Far Called Trilogy 01 - In Dark Service (20 page)

‘You may be right. We’ll follow wherever we need to go.’

‘How many guardsmen will be required?’ asked the major.

‘Just a single company,’ said Jacob. ‘I need to move light and fast. Enough rifles to protect the money we’re taking to purchase our people back. Enough to mount a raid of our own if it comes to it. Where folks are friendly, we’ll buy supplies; where they’re not, we’ll live off the land.’

‘Father, my men and I spent most of our professional career fighting outlaws. If it comes to it, we can live like them too.’

‘I’m going to save blood, Major. I’m not aiming to take it.’

Alock nodded in agreement. ‘That sounds more than acceptable to me. Once a soldier’s spine has felt a soft warm cot in the palace barracks, returning to it is a far more preferable alternative to leaving his corpse in the dirt of some foreign field.’

‘Excellent,’ said the king. ‘It actually feels as if I’ve achieved something for the nation this evening. I suppose it wouldn’t do to grow too accustomed to that experience. Have your men provisioned and armed tonight, Major. I think it’s best you leave quickly, before the gaiaists in the assembly get a whiff of our scheme and wangle a way to have you posted back east, while Father Carnehan suddenly finds himself appointed abbot of the most distant monastery in Rodal.’

FIVE

TO PLEASE A PRINCESS

Carter rolled across the floor of the punishment cell, trying to find the purchase he needed to wipe that smug self-satisfied expression off Duncan Landor’s face before the hatch floor swung open and spilled both of them into the clouds. It wasn’t going to feel like much of a victory for Carter unless Duncan put his heart into the fight, though.
Come on rich boy; show me what you’ve got.
Duncan pushed Carter away with a boot just as Carter jabbed his rival low in the gut. Carter swayed back to his feet, every second of solid footing below his boots a bonus. The slave master and the other skels hissed excitedly from behind the cell’s wall, jabbing fists in approval as they urged Duncan on to murder. Would the slavers make good their promise to open the cell door, if Duncan killed his countryman?
Guess that’s one of those abstract questions as far as I’m concerned. I’m leaving dead, either way.

‘Come on Duncan. Your fancy unwashed clothes don’t look any different from mine now. Show me what the man inside is worth…’

Duncan lowered his mop of straw-coloured hair and charged Carter, roaring his anger, striking him in the chest and carrying both of them against the wall. Carter could see the timer in the wall.
Only a minute left
. He struggled against Duncan’s hands as they closed around his neck. The random switch on the trapdoor might just give them both the time they needed to murder each other. Carter snaked his arms past Duncan and squeezed back at the man’s neck – like trying to throttle a tree trunk – both of them locked in a contest of raw strength, choking and pressing. Carter slipped, both of them falling forward through the –
open door of the punishment cell?
He struck the passage between the slave pens. Carter immediately noticed the hush. No more jeering guards, no screams and shouts from the prisoners. It was as if they’d fallen to the floor of a church in the middle of a service. Carter’s eyes drifted up as Duncan broke the silence, grunting and getting to his knees. The surprise of their survival had temporarily shocked both men out of the fight. In front of Carter, the skel guards and the slave master also knelt. A number of tall soldiers stood outside the slave pens, elaborately engraved golden breast plates covering muscled chests, heads protected by brass helmets topped with red brushes, cloaks enveloping the back of their greave-plated thighs. One of the newcomers had opened the punishment cell’s door. It was clear these men weren’t Weylanders, but Carter’s heart leapt at the thought that this was some League-sponsored rescue force come to save them
. Are we free? Free!
His heart soared at the thought of returning home. Discovering if his father was alive or not. Eating real food, not caged like a swine and beaten worse than one every time a skel guard required amusement.
I swear I’ll never complain about working in the librarian’s hold again.

