by L. S. O'Dea
The Guard, Jackson, entered the room and walked over to the sick, old Guard who was currently on duty. She could mix up some herbs that would get rid of the old Guard’s cough, but why should she? If he died, it was nothing to her. Guards were her enemies.
“Casper, go to bed. I’ll take over,” said Jackson.
“Are you sure?” asked Casper as he stood. “You look like you need to rest.”
She peered at the Guards but could only see Jackson’s back. He’d been limping when he came into the barn.
“I’ll rest in here. I can do both.” He flopped down in the chair. “Tell the other two who were on duty with you to have some breakfast. Your shift is over. Send two more outside to watch the perimeter.”
Casper nodded and left.
Jackson stood and then limped over to her cage, carrying the chair. She held back a gasp. He looked horrible. He’d certainly taken a beating. The closer he got, the worse he looked, his handsome features swollen and bruised almost beyond recognition.
“What happened to you?” She mentally kicked herself. It didn’t matter to her if they all died, the fewer Guards in the world the better.
“Benedictine and I had a disagreement.” He groaned as he sat.
“I gather you lost that argument.” She swallowed and tried to sound disinterested. If the Almighty did this to his own Guards, what was he going to do to her?
“You could say that.” He smiled crookedly and then winced.
Even bruised, he had a nice smile. She had to remember that he was her captor, not her friend. Still, she was curious. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to him. Plus, if she focused on him, she wouldn’t think about her future. “What did you fight about?”
“When he’s in one of his moods, he doesn’t need a reason to be disagreeable.” He paused. “However, this time we didn’t see eye-to-eye over the...handling of the Handler and Tracker.”
“How do you think they should have been handled?” She couldn’t keep the anger and disgust from her voice.
“Honorably. The Handler did his job. Benedictine should have let him leave with the Tracker.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that.
“Jackson.” He extended his hand through the bars of the cage.
She’d never touched a Guard before. The only reason for their existence was to enforce the Almightys’ laws. Still, the polite thing to do would be to shake hands but he was her captor. She didn’t have to be polite, but she couldn’t bring herself to be completely rude. “Trinity,” she said, not moving.
He frowned and withdrew his arm from the cage.
“He’s going to kill them, isn’t he?” she asked.
“Probably. Why do you care?”
“I don’t. I’m just curious.” If they knew that Gaar and Mirra had helped her, were her friends, they might hurt them more.
“Your tone tells a different story.” He smiled smugly and then winced again.
She turned away from him, resting her head on her knees. Obviously, she wasn’t good at disguising her feelings. Just one more failure to place at her door. She sighed, her small frame trembling slightly.
“You seem to be in pretty good shape for a young Producer, all alone in the forest, captured by a Handler.”
The best way to hide her true emotions was not to speak. She raised her head and met his gaze but remained silent.
“When I was first tracking you—”
“Hunting.” Mirra tracked. Guards hunted.
He tipped his head slightly, agreeing to her assessment. “Okay. When I was first hunting you, I was fast on your scent and then nothing. This was at Harbor Point. The only odor I could make out was pine and herb.”
“There are pine trees all over the forest.” She didn’t want them to figure out that the smell had been Mirra. If Mirra could escape, she would need this secret.
“Not in that area. Then, I smelled it again at the Tracker camp right before the wild Tracker appeared.” He scratched his head. “I smelled it somewhere else, but I can’t remember where.”
Would he recall that it was at the Lake of Sins? He hadn’t seen her or Mirra there.
“Jackson? Carla said that you were back here.” Jethro pushed open door and rolled inside.
The Guard headed across the room toward the boy. She moved into the corner. She didn’t want Jethro to see her like this, a caged Producer.
“Your father wouldn’t want you here. You need to go.” Jackson stopped Jethro near the door.
She let out her breath. The Guard would keep Jethro away.
“What happened to you?”
“Nothing,” muttered Jackson.
“That is not nothing,” said Jethro and then his eyes locked on her. “Little One? Is that you?” He pushed past Jackson and wheeled over to her. “What are you doing here? Why are you in a cage?” He faced the Guard. “Let her out.”
She moved forward and grasped the bars.
“You know her? How do you know her?” asked Jackson.
“It doesn’t matter.” Jethro turned toward her, placing his hands over hers on the bars. “I’ll get you out. Don’t worry. Jackson, bring me the keys.”
His hands were rough on her skin, but the contact felt good. Right. He knew all her secrets and wasn’t disgusted or scared. Of course, he still didn’t realize that she was a Producer, but if he could set her free, he’d never need to know. Or at least she didn’t have to see him find out, because once the cage door was open, she was gone.
Jackson stepped over to him, grabbing the wheelchair and yanking. “Tell me how you know her?”
“Let me go,” threatened Jethro.
He removed his hold on the chair. “You need to tell me—”
“We met at the Lake of Sins. She saved my life.”
“The Lake of Sins. That’s where...” Jackson looked at her.
She stared at Jethro, refusing to meet the Guard’s eyes. This was not good. It was clear from the Jackson’s face that he now remembered the other location where he’d caught the scent of pine and herbs. Could she convince him that it had come from her? No. That wouldn’t work. She hadn’t been there when they’d caught Mirra.
