The blue flames, p.4
The Blue Flames, page 4
“Stay up there!”
It was enough to earn attention. The madam paused in front of her, narrowed her eyes, and finally tapped the air with her finger.
“You.”
Harriet’s heart began to race, the fear drawing tight inside like an overwound clock spring. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream. Surely she was still asleep somewhere. Perhaps in the Drifter, on her way back to Riverfall with the others. Or maybe she was already in her own bed. Yes. She would wake any moment, wash her face, dress, then go downstairs and start breakfast with Martin.
Oh, Martin. What would he say?
“Put your hand up!”
The club was shoved against her again. She raised her hand in a horrified daze as the madam continued to the end of the cage.
“You. You. And a little one to help with the washing.” She had paused in front of the well-dressed woman and her daughter, and now raised a painted eyebrow. “Two for the price of one?”
The short slaver nodded. “That can be arranged.”
Seeing that the freezing rain had stopped, the madam tossed her umbrella to one of her associates before glancing back at the slaver. “I’ll take them all now. Get them into my wagons. And try not to knock them about any more than you have.”
“Hold there!” a voice boomed.
All eyes turned towards the sound. A company of eight riders swept towards the sandy bank on horseback. Following close behind was a caravan of high-walled wagons.
“Oh, no,” the woman beside Harriet whispered. “The bandit chief.”
He was not difficult to spot, riding at the head of the gang in a cloak of black bear fur and with a great black beard, equally shaggy. The gang rode to the center of the grounds and dismounted. At closer range, Harriet saw that the chief also wore a pair of spectacles with dark-tinted lenses, completely obscuring his eyes. A gold earring gleamed on his left ear. Madam Maxley pursed her lips in sour displeasure.
“Keep those hands raised!” she cried. “These are still mine!”
Harriet tried to keep her arm steady. It was hard to know which master would be worse, but Sidas Ramm and his terrible reputation did nothing to sway opinion in his favor. The bandit chief tucked a thumb into his iron-studded belt as he planted himself in front of the cage. The slavers remained silent, all visibly nervous. Ramm stood a full head taller than the biggest of them and his bandits were armed to the teeth, ready to spring into action at the first word. Ramm himself appeared to be carrying only a riding crop which he tapped against his thigh as he surveyed the captives from under the curved brim of his hat. He cocked his head one way, then another, and finally strode to the far end of the cage to begin a closer inspection, as Madam Maxley had done. He did not speak or point as he went along, but only stroked his beard with a black-gloved hand and glanced at them from out of the corner of his tinted spectacles.
When he was a few steps from Harriet, he paused and tipped his hat back on his brow.
“Hm,” he grunted, then continued on down the line.
With his inspection complete, he returned to the waiting bandits and spoke with them in a low voice. Another restless child began to cry, but the slavers’ attentions were so fixed on Ramm and his gang that no one bothered to shout for quiet again.
When their council was done, one of the bandits—a grim-faced man with a saber hanging from his belt—stepped towards the short slaver and jerked his head at the cage. “We’ll take ‘em all. Double the price.”
“All?” the madam cried.
“Double?” the short slaver repeated with a widening grin. He nodded at his slavers. “Get ‘em into Master Ramm’s coaches! Sharp’s the word!”
“Oh, God help us,” said the faint girl next to Harriet.
There was an instant rise of panic in the cage, though no one dared cry out. Terror shone through their eyes, anger and fear in the curses and prayers said beneath their breath. A door in the side of the cage was opened, and they were herded out once more. The bandit gang opened the rear doors of their wagons, hurrying everyone towards them with urgent nods and sharp whistles. In the midst of this, Harriet caught sight of Madam Maxley striding up to Sidas Ramm, her powdered face now crimson with anger.
“You have no right! I have already made my claim! You arrived too late! Those are my girls and I demand you return them to me!”
The bandit chief fixed her with a smile, kissed her hand, then turned and mounted his horse. Fuming, the madam whirled back to her carriage and commanded her attendants to take her home. As he rode to the head of the caravan, Ramm nodded at the bandit with the saber.
“All right, that’s all of ‘em!” the bandit shouted. “Let’s go!”
The wagon walls were so high it was impossible to see anything beyond them. Harriet kept a hand over her eyes, praying that none of the other Colonists had found themselves in such precarious situations. She would survive this. She would find the others again and return to Riverfall. And she had to believe it with all her heart, or risk losing her nerve completely.
“God only knows what he’ll do with us,” said the faint-hearted woman Harriet had tried to help earlier. “And why should he need the children?”
“What does it matter?” a woman with round spectacles replied. “We should be coming up with a plan rather than sitting around sobbing. We must outnumber them three to one!”
“They’ve got guns, genius. Or didn’t you notice?” the black-haired woman answered. She seemed to be feeling braver again now that she wasn’t going to the madam. But not by much.
“Oh!” The faint-hearted woman’s eyes doubled in size. “Oh, God help us!”
“What is it now?” the spectacled woman asked, annoyed.
“What if they . . . these bandits . . . what if they’re the Colonists? Oh, that would be worse than anything! They certainly look like they could be cannibals and vampires! Especially that chief of theirs! And wasn’t it always said they were led by the Devil himself?”
