“We could sell them.” suggested the other soldier. “We could sell them to Garrot and Karver. I hear they buy most of the kids from the orphanage anyway. Takes them over to Valdasia and sells ‘em. They pay good for young kids over there. Especially the baby. They’re in town right now, too.”
“Wait, what’s that?” asked the third guard, wagging his weapon barrel at the floor.
Rook’s eyes darted and saw the copper ingot on the floor near all the tools. Rook knew now that any chance he had of them changing their mind and letting them live had just ended. They’d surely kill him for something as valuable as solid copper.
The lead guard walked over and kicked it. “I…I think it’s gold!”
“That ain’t gold,” said one of the other guards. “Looks like copper. Pick it up.”
The guard knelt, laying his heavy gun on the floor, and picked up the three ingots. He stood up, puzzling over them.
“Well, what are they?” asked the other guard.
“Looks like some metal bars or something. And a bunch of old tools.”
“This one’s got writing on it,” said the guard, flipping the steel ingot around. “And a picture of a dragon or something.”
“Words?” asked one of the guards. “You mean like in the bible that Tarask reads in the church?”
“Yeah, words,” said the guard, bouncing the steel ingot in his hand. “This thing weighs like five pounds.” He looked down at the two copper ones. “I bet these are solid copper.”
The other guards rushed over and huddled around, each trying to get a good look at the ingots.
“What the fuck are they for?” asked one of the guards. He and the third guard slung their weapons over their shoulders now, all three of them pawing at the things and marveling at the bars of shiny metal.
“What do you think it says?” asked one of the guards, pawing at the steel bar. He traced his fingers over the letters molded into it.
“Who knows,” said the guard holding the copper bars. “But can you imagine having to learn how to read that crap? How the fuck does somebody remember what every one of those things means?”
“How you think the kid got this stuff? You think maybe he can read it?” asked one of the guards.
“How the fuck should I know?” replied the other.
The guard turned around. “Hey kid, how the fuck…” his voice trailed off.
Rook was sobbing and shaking violently as he held the bolt-thrower in his hands. Ursula, wrapped up in her rags, was on the floor behind him crying, but Rook’s attention was on the heft of the weapon he now held and trying to steady the barrel at the guards. The thing weighed a million pounds and he had to rest the handlegrip on his hip and use his other arm to point the barrel. His right hand was around the handle, his little finger pressed on the cold steel of the trigger. He could barely see from the stinging tears in his eyes but thought he might have the gun pointed at the nearest guard’s chest. He wondered how hard he had to squeeze the trigger to make it work, and wondered what would happen if he did manage to make it work.
The guards quickly glanced at each other and then laughed. “Come on kid,” said the guard who Rook had stolen the gun off the floor from. “Give it to me.” He held out his hand and wagged it expectantly.
Something of a cry, something of a scream emanated from Rook’s mouth and he used all his strength to hoist the barrel higher.
The guard laughed. “You can’t even lift that thing. You know what’s gonna happen if you pull that trigger?” The guard took a step toward Rook and held out his hand. “Give me my fucking gun and maybe I won’t—”
The trigger required surprisingly less force than Rook had thought, and truth be told he hadn’t thought he really pulled it. The gun came to life with a deafening and metallic sounding “JINK!” and the muzzle exploded with a fiery blast as it released its terrible bullet. In that same moment the guard’s entire left hip exploded, sending shards of mangled armor and chunks of horrific meat in all directions.
Rook shook his head and sat up from the floor. The force of the blast had thrown him back with the gun landing on top of him. He vaguely heard the two guards shouting and cursing over the terrible screams of their comrade. He got his wits back just in time to see the two guards training their weapons in his direction. Without thought, Rook rocked backward on his butt, using the floor as a lever to raise the bolt-thrower as best he could and squeezed the trigger with all his might. The gun roared to life and Rook felt himself being tossed and turned on the floor as the barrel released a volley of six successive shots: JINK! – JINK! – JINK! – JINK! – JINK! – JINK!
