Condemned (Death Planet Book 1) (23 page)

Of course, it wouldn’t help him.

He’d have kicked himself for giving Guy away to try to save himself from more pain, if the King had actually believed him. Somewhere in the middle of the beating, he’d finally had enough, and told them what had happened.

“You were lured into this by a guy called Guy?” the King had said, then laughed. “How stupid do you think I am?” Then they beat Daniel some more.

Eventually, they must have got bored, because the Guards dragged him into the dungeon, naked, and tossed him onto a pile of straw that was a piss-poor excuse for a mattress. Between the aches and pains, and the lack of sleep for the last day and a half, he’d barely lain there for more than five minutes before he woke and it was past dawn. Even the constant stabbing pain from a bruised or broken rib, and the yells from above him in the castle, hadn’t been enough to keep him awake.

“Don’t worry, son. He’ll probably execute you at the Brawl tomorrow,” Liam had said, when they tossed Daniel into the cell. “Might even put you in the brawls. It’ll be fun.”

“Not for me,” Daniel gasped.

“But will be for us. And you'll make a good roast after.”

“I’m gonna eat your liver,” Kevin added, and licked his lips. Then he pulled the door shut, and the keys rattled as they locked him inside.

“Can’t I fuck his butt first?” Liam said, his voice muffled through the door.

“No.”

“I’ll be quick. No-one will know.”

“I’ll know. No-one touches him unless the King says so. Unless you want to end up on the barbie, too.”

And that had been that.

The air was cool, and the whole place smelled of smoke and mould. A rat scuttled in the straw. The coppery taste of blood still filled Daniel's mouth. One of his teeth wobbled in his jaw. That was better than last night, when half of them felt loose. He tried to push it back into place. More blood gushed out as the tooth stabbed into the bone. He let go, and it slipped out again. He grabbed it, and it came away in his fingers. He pulled it out, and stared at the slightly yellowed tooth that had, for so many years, been part of his body. He pushed it back in, but it fell back out as soon as he released the pressure.

So much for that.

He placed the tooth on the window ledge, and explored the gap in his gum with his tongue. Fresh blood oozed out every time he touched it. His body had been perfect, near enough, when he went to the protest back home. Now it was falling apart. And tomorrow, he’d be dead.

Something scraped near the window. He glanced up, just in time to see the tooth disappear.

He grabbed the window ledge, and pulled. His muscles strained as he lifted his weight, until his eyes rose high enough to see. For a second, the daylight blinded him, after hours in the shadows. Then dark eyes stared back at him from a furry face.

He shrieked and let go, falling back to the floor. His feet thumped on the stone, and he grabbed the rough bricks of the wall so he didn’t fall on his back. No, it wasn’t a monster, it was Rat-Girl. She stared down at his naked body through the bars, and giggled. He covered his groin with his hands, and moved closer to the wall, where she couldn’t see him. He jumped up and grabbed the ledge again. His arms shook under his weight, and he wouldn’t be able to hang there for long.

“What are you doing here?”

She sniffed the loose tooth, and licked it. Then crunched down on it with her own long, pointed teeth. She squealed as bone scraped on bone, and slapped her hand against her mouth. Her nose twitched as she sniffed toward Daniel.

“You can’t eat that,” he said.

She reached into her dress, pulled something out, and tossed it in through the bars. He reached out to grab it, lost his grip on the ledge, and thumped down to the floor again, wincing at the pain from his injured ribs. The straw moved as the rat lunged for it, but Daniel swung a kick. The rat squealed as Daniel’s foot connected with its head, and flew backwards across the floor until it smacked into the wall. It twisted back to its feet, and stared at him as he grabbed the object.

Some kind of bread-like bun, and only half-eaten. He glanced up at her, then took a bite. It tasted of mud, but would fill a hole since he last ate. He nodded to the girl, who giggled again, and ran away on all fours, still holding the tooth.

At least someone seemed to like him.

He peered through the barred window in the cell door. The corridor was dark and smoky, but light from the torches flickered across the door opposite. Who was caged in there? And how many prisoners were in the dungeon? He’d just wanted to collapse into oblivion when they brought him down there, but they’d dragged him along the dark, stone corridors for quite some time. There could be hundreds. At least dozens.

