by Brom Kearne
23
“That was incredible,” said one of the two gang members that was helping Thorn back to the cage. “Do you have any idea what you did? That was Tom Marron. Tom. Marron. He’s the guy Court Raleigh puts out there when he really wants someone to die. I’ve never seen him lose a fight before.”
“Neither have I,” said the other one, “and I’ve been here longer than you have.”
When they reached the cage they helped Thorn inside. He was moving very stiffly and was in great pain. Thorn sucked air as he bent over to get inside, as doubling up his torso produced a fresh burst of fire in his chest.
“He really did a number on you out there,” said the first gang member. “It didn’t look like he got in that many punches.”
“No,” Thorn said. His voice was raspy and sore from being strangled. “They beat me before the match. Didn’t want me to win.”
He lifted his shirt and showed them the bruises. Both young men recoiled from the sight of the ugly purple discoloration all over Thorn’s torso.
“What the . . . ?”
“They did this to you before the fight? I thought everyone was given the chance to fight for their lives in there.”
“It’s all rigged,” Thorn said. He had lowered himself into the cage and let out a long slow breath as he leaned against the bars. “Everything. When you fought as a prospect to gain entry to the gang, wasn’t your opponent just a little too easy?”
The gang members exchanged glances.
“We shouldn’t be talking about this,” the second one said.
“I remember,” said the other. “I punched him in the chest and he went down. I always thought it was kind of funny, that a punch could take someone down like that. It wasn’t even that strong of a punch, really.”
“It’s all a lie,” Thorn said. “The whole thing. You know he’s going to sacrifice all of you against the trade caravan tomorrow, right? There’s no way you can take down a trade caravan.”
“I’m sure Court Raleigh has a plan,” said the second gang member.
“I’m sure. Tell me how you’re going to do it without guns.”
“He’s got lots of guns. More than we’d ever need.”
“So why won’t he let you have them? Why does he keep them locked away and only in the hands of his most trusted people? Doesn’t sound like he has much confidence in you.”
The gang members exchanged glances again, and their faces betrayed the doubt that Thorn had been hoping to plant.
“Come on,” said the second gang member. “If Court Raleigh knew we were talking like this he’d have us beaten.”
“I probably shouldn’t do this,” said the first gang member, lingering behind as the other one tried to lead him away, “but some of the guys take this stuff when we get flogged, or when we crash while racing or jousting. It probably won’t do much on injuries like yours, but maybe it’ll take the edge off the pain, right?”
He produced a small vial of clear oily liquid.
“Don’t do that,” said the other gang member. “Come on, man, he’ll have us both beaten for this.”
“He won’t if he doesn’t know about it.”
He held it out to Thorn, who snatched the vial and drank the whole thing in one swig. The gang member tried to stop him, saying that he only needed a small sip, but Thorn was too quick and too glutinous.
“We need to get out of here,” said the second gang member, and his tone conveyed enough of a sense of panic that the first one finally listened to him. He took the vial back and they disappeared around the tents, heading back to the celebration that Court Raleigh had ordered.
Thorn grinned as the analgesic began working its way through his body. He didn’t know what it was and he didn’t care. It made him feel like he wasn’t about to pass out from pain, and that was a good thing. What’s more, he had gotten them talking and questioning the leadership. Before the hour he expected the rumors and doubt he had planted to have spread throughout the camp.
Court Raleigh was very much aware that Thorn had weakened him in the eyes of his gang. He ordered a huge celebration with drinking, smoking, racing, and jousting that was to last long into the night. He publicly stated that they were to celebrate the removal of weakness from their gang. It was all a circus to divert attention from what had happened, but it was necessary if he was to try and reassert control and dominance. He stood on his throne looking regal and menacing as he presided over the dune bike races and gave praise to the winners.
Despite the pain he had been in when they helped him back to his cage, Thorn had managed to pocket a knife off one of the gang members who had helped him. He was going to try and use it to escape the confines of his cage, but as of the moment there was far too much activity for him to attempt to do anything. And he was too exhausted to try. That analgesic made him very drowsy, and before he knew it he was asleep.
He woke a few hours later, as if prompted by an unconscious part of his mind that had set an internal alarm, and which knew that he had very important things he needed to do. He was groggy and consciousness was slow in coming. When he could open his eyes and focus on his surroundings, Thorn found that the bonfires were still blazing even though most of the Amber Bones had gone to bed. He could hear a few dune bikes still running their engines. The sudden, short bursts of acceleration indicated that they were either jousting or drag racing.
