the meager light, hunting around for a lantern to crank. With lantern in hand, she checked under each bed and behind the curtains. “Bel? Sel? Bore? Come out, Mama’s not playing.”
Wiping her tears, she picked up the blade and ran down the corridor, checking every bedroom and screaming for her boys until the smoke became too thick to speak. As she retreated to the back of the manor, she searched every nook and cranny along the way, her voice becoming hoarse in the process. Stepping over bodies and fending off angry peasants at each turn, she found herself regretting much of her life.
She’d followed her father’s plan, ever the dutiful daughter, even though she thought it insane. She’d never dreamed it could cost her the life of her sons. She’d never questioned her beliefs and life until now. His plan to have her home stormed by an angry mob was intended to drive a permanent wedge of fear between the Ahemian royals and the Piemans.
The next morning, Gaston found her standing among the ashes of their once beautiful home. She was dressed in the tatters from the night before, filthy from head to foot. She twitched at the sound of his malevolent voice as he went on about necessary sacrifices and how the leaders of the One True Fare, as he called it, were pleased with her. He droned on about the destiny one is given versus the life we hope to have. As he reached to put his arm on her shoulder, she stabbed him through the heart with her mother’s short sword. She quickly pulled the sword out and stabbed him several more times, screaming.
She glared up at the Fare representatives, all standing about with looks of shock and horror. They turned to one another, some gesturing to their coaches while others pointing at her.
Finally, one short and sheepish man stepped forward. He tried to remove his spectacles, only to drop them to the ground. Nervously he groped about for them. He stood slowly, as if any sudden action might cause Caterina to strike.
“Duchess Catherine, you look
cold,” he said, trying his best not to stare at Gaston’s body or her bloody sword.
She stared at him blankly.
The man turned and gestured to a servant, who quickly brought him a folded new, red cloak. He walked over to hand it to her and froze as he realized he’d stepped in a puddle of Gaston’s blood.
Caterina reached out and took the cloak from him. She watched as the man bolted back to his pack. She noticed the embroidery on the cloak, and immediately recognized it denoted the wearer as a Fare leader who reported directly to the Fare’s council. She looked up at her audience with a new respect and understanding.
Stepping over her father’s body, she donned the cloak. “Duchess Catherine is dead. Destiny has made me just… a lady in red.”
Caterina hadn’t spoken to Bakon or Egelina-Marie for the entire trip from Wosa to the Staaten capital city of Andrea. Her mind was on a mix of her duties as Regent of Staaten, and trying to make sense of finding Beldon alive. Rather than happiness, she felt irritation at the distraction he represented. Secretly, both she and Bakon wished she’d never stroked his earlobe and removed all possibility of doubt.
She stood before the door of the two floor apartment she’d had Bakon and Egelina-Marie put in. Part of her wanted to leave, to have them simply killed and pretend as if none of it had happened, yet she couldn’t, at least not yet. With hesitation, she knocked.
Bakon opened the door, expecting to see yet another guard offering them food or reminding them that they were free to tour the grounds—accompanied. They hadn’t ventured out since arriving, instead preferring to talk and sit on the balcony.
“Hello, Bel—Bakon,” said Caterina. She had her hood back and shared the same pained expression on her face that he felt. “Care to join me for a walk?”
Bakon nodded, unable to find words. He glanced back at Eg who gestured her support. They both knew he had no choice; one does not deny a regent anything in their homeland.
They walked in awkward silence through the brilliantly colorful western garden. Bakon dared a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. The face was similar, though hardened. The grey streak in her thin, dark hair and the scar from her eye to her chin added to the sense that she was someone built over the remains of his mother. She had an unnerving air in place of the warmth he remembered.
She caught his gaze and held it. Her question was obvious.
“Irina came in that night and snuck us out. We traveled west for a while. We had less and less food, felt more and more scared,” said Bakon, grimacing. He hated thinking about those times. It made him feel weak and small inside.
“For a while? So Irina abandoned the three of you?” asked Caterina. Her words slow, as if she were walking barefoot on broken glass.
Bakon’s face twisted as he tried to jerk loose the answers from his memory. He stared at the river-rock pathway as they entered the shadow of a small forest, still within the confines of the garden. “I didn’t know until recently that she’d planned to sell us to the Ginger Lady. She didn’t, though, for some reason. There was a note in the Ginger Lady’s house. It said that my name used to be Beldon… Beldon Pieman,” he replied, his throat tight with emotion. He took out the note and handed it to her.
Caterina’s hands shook as she read. “I’ll hunt her down,” she spat. “That wench! That—”
Bakon cut her off. “If you’re saying that for me, don’t. She didn’t put us in the hands of the Ginger Lady. We ended up with Nikolas and Isabella Klaus, by Fate, I guess. They were wonderful, and we were quite a handful.”
Caterina stopped and gazed about the forest. “What’s your relationship with Abeland Pieman? You were traveling with him.”
Rolling his shoulders, Bakon couldn’t help feeling like their walk was becoming an interrogation. “I met him on the road. He wasn’t making any sense, and looked really rough when I found him. He took me to his old house and I got cleaned up. Then shortly after, we ran into you.”
