Captain Cosette

by R. Bruce Sundrud

  She nodded her head. The nightmare kept getting worse.

  He folded her papers and tucked them into a satchel. “That’s it. Say your goodbyes.”

  Cosette lowered her head and walked out the door. Auguste had no goodbyes for her.

  A worn van stood in the dirt road, more of a trail than a road. One of the twins tossed her bag in the back seat and tilted his head to indicate that she should get in. The turbine whined to life, and the van turned and headed down the trail. She glanced back, one last look. The porch was empty and the door to her childhood home was tightly closed.

  She turned away. Her face was impassive, her small bag clutched in her lap. No tear ran down her cheek, no sound escaped her throat.

  But behind her stone wall, a lost little girl huddled in the corner and sobbed.

  Chapter Two

  Toulouse was the capitol city of the planet Sorine, and the spaceport was situated by the river that divided Toulouse in half. Night had fallen; the city was a sea of lights that rivaled the sea of stars overhead. Toulouse's beauty was marred by occasional sounds of gunfire, explosions, and the flickering crackle of a burning building.

  In the foothills overlooking the city, a campfire blazed. One of the twins, Imsami, danced around the fire with a torch in his hand, swirling it to watch the sparks. The other, Rasora, sat beside Cosette, clapping time with his hands.

  “Too peaceful!” shouted Imsami, thrusting his torch as though skewering an enemy. “We should be down there in the fighting.”

  “For which side?” asked Rasora.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Imsami stopped in front of Rasora, his chest heaving. “Who cares which side? We could pick up some unguarded valuables, maybe some gems.” He extended his broad hand and spread his fingers, displaying several gaudy gold and silver rings. “I could use some more.”

  Rasora turned to Cosette. “Imsami’s the businessman. I’m the philosopher.”

  “He’s the useless one,” said Imsami, returning to his dancing. He leaped and turned, almost ballet-like in his moves, spinning to strike an imaginary foe. “Can you believe he actually reads? Poetry, no less.”

  Cosette didn’t respond to either of them. She looked beyond the fire to the city of Toulouse spread out below. Somewhere down there, when morning came, she would be delivered like a prisoner.

  She glanced at her bracelet which was tuned to the key.

  I am a prisoner.

  “If you would read more poetry,” said Rasora to Imsami, “your soul would be at peace.”

  “If I read more poetry, I would become a woman.”

  Rasora growled. “Are you needing me to pound you into the ground again?”

  “Not tonight.” Imsami dropped the torch into the fire. “I’m restless. I’m going down to Toulouse and have some fun.”

  “Go to bed. Tomorrow, after we get our bounty, you can spend your half on wine, women, and a splitting headache.”

  Imsami walked to the edge of the level area where they had parked their van for the evening. “Look. Right there, just down the hill, stands the Lost Lady tavern. I’ll join you in the morning, or you can come pick me up.”

  “You’re going down by yourself?”

  “One of us has to stay with the, ah, recruit. Unless she would like to come down and have a good time with us? What do you say, little maid? A last fling before you enter your training?”

  Cosette looked down at her feet. The last thing she wanted was to be around these men when they were drunk.

  “I think that’s a no,” said Rasora.

  “Raz, you’re carrying the key. You could leave it in the van. She can’t touch it, and she can’t walk away from it. She’ll be here when we get back.”

  “No. You know what happens when we go into a tavern together.”

  Imsami grinned maniacally and pulled two knives from his waist. “You mean this?”

  Rasora rose to his feet. “I don’t think you want to do that.”

  “No?” Imsami flipped one knife and held it by the blade. He drew the knife back, ready to throw. “Prepare to die like a man!”

  What madmen am I with? They haven’t even been drinking and they’re going to fight with knives?

  Rasora pulled a knife from his waist. “Anytime you want, Imsa!”

  “One, two, now!” Imsami tossed his knife at Rasora.

  Rasora threw his knife at the same time.

  Each twin caught the knife thrown at him and tossed it back. Imsami added the third knife, and suddenly the air seemed full of blades, flying, spinning, catching the flames of the fire as they flipped back and forth.

