As his vision cleared, Jobe wondered what had just happened. Was it past, present, or future? Did he truly interact with the workers? He didn’t know, but he needed to find that dome. Jobe checked the account in Bitten’s journal. It described how Ignus had found the dome years earlier and had been siphoning archeotech from it slowly so as to not arouse suspicion from rival gangs or the local Guilders. It mentioned a map.
Francks opened up the drawing again and read the notes. It was the map, or a copy of it. Directions were scrawled in the margin in a different colour. He gathered up the journal, re-pocketed the envelope full of credits and headed for the door. Looking back at the bodies of the assassin and his dead friend, Jobe Francks mentally thanked them for renewing his faith in the plan and said a short prayer to speed them on to their ultimate rewards, whatever they might be.
Scabbs cringed and bit his lip to hold back a scream as the whip stung his back. His shredded shirt provided little protection from the intermittent lashes, so each one ripped across his scarred and bleeding back. He dared not scream, though, because that merely brought more beatings.
‘Get a move on,’ said the ganger behind him. It was the same one who’d captured Scabbs – a gangly young man with a thin goatee and stringy black hair sticking out from beneath his bandana. He’d heard the foreman call him Ander.
‘All you crew move to the back corner,’ said Ander. The whip came down again, but this time it hit a scrawny girl ahead of Scabbs.
She fell to her knees and began to cry. Scabbs stepped forward and bent over her, catching the follow-up smack on his own, raw back. He cringed again and almost bit through his lip as the pain shot up his spine.
He pulled the girl back to her feet. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed to him. ‘My name is Arliana. I…’ Scabbs heard the crack of the whip, but was too late. It slammed into her back again. He pushed her forward before she could scream, hoping to get away from Ander, who seemed to enjoy his work a little too much.
‘Don’t speak,’ he whispered once Ander found a new target. ‘Just work. My friends will get us out of here.’
‘My friends are all in here,’ said Arliana.
Scabbs put his finger to his lips and handed her a piece of pipe from the pile. He then dug out a chunk of debris of his own and followed her to the cart. The chain gang worked at the new location for an hour or so, clawing at debris and hauling chunks to the carts.
Ander’s whip came down more often than Scabbs thought was needed. He helped Arliana as best he could, grabbing larger pieces that she struggled with and catching her when she stumbled. She smiled each time, but Scabbs had to admit to himself that his deeds were far from selfless. He simply hoped to keep Ander’s attention away from his area.
After dropping a particularly large chunk of masonry into the cart, Scabbs turned to follow Arliana back to the pile. She’d got ahead of him as he had struggled with the concrete block. Halfway back to the pile, Scabbs heard Arliana scream. He looked up, but Ander was nowhere near her.
She stood by the pile, hands on her cheeks, screaming incoherently. Scabbs shuffled forward as fast as he could, but Ander got to her first. He raised his whip, but it never fell. Arliana was now pointing down at the pile. Ander turned and yelled at the foreman.
‘Grondle,’ he called. ‘We got another body.’
Scabbs came up beside Arliana. She’d stopped screaming, but he heard her whimper. A hand stuck out from beneath the pile in front of her, palm up. Something seemed odd about it. The rest of the chain gang crowded around to get a look, pushing Scabbs and Arliana back.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ said Ander. ‘Get back to work. Dig it out.’ He snapped the whip, hitting an old man standing next to Scabbs.
With each trip after that, more and more of the body came into view. The strangeness that Scabbs noticed became clear after a while, even to the weary eyes of the chain gang.
‘There’s not a scratch on it anywhere,’ said Arliana under her breath as they worked together to lift an iron beam off the legs.
The body was not just perfectly preserved, it didn’t have a mark on it anywhere. The tons of debris that had come off the pile that night hadn’t left a single scratch or bruise on the exposed flesh and the clothes were neither torn nor even dirty.
By the time Scabbs and Arliana returned after dropping the beam in the cart, the rest of the gang had pulled the body free from the pile and laid it flat on the ground. Wild, frizzy hair topped a drawn, lined face. The clothes were definitely gang-issue, consisting of a leather coat and trousers and large boots.