Thorn stretched as best he could in the confines of the cage. He was stiff, but that oily liquid had taken the sharp edge off the pain, and he was able to breathe freely. Thorn knew that it was an artificial respite and that his body was not healed, but at least he could function. More than anything Thorn wanted out of this cage. He was claustrophobic to begin with, and the confinement had channeled his mind to go to dark places. He was fighting to keep focused on the present, and not to allow himself to get mired in the despair-filled memories of his childhood.
Since most of the gang had gone to bed, Thorn could work on trying to free himself from the cage. The blade was too flimsy to be able to pry out the hinge pins from the door, but Thorn was able to reach around and poke at the lock with it. The cage was built for containing livestock and not humans, so the lock wasn’t terribly complex. But it was at a difficult angle to reach, and the contortions necessary to do so caused pain in his chest.
Listening carefully with his ear pressed against the back of the lock, Thorn prodded the mechanism. He was feeling around inside to see if it would even be possible to pick this lock without having something he could use as a tension wrench.
As he was holding his breath so he could listen and gauge how many pins there were, Thorn was startled by light footsteps coming down the row. He closed the pocket knife and lay back in the cage, pretending to be asleep. He kept an eye cracked so he could see who was coming.
Scott Tanning crouched by the side of the cage, looking furtively one way then another before whispering, “Are you asleep?”
Thorn popped his eyes open and sighed. “No, I’m busy. Go away.”
He pulled the pocket knife back out and began trying to pick the lock again.
“Wow, you were really great out there,” Scott said. Gone were the tears and the fearful uncertainty that he had exhibited the night before. He was actually smiling. “I mean, it was incredible. No one’s ever beaten one of Court Raleigh’s men. He holds them up as mini tyrants over us. Everyone’s scared to death of them. And you beat him! I mean, at first it looked like you were going to get your butt kicked, and he was on top of you, strangling you, but then you were like, you put your legs up and strangled him with your feet, and you were strangling each other, and then he gave up!”
“I know; I was there.”
“And then Court Raleigh was like, ‘Kill him,’ and you were like, ‘Why don’t you come down here?’”
“Listen, kid, I know it’s exciting, but picking this lock isn’t easy. I need to be able to concentrate.”
“No, you don’t understand. You don’t understand how huge this is.
People are talking. About Court Raleigh, I mean. He’s still out there right now, standing on his throne so everyone can see him, but you really shook him, and you shook everyone’s obedience to him. And they’re saying that . . . that the fights are rigged. Do you really have bruises from where they beat you?”
Thorn gave up trying to pick the lock. He couldn’t hear the pins over Scott’s effusive prattling. He lifted his shirt enough for Scott to see some of the bruises on his chest and abdomen. Scott sucked air.
“That’s what they were going to do to me, isn’t it? They don’t want me to be part of their gang. I can tell. They think I’m too weak.”
“They don’t want the strong ones. They want the ones that are easily molded.”
“Here, I brought you this,” Scott said. He dug in his front pocket and came out with a thin but strong piece of metal.
Thorn grinned as he took it. “This looks perfect.”
“I got it from one of the bikes that crashed during the jousting tonight. They make us, the prospects, I mean, clean the track whenever someone crashes. I pried it from the fender when no one was looking.”
Thorn reached around the corner of the cage, one arm out the front and one arm out the side, and found the hinge pins with his thumbs. He worked the strip of metal under the top one. It was wedged in there tightly and he could only pry it a tiny bit at a time, first on one side then on the other. It would take a little while and the work was tedious, but it offered his best chance of escape. It was certainly easier than trying to pick the lock with a pocket knife.
Scott drew in air to begin talking again but Thorn cut him off before he could start. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they keep the guns, would you?”
“I don’t know where they’re keeping the guns,” Scott said. “Nobody does. Only Court Raleigh’s personal guard. They’re the only ones who have them. Even the regular members don’t get to carry a gun. But he has a cave. Court Raleigh, I mean. It’s behind his tent. No one is allowed to go in there, on pain of death. Every once in a while a prospect goes in there and they have him killed in the pit. He would kill me if he knew what I was doing right now. But I think that’s where they might be. And they’ve got us working, a lot, getting prepared for tomorrow. They say the revolution starts tomorrow, but no one really knows what that means. They’re all pumped up for it, but they have no idea what they’re doing. A lot of the gang thinks it means they’ll finally get their hands on a gun, but I don’t know. It scares me.”