That idea evaporated in agony when a shining black boot landed on Carter’s spine, pinning him to the floor. One of the other soldiers crushed Duncan with a boot too. A woman stepped out from the escort of fighters, as tall and dark-haired as Carter, a sharp-cheeked beauty marred by the cruel set of her wide blue eyes. She was dressed in a feminised version of the soldiers’ uniform, a platinum chest-plate shaped to flatter her breasts, but without a helm, her dark hair curling over the armour’s engravings. Two golden shoulder clips shaped as eagles’ claws held an ermine-trimmed cloak in place, long legs bare, apart from the short-sword strapped to one hip and a pistol holster strapped to the other.

‘Now I know why you only ever send us weaklings,’ said the woman, addressing Si-lishh, the slave master quivering as he knelt. ‘All the ones with spirit are flushed into the sky before you ever reach me.’

‘These slaves fight, mistress, even after seeing punishment cell working,’ hissed the slave master, keeping his head bowed. Carter noticed the way his thick tail trembled. The twisted man was terrified by these newcomers.
Who the hell can throw a scare like that into the skels
? ‘Si-lishh must punish, must set example for others.’

The imperious woman walked past the skel officer, unclipping the whip from his belt and fondling it with her flared leather gloves’ long fingers. ‘Slow learners, then? Or perhaps they simply don’t care what happens to them?’ She halted in front of Carter and Duncan. ‘What do you think? Shall I toss you back inside the punishment cell and let you walk the sky?’

‘Answer!’ yelled the soldier behind them, his boot crushing painfully into Carter’s spine.

Carter winced as he spoke. ‘You’re the one standing in front of a company of men armed with guns and swords, is what I think.’

She prodded Duncan’s head with the tip of her boot, an even larger soldier crushing the heir to Hawkland Park. ‘What about you, slave?’

‘I figured I’d say as little as possible, on account of the boot on my back. ‘

‘There we are, Si-lishh. Arrogance and caution. They will need both to survive the work that my slaves are given. I believe I shall keep them… for now.’ She turned away, then wheeled back, the whip cracking out and cutting Carter’s face open, an ear-splitting snap chased by Carter’s yell.

Damn, but that hurts.
Carter moaned in agony, finding it difficult to fight for air with the weight of the brute bearing down on his back. What was the point in being spared if they were going to keep on treating him like this?

‘I liked your friend’s answer better,’ she said. She clicked her fingers and her brutes dragged Duncan before her. She knelt down, examining Duncan’s face like a horse broker checking the goods. ‘Yes, it would be shame to mark a face this handsome. Whatever would it do to the resell value? He’s a keeper.’ Carter had to suppress a laugh. Money obviously recognised money, even up here. Maybe rich people smelt the same? The woman cast the whip down in front of the slave-master. ‘Chain them all, Si-lishh, and have them transferred across to the
Primacy of the Sky
. How many slaves have you taken this time?’

‘More than five hundred, mistress.’

‘The wastage rate is still increasing in the sky mines. I’ll need far more slaves from you next time, even if you have to keep some of the older ones alive. Even if you have to start raiding larger towns.’

His reply hissed towards the deck. ‘Your will shall be done, mistress.’

She swivelled on her heels and departed, the guardsmen marching behind her. The slave master got to his feet, yelling orders at the skels to shackle the prisoners. He pulled Duncan and Carter off the corridor decking. Pain burned across Carter’s slashed face.

‘Slaves think they plenty lucky being spared fate of punishment cell, being spared to work for Princess Helrena Skar? Lucky would have been left to drop into sky. That would have been your luck!’

Carter wiped the blood off his face with the back of his sleeve. ‘One day, friend, I’m coming back for you. And on that day, I’ll see this aircraft and every one of you thieving, raiding, twisted bastards burn just like you torched my town. You remember that. I’m going to kill you!’

‘Only if Si-lishh trips over your corpse and breaks neck,’ laughed the slave master. ‘What princess has in store for little slaves is better than punishment cell. Is very
slow
.’ Dozens of skels marched into the passage, accompanied by house slaves. They locked tight metal clamps around Carter’s ankles, chains with no more than a foot’s play to shuffle forward on.