‘Hmmph, said Ander, for the moment forgetting that his slaves had stopped working. ‘Not one of my men.’ He called for Grondle to come over. ‘This one of your workers from the earlier accidents?’
Grondle scratched his beard as he stared at the body. He looked over at the hole from where the workers had pulled the body, and shook his head. ‘No. Never seen this one before,’ he said. ‘And we never worked in this area before this morning. Gotta be old. Really old.’
Ander shook his head. ‘It’s got to be recent,’ he said. ‘It’s not even decomposed. I’ve seen old bodies. They look bad. They smell worse.’
Scabbs snapped his fingers. ‘That’s it,’ he said before his mind stopped his mouth.
The whip didn’t come though. ‘That’s what?’ asked Grondle. He grabbed Ander’s arm, which had raised up with the whip.
Scabbs looked at the two of them, trying to figure out which one was really in charge. He shrugged and said, ‘The smell. It’s all wrong. He’s dead alright. I’d guess ten maybe twenty years based on the staleness of the clothes.’
He picked up steam as Grondle and Ander leaned in to listen. ‘But the body itself has no odour,’ continued Scabbs. ‘No decay. No rot. It’s perfectly preserved, like it’s been kept in a vacuum all this time. But space would have done other things, bad things, to the body. It would be a mess. I can’t explain it. It’s weird. It’s…’
‘A miracle,’ whispered Arliana. She dropped to her knees and bowed in front of the body.
The word spread across the entire gang like a wave. Soon, the entire chain gang had bowed in a ring around the body. Some muttered prayers. Others reached out to touch the miracle body. Scabbs looked at Ander, wondering how the nasty Orlock would react. Ander looked at Grondle, perhaps seeking guidance.
Grondle slapped his hand against his forehead. ‘Helmawr’s rump,’ he muttered. ‘Guilder Tavis won’t like this.’
Kal’s torture had gone on for hours with precious few breaks. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt so swollen that he kept gagging on it. He had vomited twice as far as he could remember, and his lips had cracked from the stomach acid he’d expelled. He could no longer feel his shoulders, which was a blessing. His back and legs, on the other hand, felt like someone had built a fire on him, using his skin as kindling.
Crimson had returned every so often to pace around him and preach at him. He would step out of the dark into the pool of light around where Kal hung, and smile his gruesome smile. He would then pace around, preaching. Crimson had given up asking questions once he realised that Kal knew little about the whereabouts of Jobe Francks.
Kal had eventually promised to kill Francks for Crimson, but somehow the crazy preacher realised Kal was lying. ‘That is your problem, Kal Jerico,’ said Crimson at the time. ‘You kill for profit, but never for principle. Heretic.’
‘I kill… only when needed,’ said Kal. ‘Only when my life… depends upon it.’ He found the strength to raise his head and looked Crimson in the eye. ‘I’d kill you now… if I thought it would… shut you up.’
Snap.
And the beatings continued. The torturer was quite skilled. He only worked an area as long as the body could handle and then moved on. Kal’s pain radiated from head to toe, but he had only passed out twice – at least as far as he could remember.
And so the night wore on, with Crimson pacing around the pool of light, extolling the virt
ues of fiery redemption. Kal almost wished for that release or, failing that, the chance to kill Crimson and stop his incessant sermon. Anything had to be better than listening to this madman for another minute.
‘Your body and soul will burn away,’ intoned Cardinal Crimson. ‘The heretic Kal Jerico will be consumed, but only in consumption can a soul find redemption…’
Lights blazed on all around Kal and Crimson, bringing the sermon to a halt – for the moment.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ screamed Crimson. His head turned back and forth as he scanned the chamber. ‘Who intrudes on this holy inquisition?’
‘I am terribly sorry, your eminence,’ came the reply from behind Kal. He thought he recognised the slightly nasal voice.
‘What is it, Ralan?’ asked Crimson. A look that Kal could only guess was a scowl crossed the Cardinal’s face. It was hard to tell without lips, but the patches of skin on his cheeks and forehead wrinkled and his teeth grated together.
‘There has been some news on that, ahem, that other matter. Bad news, I’m afraid.’
Crimson snapped his fingers, which sounded like rocks breaking, and then curled his bony finger to motion the speaker over. The deacon who had commanded Crimson’s guards during Kal’s capture walked into view. The two of them huddled together and began talking in low voices.