The walls and ceiling around him exploded into showers of ruined plaster and wood. Rook clenched his eyes shut, dropping the weapon from his hand and rolling over on top of Ursula to protect her just as the floor beside him burst apart with a terrible explosion.
Rook didn’t know how long he laid on the floor screaming and sobbing before he realized the gunfire was over. Slowly he got up, half blind from the tears and snot on his face and picked the screaming Ursula up in his arms. He brushed the dust and plaster from her face and held her close, both of them screaming and crying for many long minutes before he became aware that people were slowly peeking in through their broken door.
Rook finally had the wits about him to look around. The three guards were all dead. The first one that he had shot was on the floor in a wide pool of blood, his entire hip and left side a gruesome mess. The second guard lay nearby, his body split into two distinct pieces at the chest, his armor twisted and mangled. The last guard was on the floor convulsing violently. A shot had hit his right side, tearing an horrific chunk from his armor and ribs and removing his entire arm. Rook glanced behind him. The floor near where he had fallen had a crater of splintered wood. One of the guards, or perhaps even a rogue shot from his own weapon, must have hit the area. Rook could only imagine what his own body would look like had that hit him.
“Rook! Rook!” yelled a familiar voice as firm hands shook him by the shoulders. It was Mister Brumal, and he had his bow slung across his back.
Rook could see a flood of hesitant on-lookers creeping into the room, one of them immediately running to a fallen guard and scooping up his bolt-thrower. Mister Brumal’s eldest son, Estival, had already managed to grab one of the guns for himself and stood near his father with the heavy thing slung around his shoulder. It didn’t take long before another stranger grabbed the third and final bolt-thrower from the floor.
“Rook, what happened?” asked Mister Brumal, shaking Rook by the shoulders again. “Come on boy, tell me what happened.”
It took Rook a moment to get his convulsive sobs under control before he was able to croak out, “They were looking for you.”
Mister Brumal frowned. “Your mother, boy, where is she?”
Rook slowly pointed across the room.
Mister Brumal craned his neck around to see where Rook was pointing. He closed his eyes tightly and nodded softly. He stood up and patted Rook on the shoulder.
“Dad!” hissed Estival, tugging on his father’s raggedy shirt. “Guards are coming!”
There was a sudden commotion in the room as some people fled the house while others ducked or scampered into other rooms. From outside Rook could hear the shouts of guards and their steel boots clanking on the ground as they came running. No doubt the sound of all those bolt-thrower blasts had drawn their attention.
Mister Brumal took the bolt-thrower from his son and handed Estival the bow. The other two men who had snatched up the weapons stood nearby. “I say we stand and fight!” growled Mister Brumal. “Let’s make a stand!”
There was some mutterings and mumblings in the room. The two armed men looked at Mister Brumal and nodded.
The clanking of the guards was getting closer now and the three men with guns crouched by the door and were whispering amongst each other. Estival notched a crude arrow into the bow and sunk into the shadows of a far corner.
&
nbsp; Now that silence had fallen upon the house Rook again became aware of Ursula’s bawling. He tried rebundling the scarf about her but at this point she was inconsolable. Rook knew she was hungry and probably wanted momma. Rook chanced a glance back toward the window, dark now that dusk had fallen, and had a final, stupid hope that maybe—just maybe—momma really hadn’t died. But there, stiff and slumped in an awkward position that made her death seem all the more real and terrible was her corpse. Dust and debris from the gunfire now covered her and her dark hair was white with powdered plaster.
“Shut that baby up!” hissed one of the men from the shadows of the doorway. He was scowling at Rook and frantically waving his arm.
Heart racing now, Rook clenched Ursula tight to his chest and ran around the corner into the kitchen. There was a man there and he was riffling through all the kitchen cupboards. All of the drawers had been pulled out, their meager contents dumped unceremoniously upon the dirty floor. As Rook entered, the thief paused his looting and looked at him. His blue eyes were like cold sapphires and his long black hair framed his cadaverous, sunken face. Garbed in tight leather as dark as shadows, the tall man stood like a menacing vampire in the darkened kitchen. His lips, slender and blood red, quivered and then curled into a frightening smile.