“This gets more interesting by the minute,” mumbled Jackson.
This Guard was smart. He was piecing things together. It had to stop.
“Give me the keys?” Jethro held out his hand.
“I can’t. Your father would kill me.” He touched the side of his face.
She couldn’t stop it. Her heart softened for the Guard. If Benedictine beat him that badly for a disagreement, the Almighty would literally kill him for letting her go.
“Dad did that to you?” Realization dawned in Jethro’s eyes.
Jackson didn’t say a word.
“Was he drinking again? That’s not an excuse, but...I’ll talk to him.”
“No,” said Jackson. “Don’t. It’s over.”
“But it isn’t right. He can’t keep doing this,” said Jethro.
So, this was not the first time that Jackson had been beaten. She’d figured as much by the scar on his face. She’d lived a life of captivity and cruelty by the other Producers, but nothing like this. Her end would be brutal, but her life had been pleasant in its own way. Her heart softened even more for the large Guard.
“Let it go. For me,” said Jackson.
“Okay. This time, but not again.” Jethro turned back to her. “Little One—”
“Trinity. That’s my real name.” There was no reason to keep that secret anymore.
“It’s nice. I like it.” Jethro cleared his throat. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise. I just need to tell my father about you.” He glanced at Jackson. “Dad will listen to me.” He wheeled out of the barn.
If Jackson didn’t want Jethro to speak to Benedictine for him, then she doubted that Jethro would have any luck arguing for her, but still, it was kind of him to try. Not many of his class would attempt to help a Producer. She turned to the Guard. “He won’t, will he? Lis
ten to Jethro,” she clarified.
His dark, brown eyes were sad as he shook his head.
CHAPTER 29
BENEDICTINE PACED in his den. Now that he had the Producer and Professor Conguise was on his way over, he was nervous. Surgery for his son was almost in his grasp. Before, he’d accepted that his boy would never walk again, never sire children, but now, the world lay at his son’s feet. This was the pinpoint in time when nothing must go wrong and so much still could.
He’d not discovered why Conguise and Hugh wanted this Producer and her mother, but truthfully, as long as the surgery was successful, he didn’t care. The escape would remain a secret, so he could continue to support his family. More money would have been nice, but he could live his life as he built it. A knock on the door stopped his uneasy thoughts.
“Come in,” he called out.
Jethro wheeled inside the room, leaving the door open behind him.
“Son.” A genuine smile stretched across his face. “The professor is on his way over. You’ll be having your surgery very soon.”
“Dad, I need to speak with you about—”
Hearing the concern in Jethro’s voice, he asked, “Are you worried about the operation? The professor has assured me that it’s safe.”
“It’s not that. It’s, well...if something almost happened to me, something bad and someone saved me, what would you do for that individual?” asked Jethro, rushing his words.
“What happened?” He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“You remember when I went down to the Lake of Sins?”
“Of course, I remember.” He’d been terrified when Martha had told him that Jethro wasn’t at his friend’s house. He kept seeing his son lying in pain somewhere, needing him.
“I was also down there the day before. I...I fell in the lake.”
He leaned against his desk for support. It was worse than he’d imagined. The water there was deep and treacherous. Jethro had never learned how to swim. They’d planned on teaching him when he was young, but then the accident happened and they’d never gotten around to it.
“Someone saved me, risking her own life. I would have drowned if she hadn’t been there.”
His breath caught in his throat. They’d almost lost him. He hugged his son fiercely. “Thank Araldo, you’re all right.” He pulled back and shook Jethro slightly. “That’s why we don’t want you going down there. It’s isolated and dangerous.”
“I know, I know.” Jethro pulled away.
He took a deep breath. Everything was okay, better than okay, actually. He tried to hide his smile. Jethro had found a girlfriend. “Well, who is this girl?”
“She...she’s...”
“Spit it out. Don’t be shy.” He gave up and grinned, grabbing the bourbon bottle from his desk. This called for a celebration. He splashed a small amount of liquor into a glass.
“You’re drinking already? It’s not even lunch yet.”
Jethro had no right to question him. He shot the boy a quick, angry look and then smiled. “You’ll be walking soon, and you’ve met a girl. News like that deserves a little celebration.” He tossed back the liquid and picked up the bottle to refill his glass. Jethro’s eyes bored a hole into his back. He put the bottle down. He’d have another drink later, when the professor arrived. “Go on. Who is this girl? Do you want to invite her over for dinner?”
“She’s already here.”
“Here? Where is she? Has your mother met her? She’ll want to meet her.” He walked toward the door.
“Then you should let her out of the cage,” muttered Jethro.
He stopped. “What did you say?”
“She’s in the barn locked in a cage.” Jethro stared at him defiantly.
That was impossible. “My barn?”
“Yes, Dad. Your barn. You need to let her go.”
He walked back and squatted in front of the boy. “Son, you are mistaken. The only thing in the barn is an escaped Producer. There is no girl there. Who told you this lie?”