  Imsami cried, “Up!” Three blades became four as Rasora added one more from his belt, and now the knives flew up in the air, a rising and falling dance of bright edges.

  Cosette’s mouth hung open with amazement. Surely at any moment they would lose a finger, slice open a hand, miss a knife and have it pierce their hearts, but no, with practiced sureness the blades passed back and forth until by some silent signal each man caught and held a pair of knives.

  They turned their heads to her and raised their eyebrows.

  Cosette realized what they were expecting, and she applauded weakly. “Bravo?” She was at a loss for words.

  Rasora slipped his knives back into his waistband and sat down beside her. “We can only do that when we’re sober but it sure clears a tavern.”

  “Gets us some free beer, sometimes.” Imsami put his knives back and sucked on the tip of a finger. “Shouldn’t do this by firelight. Gets tricky. Speaking of beer…” He looked down at the Lost Lady again. “I’m going down, Raz. It’s been too long.”

  “Be careful, then. Case it out first, circle it, get a booth, keep your back to the wall and your face to the door. Stay away from the fire, your earrings gleam too much….”

  “Yes, mother.”

  “And don’t stay until morning. And don’t come back singing and bragging; I’ll be sound asleep!”

  “Phagh!” Imsami stalked off down the hill towards the tavern.

  Rasora stared into the fire until the sounds of Imsami’s boots faded. “Sometimes,” he said, “I can’t believe we’re twins.”

  Cosette, reluctant to be drawn into conversation, only glanced at him.

  “I mean,” Rasora continued, “He’s impulsive. Always pulling us into trouble. He gets us out of trouble, too, don’t misunderstand, but he never stops to think.”

  Cosette looked back at the fire. A log settled, sending up a shower of glowing sparks.

  “Now, me,” he continued, “I like to think about things. Why things are the way they are. Why we are like we are. How much wealth it takes to be happy. Sensible things.” He pulled a knife and sighted along the edge towards the fire. “I enjoy reading. Do you read?”

  She nodded.

  “I like philosophy, but it misses the mark so often. What is happiness? A good meal. A good woman. The heft of gold. They look beyond the basics, these high thinkers, and miss the value of the simple pleasures of life. Gold, for instance, is very rare in Sorine. These,” he tapped his gold earrings, “are better than a bank account. Bankers can steal, governments can confiscate, but,” he shook the gold bracelets on one wrist, “these can buy me a house, a woman, a servant, and a new van.”

  Cosette glanced at the worn van the twins drove, some of the panels damaged and torn.

  “Oh, that.” Rasora snorted. “That’s me being economical. When we retire, soon, we’ll have luxury, but now is our time to accumulate, to gather wealth for a long, rich retirement with a coin leftover for our cremation when we die.”

  He pushed the end of a long branch into the fire. The twins hadn’t bothered to cut any wood; they just wandered the woods snapping branches or pulling over dead saplings. Cosette considered it a lazy fire, no true fire ring, just several long branches slowly fed into the flames. Imsami in his dancing had to leap over the wood, something he had done with ease.

  Rasora pulled a sharpening stone from his p
ack and began honing the edge of his knife. “So, you have brothers and sisters?”

  Cosette nodded, but she knew it would not be sufficient. “Two step-brothers.”

  “Two younger step-brothers; your father said you were the oldest. And the three of you didn’t get along at all.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He laughed. “Siblings never get along. Imsami and I were always fighting and yet never apart, if you can understand that. Twins sense each other, you know. I could never hide anything from him, especially anything I didn’t want to share. And he could never keep a candy or a stolen purse from me. One reason we always fought.” He grew more serious. “Your father wasn’t required to volunteer you.” His voice bore an overtone of sarcasm on the word volunteer. “The Union government isn’t drafting that aggressively yet.”

  “Father Auguste wanted me gone.”

  “Are you that badly behaved?”

  “No.” She paused and frowned. “It was about the inheritance.”