“I think Court Raleigh wants you to attack a trade caravan,” Thorn said. He was sporting a light sweat on his forehead as he slowly worked the top hinge pin out. It was showing over two inches of bright silver.
“A . . . trade caravan? I’ve heard rumors but I didn’t believe them. Can he really expect us to take down a trade caravan?”
Thorn finally got the hinge pin to the point that he could pull it out the rest of the way. It fell to the sand.
“The Browning Trade Caravan is coming through Webster Grove tomorrow evening. Court Raleigh wants you to attack it.”
“But that’s suicide. I know the gang has stolen a lot of guns but they don’t have nearly the firepower that a trade caravan has.” Scott’s face had gone pale. “I . . . need to get back. I’ve been gone too long. I need to get back or they’ll give me lashes.”
Scott scurried away before Thorn had time to utter another word. Thorn grinned before setting himself to work on the bottom pin. He had saved it for last because it was more difficult to get to. He found that if he lay upside down with his arms through the cage he could reach it more easily. This required his legs to press against his diaphragm and constrict his breathing, which was already shallow and painful enough. It made him claustrophobic, but he had a real need to get out of here, so he suffered the discomfort. Working on this pin reminded him of the many hours he’d spent under his buggy back home, turning wrenches on bolts in some hard to reach locations. Mostly, however, he was thinking of Rich Tanning. He had seen some of him in Scott’s face just now, when he was gushing about Thorn’s fight. It was the same excited gleam in his eyes as when Rich was gushing about a new buggy project.
Thorn had to get out of here and do what he could to get Scott back home, and not just for the reward.
Despite the contorted position necessary to pry the pin out, Thorn found that the bottom one came more easily. It wasn’t long before it fell to the sand below. Thorn righted himself before squeezing through the gap. He took a deep breath once he was on his feet. He was covered in a light sweat that was already beginning to chill in the night air.
The bonfires had burned down from the blazing pyres they had been earlier in the night. Their orange glow provided ample shadows for Thorn to creep around without being seen. Most of the gang members were asleep or passed out by now in their tents or roll sacks around the fires. Thorn made his way towards Court Raleigh’s large tent and the cave beyond it. A bonfire was between him and his goal, so he had to pick his way around it carefully, going nearly to the outskirts of the camp so as to remain in shadows. He started at every noise. Ordinarily he would never have exercised such caution, as Thorn was not usually one for subtly, but he was in no condition to fight anyone. If he was discovered, he would almost certainly be put to death.
Court Raleigh was still standing on his throne, with Melina Bann and David Scontz standing alongside him. Court’s unnerving amber eyes scanned the tent city before him like a king surveying his kingdom. Those gang members who were still awake were gathered further down in the bowl around the jousting track. Their short bursts of acceleration reverberated up the sloped walls, and the winners were given special commendations by Court Raleigh himself.
Thorn had to go far around, where the shadows were longest and the air was chilled and untouched by the warmth of the bonfires, in his approach to the cave. It was under a rocky outcropping which provided partial shelter to Court Raleigh’s tent, and it was pitch black inside. Thorn stepped carefully, feeling along the wall for guidance. The wall was unnaturally smooth, as though the cave had been bored out. Compression rifles, such as the one that Thorn had been given to use against the Amber Bones, utilized focused sound waves to break rock. Usually they were used to carve roads out of the more stubborn landscape, but they could just as easily carve a cave, or expand the passage of an existing cave to make it easier to walk or pull a wagon through. Thorn’s fingertips felt the telltale wave patterns in the rock as he slowly made his way into the inky blackness.
The floor was, thankfully, made of rock, so he did not need to worry about leaving behind footprints to tell of his clandestine excursion. As soon as this thought had occurred to him, Thorn felt a tug against his foot when he attempted to step. It felt as though something had, for an instant, provided tension against his progress, but broke before he could realize what had happened. A tripwire would do exactly that. Thorn closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Nothing he could do about it now. He pressed onwards.