Rook froze, Ursula’s bawling dampening in his chest. He knew of this man. His name was Rennic Finn. He was a foreigner, originally from Penatallia was the rumor. He didn’t have the typical last name of Gatimarian that was forced upon all citizens of Jerusa, and his first name wasn’t derived from something found in Jerusa. He was a snitch and a thief. People didn’t speak to him, and spoke less amongst themselves when he was around. He was always creeping in the shadows around town; watching people from afar when they were working the fields. At social gatherings he was always off in the distance, watching with those cold blue eyes and smiling with those red, worm-like lips. Rennic was in good with the Oracles and Sin Eaters and all of the city guard. It showed too, for Rennic’s black outfit was not the tattered rags most people of the city wore, and his body was slender, lean and muscular rather than malnourished.
He looked down at Rook with those cold blue eyes and his lips furled into a perverse smile. He held a few rusty forks and spoons in his pale hands, the only things in the kitchen even remotely worth taking.
Rook’s brow furled. “Those are ours!”
Rennic slowly raised a long white finger to his lips, his jaw bobbing slightly as he hissed out a series of “Shh – shh – shh – shh – shh.” All the while his large, cold eyes were fixed on Ursula. He reached out to touch her head with those long, pale fingers when the unmistakable pounding of bolt-throwers erupted from the other room.
Rook nearly jumped out of his tattered shoes by the sudden uproar. Men were shouting and screaming. He could hear Mister Brumal’s voice barking something at his son. From outside he could hear the commotion of guards too. There were screams—blood curdling screams—and now more metallic pounding of bolt-throwers.
Rook flinched as he felt cold, slender fingers wrap gently around the base of his neck. He felt Rennic’s warm breath from behind, and the man’s raspy voice filled his right ear. “Listen with me to the sounds of death.”
Rook tore himself from the man’s grasp and turned around, clutching the bawling Ursula to his chest. Rennic was crouched and staring at him with those menacing blue eyes. His red lips stretched into a grin and he extended a finger, slowly curling it in a few times, urging Rook back to him.
Rook shook his head and began to back out of the room when suddenly the wall next to him exploded. Rook’s eyes reflexively locked shut as he felt a shower of plaster and wood hit his face. In the next instant he was slammed into the wall or maybe the floor, but he knew he was definitely now laying on his back, Ursula on top of him screaming.
The hammering of bolt-throwers continued and Rook heard another terrible explosion at his back. Heavy chunks of wall fell upon him and Rook desperately struggled to roll Ursula beneath him. He didn’t dare open his eyes, but he felt the unmistakable rush of cool evening air upon his face as chunks of wall came raining down.
There were more bolt-thrower blasts, and a cacophony of screams and shouts came from inside and out. Rook pressed himself into the debris upon the floor, desperate to keep Ursula beneath him and out of potential harm. Suddenly he had a sensation of being lifted by the collar. He chanced cracking his eyes open and saw Rennic Finn looming over him, those icy eyes gazing at him, those worm-like lips smiling down on him.
“I’ll show you the way,” he said in a manner so softly and calmly that it belied the strength with which he hoisted Rook to his feet.
The outer wall next to him had been blown wide open, leaving a handy escape way into the shadows of the dark alleys. Rook held his screaming sister to his chest and Rennic dragged him like a ragdoll out into the cool of night. Toward the front of the house came shouts of men and through the smoke and debris Rook could see that there were many dead guards out in the streets, and that many civilians now had bolt-throwers in their hands. Some were crouched and firing loud blasts down the street, others ran to and fro. Rook’s eyes desperately sought Mister Brumal or anybody else he knew and he began to yell for help. That’s when Rennic’s arm caught him under the chin, firmly holding his jaw shut, and Rook was dragged off into the alleys.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
It was late when Rook found himself in Rennic’s home. At least, he assumed it was late. Rennic had taken him and Ursula into the sewers, leading them down darksome, reeking tunnels that left his tattered shoes and ends of his pants wet with cold, fetid water. Shafts of moonlight streaming from drainages in the street had guided them and all Rook could discern of their heading was that they were going away from the fighting. The screams and shouts and pounding of bolt-throwers had slowly faded until there was nothing but the sound of dripping water and their feet trudging through the muck.