  “You mean you would inherit the farm, if you stayed there?” He examined the edge of his knife again. “At least he didn’t just make you disappear.”

  “Didn’t he?”

  “Ah.” He grinned, the firelight sparkling in his eyes. “A sharp observation. But you still breathe. Where there is breath, there is always hope, a future…” He rose, his face pensive. “Trouble….there’s trouble….” He slid the knife into the scabbard at his belt.

  Cosette glanced around. “Trouble?”

  Rasora’s eyes widened. “Imsami!” He turned and charged towards the slope that led to the tavern.

  Cosette sat an instant longer.

  He senses his brother is in trouble.

  She thought of the usual brawl that drunken men can get into, and wondered whether a woman was involved, and then jumped to her feet with sudden realization.

  Rasora carries the key!

  She raced after him. If he got more than thirty meters from her, she would be electrocuted.

  She could hear him crashing through the underbrush in the dark. There was no clear trail to the tavern, and Rasora was making his own. She would have to follow as best she could. “Slow down!” she cried. “Wait for me!” Already her wrist tingled as the key outdistanced her.

  Rasora did not slow. “Imsami!” he cried, breaking branches in his headlong rush.

  Cosette ran as fast as she could, but even on clear ground Rasora with his longer legs would be able to outrun her. Here, the ground was uneven, and she stumbled, almost falling.

  Her wrist started to burn.

  Faster, faster!

  She caught glimpses of the tavern now, light blazing from the windows, movement behind the glass, and the shouts of men fighting.

  Shots echoed. Some weapon had been fired. Rasora cried out, leaping a stone fence and rushing past parked vans and motorbikes.

  Cosette screamed as lightning circled her wrist, burning her. She staggered, hardly able to keep running and yet desperately aware that if she stopped, the burning would get worse. She climbed the fence, falling on the other side, screaming with each breath. She pulled herself to her feet and staggered across the parking lot.

  The pain eased as she approached the Lucky Lady. Rasora had stopped running.

  Men were fleeing the building, some laughing, some cursing. The pain from the bracelet ceased as she leaned against the brick wall of the tavern.

  When the rush of escaping men ended, she walked into the tavern, holding her arm. It no longer hurt but she couldn’t feel her hand, couldn’t move her fingers.

  On the floor, in front of a large fireplace, lay Imsami. Rasora knelt over him, trying to staunch the blood from several wounds.

  “Hang on, hang on,” he whispered, his hands pressing against injuries.

  A worried-looking man with bad teeth, whom Cosette guessed might be the tavern owner, pressed bandages onto Imsami’s belly, but the shaded lights around the room revealed a widening pool of blood on the polished wooden floor.

  Imsami raised his hand and feebly stroked Rasora’s cheek. “Should… have listened… sorry…”

  “Hush, hush,” said Rasora, “you’ll be fine, you’ll be….”

  The light faded from Imsami’s eyes.

  Rasora patted his brother’s cheek. “Imsami? Imsami?” He shook his brother’s shoulders. “Imsami!”

  The tavern owner put his hand on Rasora’s shoulder. “He’s gone. I’m sorry.”

  “No!” Rasora shook his brother again. “He’s just… he can’t….”

  Cosette pressed her fist against her mouth. She had never seen a person die before, not even when the sickness took her parents. She had also never seen someone watch his own brother die. She forgot about her own burned wrist, her own numb hand, and ached inside for what she saw on Rasora’s face.

  “Imsamiiiii!” Rasora clutched his own hair. “Ahhh, gods, no! No!” He jumped to his feet and pulled his knife, looking for an adversary, looking for someone to fight, as though he could fend off death and bring back his brother, but there was no one else in the tavern except the man with the bad teeth and a distraught looking barmaid.

  He fell back to his knees and wept, wept in the clumsy fashion of a man that had forgotten how to weep, not knowing how to deal with his tears, with his running nose, with his inability to speak.

  “Look,” he whispered, when his sobs subsided. “Look how they slashed his ears to take his gold. And they took his bracelets….” He pressed a useless bandage against his dead brother’s ears.