Kal tried to listen, but only heard a few whispered words: ‘body… dome… Tavis.’ As Ralan gave his hushed report, Crimson’s face got redder and redder. It was an odd sight as the patches of skin stood out like velvet against the white teeth and exposed skull.
‘What am I paying these people for?’ he screamed at last and stormed off. The last thing Kal heard was, ‘Check back with Bitten…’
With Crimson gone, the torturer must have decided to take a break, because Kal heard him move off as well, leaving Kal alone – with the lights on. He scanned his surroundings, looking for a way out. He was hanging above a rocky dais in a huge cavern. Bubbling pools of acid or waste or something worse dotted the chamber below. To one side, a path led from the floor of the chamber up along the wall to an exit high above. He could also see other exits in the far wall beyond the pools.
There must be at least one more way out behind him, Kal reasoned, as Crimson and Ralan had just left in that direction. As he glanced around the room, something metallic glinted in the light, catching his eye. He searched for the source and saw it again, near the upper exit.
He turned to get a better look and saw Bobo stick his head out of a shadow and wave. Then he was gone. Kal smiled to himself. He might get out of this alive after all.
7: UNEARTHLY TROUBLE
‘Move it along, slave.’ A hand grabbed Scabbs by the arm and pulled him away from the miracle body. ‘Come with me. Now!’
The voice sounded familiar yet strange. As he stumbled away from the crowd of worshippers, Scabbs looked into the face of the guard. Then he looked again. ‘Yolanda?’ he asked.
‘Shush, stupid,’ hissed Yolanda. Then, louder, ‘Back to work.’
She pulled him toward the carts, which had been abandoned as soon as the body was discovered. ‘Move that cart,’ she commanded.
Scabbs looked at the cart. It was full of debris and had the iron beam he and Arliana had hauled off the body. ‘Can’t I move that one instead?’ he whined, pointing at a half-full cart behind it.
Yolanda slapped him across the face. ‘Move it!’
Scabbs rubbed his cheek and then grabbed the handles of the full cart. Leaning into it, he shoved with all his strength and the cart moved a few centimetres. ‘Don’t get lost in the part,’ he said with a grunt.
Yolanda smiled. ‘Good to see you, too,’ she replied softly. ‘Follow me,’ she commanded out loud.
Scabbs put his head down and strained against the cart. The cart rolled forward, gaining a little momentum. It was tough going, but he was okay as long as he kept it going. He followed Yolanda, who headed toward the dome entrance, and the Guilder guards.
‘Taking this cart out to dump,’ she said to the guards as they approached.
‘Slaves don’t leave,’ said one of the guards. ‘Grondle’s orders.’
Scabbs’s heart sank, but Yolanda replied quickly.
‘Grondle told me to get this cart out of the dome.’
The guards looked at each other. One shrugged, but the one who had spoken wasn’t so easily swayed. ‘Then have Grondle come tell me that,’ he said. ‘Otherwise he stays.’
Scabbs looked at Yolanda to see what she would try next. Her hands strayed toward her holsters. He decided to duck under the cart if she started shooting. It wouldn’t be necessary; Yolanda turned and grabbed Scabbs by the arm. ‘Come with me,’ she said. ‘We’ll go get Grondle.’
Scabbs gave a pleading look to Yolanda. He wanted to get out of there. Why didn’t she fight? His unasked question was answered as Yolanda pulled him away from the door and they passed four more Guilder guards marching toward the door.
As they walked back toward the carts, Yolanda said, ‘We’re going to need a diversion. There are just too many guards, and I don’t relish taking on Guilders. They have a bad habit of putting people in slaver camps.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Scabbs.
She ignored his remark. ‘And I’m going to need help to get you out of here,’ she said.
‘Where’s Kal?’ asked Scabbs.
‘Jerico is MIA,’ she replied. ‘We’re on our own again.’ They stopped walking halfway between the entrance guards and the carts. ‘Look, you stay here while I go find help. Start a diversion if you can.’
Scabbs didn’t like this plan and said so. ‘I’ve been chained, whipped and driven to exhaustion. Get me out of here.’
Yolanda slapped him again. ‘Do as I say, slave,’ she said.