Si-lishh tapped the side of his pocket, the rattle of a handful of coins. ‘Sold!’ He walked away hissing in amusement as the survivors of Northhaven were dragged out of the pens and bound together in a long line. The skels roughly shoved Carter into the chain gang and shackled him to the others. James Kurtain arrived before Carter, checking the pins in the locking mechanism around his ankles. The house slave passed Carter a square of wet cloth to press against the blazing wound on his face.
It burnt
. Whatever the cloth had been soaked in, it sure wasn’t water.

‘If you had let me know you fools wanted to kill each other, I could’ve slipped the two of you engine cleaner for poison. Would have been quicker. Remember our deal, Northhaven.’

‘I’ll let your sister know you’re alive,’ said Carter. ‘Do what I can for her. Are those armoured sons-of-bitches the same ones who took your town’s people?’

‘Same ones.’ James glanced nervously down the lengthening columns of chained slaves. ‘Just stay alive. That’s the only victory we’re allowed now.’

‘I surely plan to.’
At least long enough to keep my word
. ‘You look after yourself, James.’

That was the last Carter saw of the house slave as the prisoners stumbled forward through the wide, wooden corridors of the aircraft. Wasn’t much of a guided tour – only skel crewmen to watch them being hauled to their new owners. The twisted men rocked and hissed in amusement at the sight of the bedraggled Weylanders. It was clear they felt only contempt towards their common pattern stock. Eventually, the passage opened out into an empty hangar. James’ words drifted back to Carter as he caught a glimpse of the incredible sight outside.
Damn, but it’s true
. There were no gliders or transport planes waiting with blurring rotors to carry them away from the skels’ town-sized carrier. The slavers’ huge aircraft still soared high above the clouds. Outside, matching the aircraft’s velocity and joined by a docking bridge, flew the miraculous warship that James had talked of. Twice as long as the skels’ carrier, hazing the air from hundreds of thruster nodules angled towards the ground, and, incredibly, every yard of the flying vessel composed of gleaming steel. It was clear to Carter that this behemoth was designed for war. Firing gantries had been constructed into the vessel’s hull, ant-sized soldiers moving along the ramparts, past turrets where cannons slowly turned and tracked from side to side. There was a Gothic ornateness to the vessel’s design, as if someone had ripped out the bell tower of the largest cathedral in the world and tipped it on its side. A cathedral devoted to destruction, burning more fuel than Benner Landor’s tenant farmers could grow in a season. What was it Princess Helrena Skar had called the craft back in the slave pens?
The Primacy of the Sky
. Well named.

‘Sweet saints,’ whispered Carter, despite himself. ‘Dear sweet saints.’

Duncan Landor lurched behind Carter in the chain gang ‘There isn’t that much metal in the world.’

‘Reckon they’ve found it, anyway.’ Maybe that’s why there were no ores left to mine inside in the league. They had all been stripped out in the past to construct this hovering leviathan of the air.

Slavers hauled Duncan aside into a second line while Carter was roughly pushed forward. The cattle were being lined up, readied for a stock transfer. Shouts sounded and the prisoners started moving; the astonishing warship their destination. Carter shuffled slowly across the gantry between the two vessels, the shackled clink of hundreds of prisoners passing across a mesh floor, as solid and immovable as the bridge over Mill River back home. Segmented metal railings stopped just shy of chest height. Carter felt giddy as he peered over the edge. Only clouds below, the distant brown smudge of land passing through gaps in the cover. There was no sign of the sea. No hint of where they might be. He glanced back across the gangway. So many faces he dimly recognised from Northhaven. He couldn’t see Adella, Willow or Kerge. Even Duncan Landor’s ugly mug would be welcome right now. For the first time since Carter had been taken, the abysmal reality of his situation sank in on him.
This is my fate from here on in
.
Not Carter Carnehan, master of his own destiny. Just a slave to be traded like cattle in a market.
Desperation overwhelmed him: the unfairness of this. If only he had left home a little earlier, he would have been safe inside the library when the attack began. His mother might still be alive, without the gunfight he had started. He could be enjoying a real life with his parents by his side. If there hadn’t been a wall of steel mesh between him and the sky, Carter might’ve jumped at that moment.