After what seemed long miles Rennic led them up a rusty ladder cleverly hidden within a forgotten alcove of the sewers. A locked portal at the top exited into a windowless, brick room that Rook could only assume was part of Rennic’s home. He also assumed it must be someplace beyond the church where the large, warmly lit houses of the clergy, nobles and public officials stood. The bricks of this room were in far too good of condition, and the room far too warm to be any place else in the city.
A door on the far side of the room was hanging open, and beyond Rook could see a large fire blazing in the gas fireplace. He caught a tantalizing glimpse of plush furniture and he could detect the faint, delicious, aroma of meat and herbs cooking. It was a smell Rook had never been truly familiar with, but it set his mouth watering. It was then that Ursula began crying again, and Rook held her to his chest, cradling her in his arms.
Rennic shut the hatch in the floor and locked it, and a rough voice from beyond the open door rumbled out. “Rennic? Rennic, that you?”
As Rennic stood up from the hatch a chubby man in a fine, green tunic and black breeches shuffled into the room. Around his neck were a number of heavy, golden necklaces. He was holding a gleaming, polished sword lazily in one hand. His hair was black, curly and unkempt, as was his beard. His eyes were dark and beady, the left one sagged and stared at Rook slightly askew.
Rook’s brow furled at the man’s sight…and smell. He reeked of sour body odor and his breath was fetid, even at this distance and even above the reek of sewage that still clung to the cuffs of Rook’s pants.
“Ah, what’s this?” said the man, his voice rough and slightly slurred. He lowered his sword. His good eye shifted from Rook to Ursula, the lazy one just bobbing slightly. Rook noticed that the man’s fingers were all laden with jeweled rings.
“I found them.” said Rennic, his red lips turning up in a smile.
The man looked at Rennic doubtfully. He huffed. From outside there was a distant, muted yell. The sound of bolt-throwers could be heard, faint but certain. “Find lots
in this commotion, Rennic.”
“Twenty gold crowns for the pair,” said Rennic. He stroked Rook’s hair and Rook tore himself away. “Twenty crowns.”
The fat man rumbled something in his throat and eyed Rook and Ursula more appraisingly. “They’re no good to me if parents are around and come looking for them.”
“Oh, they’re dead.” said Rennic softly. His grotesque red lips curled up in a huge smile. “Dead dead dead dead.” he whispered.
The fat man pursed his lips and took a step forward and grabbed Rook by his chin, forcing his face up, twisting his head from side to side. The man’s huge nostrils flared with each heavy, stinking breath. Rook tried to keep Ursula as close to his chest as he could, and her screams began to grow louder.
“He’s fair,” said Rennic. He looked at Rook and gave a little wink. “A fair, innocent child. Ripe fruit for a lucky noble. And the babe…oh that sweet, little babe. She’ll make some weeping mother in Valdasia very happy.”
The fat man grumbled something under his breath and went to take Ursula from Rook’s arms but Rook tore away with a yell.
“Garrot!” there was a shout from somewhere else in the house. “Garrot! Who’re you talking to?”
Another man came into the room. He wore a bronze-colored tunic and black pants, and like the other man, was adorned with a number of golden necklaces and his fingers all bore jeweled rings. He was not quite as fat as the other, but his hair was just as dark, his eyes just as beady if more focused. He did not carry the same stench as the other man and something about him commanded more authority and respect. Rook thought the two were very likely brothers, and this the elder.
“Rennic brought us a couple kids,” rumbled the first man, not taking his eyes off Rook and Ursula. “Wants twenty crowns for the pair. What you think, Karver?”
The Record of the Saints Caliber Page 17