He looked up into Yolanda’s fiery eyes. She didn’t seem to be role acting anymore. ‘What kind of diversion?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Start a slave revolt.’
Scabbs glanced back at the crowd around the miracle body. It had grown substantially larger since they had left for the carts. ‘I can do that,’ he said.
Yolanda gave him a kick in the rump and headed back toward the entrance. Scabbs watched her go. She spoke to the guards for a moment and then one of them spun the wheel to open the door. Yolanda grabbed the cart and shoved it forward. Scabbs got an odd feeling of satisfaction watching her strain to move it through the door.
‘Hey,’ said Kal. It came out as barely more than a whisper. He coughed and spit some bloody phlegm onto the cavern floor. ‘Hey,’ he called a little louder this time. ‘Come here. I’m ready to talk.’
He heard the torturer scramble to his feet behind him and then the sound of footsteps. The man came around in front of Kal. He was tall and lanky, not the squat, thick-armed brute Kal had expected. His close-cropped hair made his head look like a fuzzy melon. A half-smoked tox stick hung from his lips. He was almost comical looking, but the welts and cuts on Kal’s backs and legs kept him from laughing.
‘Whaddaya want?’ asked the torturer. The tox stick bobbed up and down as he spoke.
Kal forced himself to stare directly at the man’s eyes as he spoke. ‘Drink of water?’ he asked.
‘Only if Crimson orders it,’ he replied. The torturer turned to leave.
‘How about…’ Kal coughed a few times and then spat another wad of phlegm on the floor, just barely missing the man’s boots. ‘Tox stick?’ he finished. ‘Crimson can’t argue… with putting fire in… my mouth.’
He tried to give the torturer his best puppy eyes but with only Wotan as a guide, he wasn’t sure how effective it would be.
The torturer shrugged and pulled the stick from his lips and put it between Kal’s. The ash on the end was longer than the stick, but Kal hadn’t really wanted it anyway. He just needed to buy a little more time.
‘One more thing,’ said Kal.
‘What is it?’
‘Goodbye.’
&n
bsp; Kal wrapped his numb hands around the chain holding his wrists and pulled himself up. At the same time, he lifted his knees and kicked out. His feet struck the man in the stomach, doubling him over and sending him stumbling back toward the edge of the dais.
Before he could regain his balance, the tall man’s legs were swept out from underneath him by a smooth roundhouse kick. He fell over backwards, screaming, right into the bubbling pool below the dais.
‘Nice kick,’ said Kal.
‘You too,’ replied Bobo. ‘Didn’t think you still had it in you.’
‘I’m stronger than I look,’ said Kal.
They looked at each other for a moment. ‘Want to get me down from here?’ asked Kal.
‘Huh,’ said Bobo. ‘I thought you could do it yourself.’
He walked behind Kal and a moment later, Kal felt himself falling to the floor. He crumpled to his knees and hugged his shoulders, kneading them with his fingers to massage some feeling back into them.
‘Found these,’ said Bobo. ‘Thought you might want them back.’ He dropped a pile of clothes and weapons on the floor next to Kal. ‘Can you walk?’
‘If not, I’ll crawl,’ he said as he grabbed his trousers.
‘And if you can’t crawl, I’ll carry you,’ said Bobo with a laugh. ‘Yeah, I know that old adage.’
Kal looked up at the small and wiry spy as he pulled on his clothes. Bobo was maybe a metre-and-half tall and his arms looked like twigs. ‘You’ll carry me?’ said Kal. ‘That I’d like to see.’
‘Okay, maybe drag is a better word,’ said Bobo with a smirk. ‘Up to you. Walk or drag. But do it quick.’ He glanced around the chamber.
Kal winced as he slipped his arms into the sleeves of his leather coat. He then picked up his pearl-handled laspistols and tested the weight in his hands. The muscles ached with the strain, but it would do. He twirled them both once and slipped them into the holster.
Next came the real test, though. He pulled one foot under him and tried to stand. The leather trousers rasped against his raw legs, but the muscles responded just fine. Kal gritted his teeth against the pain and rose to his feet. Standing with one foot slightly in front of the other, he flipped his collar with a flourish.
Cardinal Crimson Page 14