“Hello,” he whispered.

Something scraped against stone behind the far door. Two dark, shiny orbs appeared at the window, flickering in the torchlight. Eyes. Big ones.

“Fuck off,” a deep, rattly voice said.

Another voice cackled from further down the corridor. A rat scuttled away, its claws scraping across the stone. A drone flew along the corridor. Guy’s? No, too many cameras.

“Come on. Maybe we can help each other.”

“The only way you can help me is to shut the fuck up.”

Daniel tore the bun in half. He gauged the distance between the two cells. It wouldn’t be an easy throw, since he had to get it through the bars of his cell, and the other. He swung his arm toward the window, and released the bun just before his hand hit the bars. It arced through the air toward the far door, then began to come down.

Crap.

He’d forgotten about the different gravity. It flew toward the window, but was falling fast. It fell away from the door.

And impaled itself on a sharp claw poking out of the bars. The finger pulled it in through the window. Teeth snapped around it, and chewed.

“Tastes like shit,” the voice mumbled with a mouth full of bread. “But so does everything else on this shitty shithole of a shitty planet. Should have called the place Shit, not Hades.”

“Who are you?”

“They call me Brunhilde. Took a dozen men to get me in here. Three of them are still alive.”

“What are you here for?”

“Littering.”

What the? “I didn’t think they cared about littering around here, the mess in the streets is disgusting.”

Brunhilde leaned forward, and stared into his eyes through the bars. Orange torchlight reflected from her long, sharp teeth as she smiled at him.

“Littering the town with the bodies of the King’s Guards.”

That would make more sense.

“Plus,” she added, “I rescued some bimbo the King wanted for his harem. I think that probably pissed him off more.”

“The attitude to women on this planet is abysmal. We have to end the rape culture, and slavery, and free them all.”

Brunhilde put her head back, and let out a laugh that echoed to the far end of the corridor and back. Then she did it again. More cackles and giggles joined the noise as other prisoners joined in. Daniel covered his ears as the volume grew, until he could hear little more than one giant, booming laugh. Drones buzzed in, lighting the corridor and staring into the cells, as though attracted by the noise.

“Shut up, you mad bastards,” a Guard yelled from the end of the corridor.

The noise faded, and Brunhilde gasped for breath between her giggles. Finally, she slapped her leg, and stopped.

“Kid, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard since I landed in this shithole.”

“No-one would tolerate this kind of behaviour at home. They’d be sent to Reeducation Camp to learn not to be sexist, and understand how bad they made people feel.”

Brunhilde peered at him through the window. “So what are you in for? Did you tell the King his attitude was abysmal? That he gives you feelbads?”

“No. I tried to blow him up.”

That got her attention. Her face lunged toward the grille, and her big eyes stared at him. “You’re shitting me.”

“I was about to set off the bomb, but some girl jumped on me. She must have stuck her hand somewhere that stopped it going off. “ He touched his ear. “She almost bit my ear off.”

Brunhilde shook her head, and looked away. “Dreams of saving the world, and gets beat by a girl. Why’d you do something that stupid, anyway?”

“I couldn’t stand the way he treated people.”

“Do you have any idea what this place would like without an asshole like the King to keep all the other assholes under control? Someone has to do it.”

“There was...” he was about to tell her about the Revolution, but what if she was a spy? The King might have given up on beating the truth out of him, and now have her try to talk it out of him. “I thought I might take over.”

Brunhilde giggled again. “Yeah, for five minutes, until the next guy killed you.”

“Someone has to do something.”

“Kid, word of advice. The only thing you have to do here is survive. The moment you stop worrying about yourself, and start worrying about other assholes, is the moment they’ll stab you in the back.”

“I can’t believe the world is like that. People are all the same under the skin, and I’m not like that. So they can’t be, either.”

“You would be just like them, if you were starving, and hadn’t got laid in a year. Anyway, who cares, they’re going to execute us in a few hours, unless we find a way out.”