  “Did they also take….?” He ripped open Imsami’s shirt, and a thin medallion lay there on the hair of Imsami’s chest, a small symbol on a silver chain. “No. He still has this.” He gripped the symbol in his fist, and with a sudden jerk removed it. His eyes fell on Cosette and he shook the medallion at her. “They can’t have this. Our mother gave us these.”

  In the distance a siren blared. “Officers are coming,” said the tavern owner. “These days, with all the fighting, they’ll arrest everybody.”

  Rasora stood. “I can’t leave him.” He blew his nose on his sleeve. “I don’t care what happens.”

  The tavern owner put his hairy hand on Rasora’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll see he’s decently cremated. Go, or you’ll be in prison or worse. There are no trials anymore. Take that girl with you; you don’t want her to wind up in jail.”

  Cosette stepped back. The city was in chaos. What the tavern owner had said frightened her.

  I should run back up the hill. But Rasora still has the key!

  Rasora dug into his pocket and passed a coin to the tavern owner without looking at it. “Here, but maybe he’s not dead. Maybe he’s just…”

  The tavern owner shook his head. “He’s dead, sir. He’s not even bleeding any more. I’ll take care of him. Leave now; I’ll hide his body. Trust me, if he comes back to life, we’ll see to him.”

  “No,” said Rasora in a hoarse whisper. His hand moved vaguely through the air, as though grasping at phantoms. He shook his head. “He won’t come back. If he were here, I could feel him. That’s…that’s not him anymore.”

  He stood, rocking on his feet, unable to make a decision until Cosette tugged at his sleeve. “Let’s go.”

  He turned and followed her out the door, stumbling against the frame.

  A van with strobe lights pulled up to the front of the Lucky Lady as they climbed the slope behind. Cosette guided Rasora, who seemed blind. They eventually made it back to the fire, where Rasora sat on the ground. He held out the medallion to Cosette. “Please, will you put this on me?”

  She took the medallion and examined the thin chain by the firelight. “The clasp is broken.”

  “Oh.” He rose, took it from her, and laid it in a box in the van. He dragged out a worn blanket, wrapped it around himself, and collapsed on the ground between the fire and the van. He sobbed intermittently, rose to drink from a canteen and lay back down again, and sobbed some more. She thought
he had fallen asleep, and she curled into a blanket and tried to doze herself, only to be awaked by the anguished cry, “Imsamiiii!”

  She could not go back home, even if her bracelet was removed. She was sure now that if she did return, her stepfather Auguste would find some other way to eliminate her. Besides, by morning one of her brothers would move into her room.

  She couldn’t run away until she was delivered to the Union; they were the only ones that could remove the bracelet. She rubbed her wrist, pushing feeling back into her hand.

  I want to go back to my room. I want to sleep in my own bed.

  She would even be willing to put up with the constant annoyance of her stepbrothers. Homesickness hit her, accentuated by the misery of Rasora.

  Somewhere, down in the town of Toulouse, in the midst of the unrest and the fires and the shots and the explosions, was the military post where she would be delivered. What would happen then? She could not guess.

  But her imagination was free to concoct one horrible fate after another, and she ran through them all as the night wore endlessly on.

  She was wrong every time.

  Chapter Three

  Dawn came, slowly and reluctantly. The rising sun fell on them before it reached the town of Toulouse, drying the dew and warming the air. A brightly feathered rakina landed on a nearby branch and yodeled shrilly until Cosette tossed a stick at it. It sputtered and buzzed down the slope.

  Rasora sat slumped, staring into the sunrise until Cosette feared for his vision. He had the blanket pulled around himself like a shield, although the morning warmed quickly.

  She dug through the van and found a loaf of coarse bread along with bottles of beer, water, and some dark liquid labeled in a foreign language. She drank some water and ate part of the bread. She offered the bread to Rasora, but he shrugged it off.

  Toulouse was quiet, although smoke continued to rise on the far side of town. In the daylight she could see the spaceport on the near side of the river, a tall ship gleaming in the sun like a miniature spear point.