The gantry ended with a large air lock. As Carter entered the warship, one of the plume-helmed soldiers encouraged him forward none too gently with a rifle butt. He passed into a semi-circular chamber, two levels high with large mounted guns on the second-storey gallery. More soldiers stood by, rifles ready, stationed in case the slaves became troublesome. They wouldn’t get much fuss today. Carter felt as broken and as hopeless as any man on Pellas, and he was as wild as any of them snatched from Northhaven. Everyone said so.
Is that all it takes to break a man? To crush all the hope from him
? A series of tunnels fanned out in front of the prisoners, each with a steel path leading into the warship’s interior – but there was something strange about the floor. As Carter stared, he saw that each walkway was moving. A house slave cut Carter out of the chain gang. His ankle manacles, he noted, were left locked. Silently, the house slave guided Carter to one of the walkways, preventing him from stumbling as he was led onto the sliding floor. Carter was propelled into the tunnel, a few seconds of darkness. He briefly lost his vision as a harsh light flared on. The moving belt beneath his feet had halted. Carter’s sight returned just in time to see three house slaves advancing on him.

‘Don’t move,’ one of them ordered, ‘or you’ll be cut.’

Carter watched his crumbling shoes tugged off his feet by the closest house slave, while his two colleagues ran humming metal boxes over the Northhaven man’s body. Carter shuddered as he realised all his clothes, already ripped and blackened and falling apart, were being peeled away. It didn’t take them long to shear him of his dignity. He was left naked apart from his ankle chains. A hatch in the wall opened and the house slaves tossed his dirty rags into a blast furnace inside.

‘What are you—?’

‘Keep your cake-hole shut,’ barked one of the house slaves. He slammed a rubber button on the wall and the floor began trundling forward again. In the next section of the tunnel, Carter flinched as nozzles in the wall’s sides began squirting an oily yellow mist over his body, a fine layer of gel coating his bruised, bare skin. He attempted to rub the gunk from the burning scar on his face, but it just seemed to cling all the harder. He was still wiping it away when the gel was followed by a steaming wet smog that washed the grime away. The walkway kept trundling through into darkness. Carter yelled in shock as a cold metal vice pressed in on him from either side, clicking in place and locking around his body, forcing his arms down by his legs.
What the hell are they doing? Trussing me for the oven? Are these devils cannibals or slave owners?
Lights flared on again and Carter saw prisoners ahead of him on the tunnel’s moving floor; dripping water onto the walkway, metal caskets stamped around them concealing most of their nudity. They could no longer collapse. They couldn’t wriggle an inch, little more than living components in this bizarre mill. A metal arm swung down ahead, striking the nearest slave on the arm near the shoulder. A female screech sounded.
Branding! We’re being branded, no better than cattle.
Someone cried behind Carter, calling out words lost among the rattle of machinery. Carter stifled a yell as burning hot metal slammed into his side, a second of agony and then nothing. Compared to the cold lingering pain of being whipped across his face, this new discomfort was hardly anything at all. A whine of machinery deafened Carter as he was lifted off his feet, the moving walkway falling away like a waterfall’s edge. A rail carried him now, hanging, through the air and into a chamber so large it must have occupied a good part of the warship’s interior. Vast metal shelves filled the space. Carter had to stop himself from laughing when he saw people being racked below by the machinery.
I’m a book. A human book. Back to being a librarian again after all. Carter Carnehan, a volume of meat stored in a library of slaves.
Carter grunted as he was lowered into a cell, a blank metal wall in front and behind, only the distant, muffled whimpering to tell him that he was one of many prisoners being stored in this flesh-filled hold. Down he went, a wet slap as he plunged into a pool on the cell floor, a viscous jelly rising around his body, the impact of a hard surface beneath his bottom as he was forced to sit within the liquid. The well’s liquid stopped at his chest, lapping around his skin.