“No one told me. I saw her for myself. That Producer is the girl who risked her own life to save mine.”
He staggered to his desk and dropped on the chair. “The Producer? Are you certain?” Their kind had never struck him as brave.
“That she saved my life? Yes. I’ll have to take your word on her being a Producer, since I’ve never seen one before.”
“The one in my barn?” He tried to keep his voice calm.
“Yes, Dad. The girl in your barn.”
“She’s not a girl. She’s a Producer,” he snapped.
“I don’t care what you call her. She saved my life.”
Forget Jethro and his teetotaler attitude. He needed a drink. He poured himself a double and tossed half of it back.
“Dad, you have to let her go. It’s the right thing to do.”
“I can’t.” He stared into the room, seeing nothing. The Producer had saved his son. His conscience implored him to let her go, but he couldn’t.
“Why? Actually, it doesn’t matter. If you can’t let her go, then let her stay here. She can live with us. She’s all alone anyway.”
He shook his head. Anyone else and he would have granted anything for the life of his son, but not her. Not at the price.
There was a hesitant knock. Professor Conguise stood in the open doorway.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” said the professor. “Your wife told me you were in here.”
He stood. “Come in. We’re done.”
“Dad...”
“I can close the door,” the professor said politely. “Your wife is baking something that smells lovely. I’ll wait with her in the kitchen. Share some recipes. Cooking is a bit of a hobby for me.”
“No. Really. We’re finished.” He stared at Jethro and nodded at the door.
Jethro started to leave and then stopped. “I’m sorry, Professor, but I am not done speaking with my father. This is important.”
Jethro knew better than to challenge his authority, especially in front of others. His face heated with anger and embarrassment. “We are not discussing this any further. Things will stay as they are. Please leave.” He practically screamed the last word.
“You can’t keep her locked up like this.” Jethro’s hands grasped the side of his chair, his knuckles white.
“You seem at an impasse,” said the professor calmly. “Perhaps an outside opinion can help. I raised a child of my own. I understand these arguments.”
That was rich. “You are not an outside opinion on this issue.”
The professor looked at him quizzically.
“He wants me to free the Producer. I explained that it is not possible.” He sat back down.
“Ah, I see the problem.” The professor stepped into the room and sat on a chair in front of the desk.
“I don’t.” Jethro’s jaw was tense, his face hard with anger. “Just let her go. What did she ever do to you?”
“It’s not that she did anything,” said the professor. “She is a Producer. They belong in camps not running wild. It’s not safe for her on her own, especially in the forest. It may not seem like it to you, but we are looking out for her.” He smiled kindly.
“She ran away. She obviously didn’t like where she was,” argued Jethro.
“I’m sure she can be taken to another place that is more suitable to her. Don’t you agree, Benedictine?” The professor raised his brows.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He was not going to lie to his son about this. He tossed back the rest of his drink and poured another. “If it were up to me, I’d let Jethro keep her. She saved his life. But, it’s not up to me. It’s your decision.”
The professor’s eyes narrowed.
“I don’t understand.” Jethro looked at him and then the professor.
“Jethro, the Producer is the payment for your surgery. She is to be delivered to the professor and he will do what he wants with her. That’s why I cannot let her go.” He w
as not taking the blame for this.
Jethro’s lips curled in disgust. He turned toward the professor. “Is this true? She’s payment.”
The professor glared at Benedictine and then looked at Jethro. “Yes. She’s to leave with me.”
“Why?” asked Jethro.
Why indeed? Benedictine watched the professor closely.
The professor didn’t even blink. “I plan on reuniting her with her mother and father.”
Liar. Her father was dead and her mother was with Hugh, unless he’d turned her over to Conguise. Jethro looked at him. He shrugged. He may not side with Conguise, but he wasn’t going to call him out either, at least not before the surgery.
“If that’s true, why does she have to be caged? Why can’t she be a guest here?”
He and the professor both chuckled.
“A guest?” asked the professor. “A Producer, a guest of an Almighty?”
“I don’t see the problem.” Jethro crossed his arms over his chest, his chin jutting out stubbornly.
“I see your father didn’t raise you with the proper belief in class,” said the professor, raising a brow at Benedictine.
“I most certainly did. Young people get thoughts in their head at no fault of their parents.” His father had not allowed him to even speak with the Guards and House Servants, but his father had not been able to stop him from following the other creatures around and pestering them. He’d been lonely as a boy and had wished that they’d play with him. As he grew, he’d realized that they were too different. “These thoughts go away with age and experience.”
The professor shrugged and looked at his watch.
He took the hint. “Jethro, we’re done discussing this. The Producer will go with the professor. Once you can walk, you’ll forget all about her.”
“Then I don’t want the surgery.”
“You don’t mean that.” He stood, leaning his hands on the desk.
“I do,” said Jethro, glaring at him.
The boy couldn’t be that stupid. That stubborn. “Leave,” he shouted.
“You can’t force me to have the surgery. I won’t agree to it, unless you let her go.” He rolled out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Benedictine dropped back into his chair, exhaustion sweeping through his body. What was he going to do? What was he going to tell Martha?