He could feel her glaring at him, radiating fear and intimidation.
“So, you aren’t working with him?”
Bakon looked around. “I don’t see the guy around here, do you?”
“Are your brothers alive?” she asked.
“They were in Mineau before the attack. So I don’t know,” he replied, his voice flat and controlled.
“Mineau?” She turned away, rubbing her face at the realization. “Have you heard from them?”
Bakon shook his head. “I haven’t heard anything about what’s happened back home.”
“I heard your girlfriend call you Bakon, why is that? You know your name is Beldon now, so why don’t you correct her?” she asked.
“Can I speak frankly, your highness?” he asked, annoyed. He stared at her, wondering why the gulf between them felt like it was just getting wider.
Caterina gestured to the shadows. “Go ahead.”
“I am Bakon Cochon, I was Beldon Pieman… Maurice, whatever.”
“Why the name Bakon?” she insisted.
“Irina called us that. I don’t know. I’m Bakon, and my brothers are Squeals and Bore. I didn’t remember their real names until I saw them on the note.”
She handed the note back and stared at him pensively. With a wave to the shadows, she said, “That will be all, thank you. The guard will show you back to your room.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
You Can Never Go Home
Tee sprang out of the cart, happy for their crazy ride to be over. It had taken a couple of days and some ingenuity to rig a cart to the back of the King’s-Horse. Several times they’d had to stop along the way to make repairs, but it had pretty much worked.
The noise in the cart had been so thunderous as to make talking with Elly impossible. Instead, Tee had spent much of the journey thinking about her Grandpapa’s armband grapple device he’d made for Franklin, which she’d seen Franklin sketching in Minette. Wanting to reclaim that from Franklin in a way, she decided she’d make her own, and, in doing so, bring her Grandpapa a bit closer to her. The sight of the ruined castle of Kar’m coming into view got her hopeful she’d be able to find a small corner somewhere and build it.
Waiting for them was a towering, muscly man wearing only a leather vest and shorts. He was bald, with a pointy, orange beard that looked like fury escaping through his chin. He had a battle-axe on his back and a huge pistol on his thick belt. He broke into a pained smile at the sight of Christina running up to give him a hug.
“Husband?” asked Tee to Mounira.
“Not exactly,” she replied. “I think they’re sort of married, but—”
“Later,” whispered Tee as Christina waved them over.
Tee and Mounira went to the cart to help get Elly out.
“Let me help,” said the muscly man. “I’m Remy Silskin.” He picked Elly up and put her down gently. “You alright?”
“I’m fine,” replied Elly.
“He’s huge,” said Tee, staring at him.
“He can hear you,” noted Remi.
“It’s okay, if he’s talking in the third person, he can’t be that bright,” joked Tee.
Everyone went quiet.
Angelina whistled as she came out of hiding. “Wow, she’s got your number, Remi.”
Christina laughed. “She’s Sam Baker’s granddaughter, Remi. Recognize anything?”
He grumbled as he gazed down at the petite girl with the huge brown eyes. “Wow, the eyes and the razor tongue. We better put a sign on her: Warning!—Baker—may cause burns.”
Everyone laughed.
“Angelina, can you carefully take Elly in? Have Francis check her wounds. I’m sure everything’s fine, but I’d like to know for sure.”
“Did you say Franklin?” asked Tee, worried.
“What?” said Christina, momentarily confused. “No, Francis, Doctor Francis Stein. He’s my lead medical scientist. Whenever someone shows up seriously wounded, I have him check them out. Nothing special.”
“We should ask
him about the painkillers we made,” said Mounira to Elly, who nodded in agreement. “Do you think he has a different way to do it? I’m thinking—“
“Mounira?” asked Elly.
“Yes?” replied Mounira.
“Quiet time,” said Elly, in her best impression of an older sister.
Mounira glanced around. “Okay,”
After everyone had left, Christina turned to Remi. “I know that look in your eyes, and Angelina’s. What’s going on?”
Remy frowned, his shoulders rolled forward. “We had a small problem, but it’s been dealt with.”
“What type of problem? There are a lot of small problems lately,” she said.
He tugged lightly on his goatee. “We found a satchel of notes about what we were doing and who was here. We don’t know who made them, but we found who took it. At least, Angelina thinks we did. Also, one of Canny’s men went missing for a day and didn’t offer an explanation of where he’d been. Canny guessed he went for a walk to relieve some stress. Things haven’t been going at all well here over the past two weeks.”
“How does Angelina tie into this?” asked Christina.
His face stiffened. “She found the satchel, brought it to me, we argued. We’re doing that a lot, lately. She decided to go out riding with a few others and found a dead guy she recognized. He had some papers stuffed in his pockets, the content similar to what was in the satchel. She found him about two miles east of here, neck broken.”
Christina stared at the ground. “Angelina went out riding? She hates that.”
Remy shrugged.
“That doesn’t make sense. If the guy’s neck was broken—” said Christina.
“He was at the bottom of a ravine, probably fell,” he interrupted.
“Remi,” she replied sternly.