Another wave of panic began to sweep over the captives. Those with children held them tighter. Others pressed their hands over their mouths to keep from shrieking. Even the spectacled woman seemed to balk at the idea of trying to overcome the Colonists, outnumbered or not.
“Let’s try to stay calm,” Harriet said. “It can’t be the Colonists. It’s not possible.”
“Of course it’s not!” the black-haired woman said. “Haven’t you all heard the news? They captured one a few days ago, and a second turned up dead in Entrian Country. They’ll be far from here, and not likely to go for a day out at a slave auction.”
Harriet’s breath had caught in her throat. A frown wrinkled her bruised brow. “Captured? And . . . dead? Are you certain?”
“Of course I’m certain. Their pictures are on the front page of every paper from here to Mastmarner by now.”
Harriet drew a deep breath. She would need to phrase her next words carefully. And without sounding desperate.
“Please . . . can you tell me their names?”
Chapter 7
Traitor
Dr. Tyrus rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, pressing his fingers into his temple. He was anxious under the weight of expectation and exhausted by two weeks of nightly vigils. Despite the successful recovery of both patients, a new round of demands now threatened to keep him many more weeks away from home. He flicked his gaze to Lord Hadwin, the warden of Stalikos Prison, who sat on his desk eating a fig cake, frowning as he chewed.
“You know,” the warden said with his mouth half-full, “I’ve never understood the idea of putting nuts into cake. I can appreciate the enjoyable juxtaposition between the salty taste and the sweet, but the texture of one against the other . . . it’s too jarring. Too abrasive.” His eyebrows danced up. “Would you like one, Doctor?”
“No. Thank you.”
As the warden continued munching, his expression turned to one of thoughtful rumination. “It’s strange. Here we sit, in our comfortable freedom, eating cake and drinking wine, and all the time we’re shoving fruits and vegetables down those poor sods in their cells, prolonging their miserable lives with good nutrition while the rest of us grow fatter and sicker. We really ought to be feeding them grain alcohol and bags of sugar. Speed things along, eh?”
Before Tyrus could answer, a knock came at the door.
“Come!” Hadwin said.
The chief of security opened the door and abruptly made way for the officious-looking gentleman behind her.
“Lord Drystan for you, sir,” she announced.
“Ah!” The warden hopped off his desk and moved forward to grasp the visitor’s hand. “Arrived at last. How are you, Drystan?”
“Tolerably well, Lord Hadwin. Though I daresay the ride down that underwater platform gets longer every time. Dr. Tyrus, good to see you again.”
“And you, Lord Drystan,” Tyrus replied with a weary smile.
The warden led the way down to the lower levels of the prison. Splashes of faint blue light scattered across the stone walls as he raised and lowered shield enchantments with a casual sweep of his hand. The few guards they passed nodded in greeting.
“I understand she arrived yesterday morning,” Drystan said. “Picked up somewhere near the Kurna Mountains, yes?”
Hadwin nodded. “A small band of Colonist-hunters came upon her on the road to Harroway—only half a day after the other put a pistol to his head.”
Drystan glanced at the doctor. “And her condition?”
“Bumped, bruised, and near-hypothermic,” Tyrus replied. “I attended to her throughout the night with blankets and warming stones. She only just regained consciousness a few hours ago. I left her superficial injuries untouched for you to observe, as you requested. She seems to be aware of her situation. Took it with great sobriety when I told her where she was. No blubbering or hysterics. But that may be yet to come.”
“Does she know the sisters are here?”
“No,” the warden answered. “Chief Prosecutor Pallaton and the Lady Seherene were adamant about keeping that knowledge limited to our small company. Anyway, they’re scheduled to be moved this evening to begin the revival of their careers. I see no profit in telling the girl.”
“Agreed,” Drystan replied. “So the younger Plumsley is fully recovered, then?”
“Thanks to the efforts of the inexhaustible Doctor.”
Hadwin flicked his wrist again, replacing the shield enchantment behind them with another flash of blue light. They had arrived at a circular chamber at the end of a long corridor. Four guards manned the area. One lit a pipe. The others had just begun a game of cards. So great was the general faith in the prison’s security system that the warden, rather than rebuking them, greeted them with a nod. The arriving party stopped in front of the third cell on the left.
“Has she said anything of interest?” Drystan asked. “Perhaps to you, Doctor?”
“Barely a word. She doesn’t seem keen to talk at the moment, which is to be expected under the circumstances.”
Drystan nodded. “That will change soon enough. They say the girl may have been . . . seduced somehow. Indeed, it is the only reasonable explanation for her betrayal.”
“That, or madness,” Hadwin replied.
“I warrant she’ll be just as easily persuaded to our purpose,” Drystan continued. “All the same, Doctor, I’d like you to stand by in case she should need to be restrained. All three of us inside may frighten her into total silence.”
The warden retreated to the card table to join the game. The other two men entered the cell. Tyrus shut the door behind them and stood near the lantern fixed to the stone wall, glowing bright with an ever-burning flame inside an enchanted glass globe.