“Then that’s what we have to do.”

“I’m all ears, kid. But I reckon if you knew how to get out of here, you’d already be gone.”

O
uch, ouch, ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Ouch, ouch, bloody, fucking, ouch. Pain from Princess' tendons stabbed her thighs with every step she took behind the King. She made each step as short as possible, to keep her legs together, but then the King's long, steam-powered legs pulled ahead of her. She waddled along on her tall heels, doing her best to keep up, and to hide the wincing whenever she moved.

After the whole business with the crazy guy the previous night, the King had taken her back to his bed and pounded her like a steam hammer. Now, she could barely walk. Her thumb was swollen to twice its size, and hurt like buggery where it had caught the hammer of that asshole's gun, and stopped the bomb exploding. If she'd grabbed it a centimetre further over...

What the fuck had she been thinking? She could have been blown to pieces. That's what you get for letting your hormones rule your life. One second of madness, followed by a lifetime—or no lifetime—of regrets. Not that she had regrets, since it had worked, but, damn, it would have been a stupid way to die.

The crowd parted ahead of them as they crossed the scrappy, weed-filled dirt patch in the courtyard. Rising up beside the wall was a grandstand of wooden benches in rows, around a central box covered by a shade with the King's red eyes painted on the sides. At least the box had proper seats.

The dress swung around her legs as she moved, exposing them to the top of her thighs, then swinging back as she stepped forward. Every man, or man-like hybrid, in the crowd stared as she approached. She smirked. They all wanted her, but no-one would risk trying to take her. Not now she was the King's babe. He could kill them just for looking, let alone touching. Grab them in his big, strong, steam-powered hands, and rip their head off while she watched.

But why couldn't he just take her back to bed? At least until he knocked her up, too? She covered her yawn with her hand.

The wooden frame of the stand creaked as the King's metal boots climbed the steps toward the box. Then he slumped down in a solid, wooden throne three times the size a normal human would need. It still creaked beneath his weight.

Two girls sat in the box already. A black-haired, tall girl with furry, pointed ears and a fluffy tail who looked a little older than Princess, and a white-haired girl who looked a few years younger. Of course, Frankie had arranged to stop her ageing ten years ago, when she first became a girl, and her commissar boyfriends had kept her young since. Drones buzzed around the girls, as though the people back home considered them important enough to watch.

The younger girl grabbed a large, dough-covered ball from a bowl in front of them. She opened her mouth wide, and bit down into the brown coating.

“Who's that?” she mumbled as she chewed.

The older one glanced at Princess, and scowled. “Just Dad’s new bimbo.”

Princess sat on a chair beside the King. Relief oozed through her legs, but it would have felt better if her ass didn’t hurt so much, too. She wriggled it, trying to find a spot that didn’t sent throbbing pain through her body. Then she gave up, and just sat back to watch.

With the King and his Royal Babe seated, other spectators climbed onto the benches, pushing, shouting and punching as they fought over the best spots. She glanced toward the King, but he just ignored the fighting. Well, it was a Brawl, after all.

Not that he'd taken time to explain what it involved. Men fighting each other, probably. Big, strong, muscular men, punching, sweating, and killing each other, like wild beasts fighting for their territory.

If that didn't make the King want to take her back and pound her again, nothing would.

“I'm Princess Bianca,” the white-haired girl mumbled, with her mouth full. She nudged the furry girl. “And this is Princess Furball.”

“I'm just Princess.”

“You can't be a princess,” Furball said.

“It's my name.”

“How can it be your name?”

“It just is.”

“The King’s daughters are the only princesses in Kingston.”

“How many of you are there?”

Bianca counted on each of the fingers of her right hand, then a few on the left. She held up eight fingers. “Seven.”

“How many princes?”

Bianca shook her head. “None.”

Furball leaned forward, and giggled. “Dad's always moaning that he keeps making girls. Are you having a baby?”

Princess blushed, and rubbed her stomach. Could there be something down there already? The King had certainly done his best to plant something in there.

“I don't know. I hope so.”

“Daddy wants us to have a little brother,” Bianca said.