After another fifteen or twenty feet inside the wall fell open on Thorn’s right. The cave was so dark that he couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or not, and feeling his way was an exercise in touch, as his other senses were useless. He followed the curve of the wall until his hand fell on a piece of cold metal attached to the wall. It was about a foot and a half long, slender, with a perforated tube of metal around the top of the cylinder. Thorn recognized it at once as a liquid torch. These weren’t as popular as the cleaner and more convenient piezo torches, which utilized crystals as their power source, but they were the type of light source that Thorn used in his own house. He liked the smell of the burning fuel and the natural flame over the artificial light cast by priming the quartz crystals.
Thorn took it down from the wall and flicked the flint switch. The head blazed at once. Thorn adjusted the wick down a little and held the torch up so he could see the room he was in.
It was a small room bearing the undulating patterns of the compression waves that ha
d carved it out of the rock. A wagon was parked in the middle and covered by a tarp. Thorn lifted the corner to find it was filled with guns. Most of them were sparker pistols and pulse rifles, with a handful of concussion rifles and blue shots mixed in. They had more than enough weapons to arm the entirety of the Amber Bones Gang.
Thorn didn’t have long to admire the assortment of weaponry, as he heard voices echoing down the length of the cave. He quickly replaced the torch on the wall before extinguishing it. He didn’t have a lot of cover in here, and had to roll under the wagon. The after image of the torch made it feel even more difficult to see in the pitch blackness, although soon he could see the light from a torch making its way down the passage. It stopped a little ways up, presumably at the site of the trip wire, as its bearer examined the sign of intrusion.
Thorn climbed on the axel and braced his feet as the torch came around the corner. He recognized Melina Bann’s boots. Accompanying her was David Scontz.
“Someone was in here,” Melina said. “That torch was only recently extinguished.”
“One of the prospects, perhaps?” David asked. “Scott Tanning disappeared for a few minutes while he was supposed to be clearing wreckage.”
Melina knelt and peered under the edge of the wagon. Thorn exhaled slowly and held himself as close to the underside as possible. He only breathed again after she had stood back up.
David Scontz threw back the tarp and did a quick inventory of the guns. “No guns are missing. False alarm, perhaps?”
“The trip wire was broken, and someone had to extinguish that torch,” Melina said sharply, as though she were impatient with such a stupid question that ran contrary to the observed evidence. “Scott Tanning. That’s the young man that Thorn was looking for. I want someone to keep an eye on him. And we’ll put a guard at the cave entrance. Whether he’s involved or not we’ll use Scott as the scape goat and execute him publicly if we find any guns missing. It might be a good idea to do something like that anyway, to keep the morale high.”
“Like you executed Tom yesterday?”
Melina was quick, and the retort of her fist against David’s face reverberated against the cave walls. David staggered.
“Do not speak to me with that tone. You know what happened was unavoidable, and make no mistake but that Thorn will pay the price for forcing us to execute Tom Marron. His death will not be in vain. Now go and do as you’re told.”
“Yes, ma’am,” David said meekly.
The two of them left the cave, taking the halo of light with them.
Thorn dropped and rolled out from under the wagon. The stress on his chest from holding himself to the underside of it had been taking its toll, and he was almost at the point of either dropping or passing out from being unable to breathe.
He wanted to take one of the guns, but he didn’t want to make things worse for Scott if he was going to be blamed for it if one went missing. Plus, Thorn’s experiences with guns over the past few days made him cautious. He had no idea if any of these even worked. He did not want to put himself in a position where a misfire or a low battery were the only things between himself and a painful death.
He crept out of the cave a few minutes later. He was mindful that Melina might have been laying a trap for the intruder, and was waiting at the entrance for him to appear, but he was also mindful that she was going to have a guard posted on the entrance, so if he didn’t leave soon he might not get the chance.
Kneeling in shadow at the entrance of the cave, Thorn scanned the immediate surroundings. It seemed that his first fear was unfounded. Melina was not waiting for him. Thorn wanted badly to have the opportunity to test himself against her. She, above everyone else he had seen in the camp, at least came off as a very competent fighter, which means that she would have had to have learned her technique before she became associated with the gang. But he was in no condition to test himself against her right now. He moved to the corner of the tent and spied Melina speaking with Court Raleigh at his throne. She did most of the speaking, and after a few moments Court stormed away, walking back up towards his tent.
Thorn did not want to pass up this opportunity to spy on the leader of the gang talking candidly with his most trusted advisor. He went around to the back of the tent and opened the pocket knife he had lifted from the gang member earlier. He cut a slit in the fabric and slipped inside.