The prisoner sat on a thin cot atop an iron slab on the far side of the room, chained to the wall. There were fresh tear stains on her dirty cheeks, and the large bruise around the cut on her brow was turning a dark shade of purple. Tyrus guessed the young woman had been struck twice after her capture, though such treatment was expressly forbidden by Entrian law.
Drystan stood in the middle of the cell and clasped his hands behind his back. “Lady Rivalia, my name is Lord Drystan. I will be serving as your defense counsel during the forthcoming legal proceedings. I am here to ask you a few questions. Do you understand what I’ve told you?”
She remained silent. Drystan glanced back at Tyrus before trying again.
“It is my duty to see that you are afforded a fair trial, and that you receive every opportunity to plead your case to the Elders. I have represented many Colonists over the past few years. Beth Gates, Patrick Stockton, Oliver Pitman—”
“All dead,” she replied in a thin voice.
He shifted uncomfortably. “That is true. But each was given a fair chance to claim their innocence, and once sentenced they received a relatively painless death. As you are considered only an accomplice of the Colonists, we stand a good chance of avoiding such a penalty in favor of a more lenient outcome.”
“Lord Drystan,” she said, “was I brought here with anyone else?”
“No.”
“Then they’re safe? The others? You didn’t get any of the others?”
“I cannot speak to that.”
“They say . . . I was found half-buried in a snowbank. All alone.” The mounting panic in her voice began to shine through her eyes. “It isn’t true. It was the wine! They did something to the wine! But my friends didn’t leave me! They would never leave me!”
“Calm yourself, my lady,” Drystan said, taking a few steps forward. “I need you to think clearly. What do you remember about what happened? What about this wine? Were you all in Harroway together?”
The young woman’s face hardened. She drew up her knees and leaned against the wall, making her chains clank against the iron slab.
Drystan stifled a frustrated sigh. “Lady Rivalia—”
“Don’t call me that. I have no pretensions. It’s Riva.”
“All right. May I sit, Riva?”
She thought about it for a long moment before finally nodding. He moved forward and lowered himself onto the far edge of the slab, leaving plenty of space between them.
“I know you are frightened. I know you do not trust me. But you are not a child anymore. You hold lives in the palm of your hand, and not only your own. Who knows how many might be saved if you cooperate with us? Who knows how many might be hurt by your so-called friends if you refuse? The boy, for example. Anthony Revore. Is he still with them?”
A corner of her mouth twitched upward. “He doesn’t much care for that name.”
“Is he still with them?”
She glanced away. Drystan rested a hand on his thigh and leaned forward to catch her eye.
“It is too great a cost to pay for the sake of spiting your father.”
She looked at him again, her bright eyes flashing beneath her bruised brow.
“I know he wished you to marry,” he continued. “I know you intended to defy the Marriage Law. And when your father refused to yield, you ran as far as you could, and somehow, straight into the arms of the Colonists. How did it happen? Did you go looking for them? Or did they find you first?”
Her face flushed with anger, but still she remained silent.
“Did they . . . hurt you at all? In any way?”
“Lord Drystan,” she said, a touch of steel in her voice. “You have a great deal of knowledge. And very little understanding. The Elders appointed you to this position, but you have no stake in putting yourself on my side. No reason to help me. I have no delusions. I know you and every other Entrian have already made up your minds about me. And I know I may not live beyond another month or two. But if you believe my grief and sorrow are all for the sake of childish spite, and not for the fact that I will never see my so-called friends again . . .” Her eyes grew wet. “Then we have nothing more to say to one another.”
Drystan considered her words with a troubled frown. After several moments, he rose to his feet and nodded at Tyrus to open the cell door.
“Goodbye, Riva,” he said. “We will speak again soon.”
Tyrus followed him to the door, glancing back in time to catch sight of the young woman wiping away a fresh round of tears. As the two men emerged from the cell, the warden rose from his card game and rejoined them.
“So? Any luck?”
Drystan let out a defeated sigh. “I expected opposition, but not blind stubbornness. Fortunately, Lord Pallaton is on his way. He may have more success.”
“Will the Lady Seherene be coming to visit her as well?” Tyrus asked.
“She has chosen to stay near Harroway to continue searching for the others and to see to the dead Colonist’s burning. But she assured me she would return in time for the trial.”
“Likely to be a very short one if it goes on like this,” the warden said. “But if she’s not more forthcoming, at least we have a few other persuasive methods to try.”
“As a last resort,” Tyrus added, a hint of warning in his voice.
Hadwin shrugged. “Last, first. What does it matter how we play so long as we come out the winner?” He turned his back to the card-playing guards and, with a knowing smirk, tugged an ace of spades halfway out of his sleeve.
“Indeed,” Drystan said. “I trust my accommodations above are prepared?”
“They are. Captain Kera will see you back to the surface and guide you from there.”
“Thank you. It’s been a long day, gentlemen. I will see you tomorrow morning. And . . .” Drystan stepped closer to the warden and lowered his voice. “Please ensure your guards don’t take it upon themselves to . . . punish the prisoner. It would only make things harder for us.”
Hadwin answered with a bow of his head. “As you wish.”
