Off Center (The Lament)

The Lament: Book
Two

Off

Center

P.S. Power

Orange Cat Publishing

The
cell was too dark inside to be comfortable, and it reeked, like urine and less savory
things. Desperation. Pran didn't want to admit it to the others with her, but she
was all too familiar with the odor they were hit with. It was a thing from her own
past that she tried to forget about even as things hit her. The huddled form at
the back of the stone structure shuddered as the door opened, wincing away from
them, clutching his arms to his body.

The
right one had clearly been badly broken and was hanging at a strange angle. To say
that the man, the town butcher if she had it right, had been
beaten
was an
understatement. He was still bleeding from it, if slowly, his face swollen and blue,
even in the darkness of the space. Yes, he'd been hit and harmed, but it went beyond
just that into being an attempt to kill him. That he wasn't truly dead yet was some
kind of miracle.

Guardian
Clark loomed in the doorway, blocking her view, but after a second he stepped back,
not moving toward the huddled shape.

"Pran,
if you'd take this one? He might be a bit more accepting of help from you. Doctor?"
The old man with his leather bag and slightly prissy looking glasses started to
move to treat the man, only to have Clark stop him with a hand. "Let Pran go
first."

The
Doctor smiled, and nodded, if a bit darkly.

"Of
course I will. Bard Pran, if you'd let our patient know that he's safe? I'm sure
that I'd be greatly assured by that, were I the one that had been abused by the
guards here. Taking the law into their own hands...
Savages
." He sounded
slightly angry about it, but moved out of the doorway, which meant that the sixteen
year old girl was supposed to move into place.

Because
that
made sense.

She
wasn't really afraid though, reeking dark hole or not. This man wasn't going to
fight with her after all. He'd just cry. That or moan. It was hard to know which
yet. At the Grange most of the kids had been hard enough that by the time they were
being beaten and locked in the cells that they only cried when they were in severe
pain. This man was inured enough to his wounds that he wasn't sobbing either though,
so maybe he was tougher than she thought?

Pran
was about to try speaking, using her soft stage voice, which was the one she would
have used with a child in the same situation, when the man snorted. Softly.

It
sounded pained and choked off half way through.

"Bard?
You don't look old enough to be an Apprentice even. Why send in a Bard?"

She
got that one. The man, Will Butcher, had been accused of touching a young girl from
the village, Hadis. If that was true he should have been off to a camp, to work
for years at hard labor for his crime. Not beaten by the family of the girl, and
then the guards, who hadn't even hidden that they'd done it. That part was foolish
of them, since they'd probably see one of the work camps too, for what they'd done.
They knew it even and just thought it was worth the hardship, to have a chance to
hurt the man in front of her.

They'd
been told all of this by the head jailer.

"I
know, who'd send me in here, right? But Clark, the huge Guardian out there, needs
to be ready to protect us from the townspeople if it comes to it and the Doctor
is more important than I am. I just got my Apprentice position two days ago, and
happened to be traveling with them on The Lament when the message came in to stop
here." It was all true, even if it left most of her recent story out of things.

She'd
already been with The Lament before that, as an Apprentice Guardian, of all things.
Then she'd had a bit of an adventure, fighting a group of techno-cultist attackers.
By herself. That she'd managed it was so wild that she wasn't going to tell this
man about it. He wouldn't believe her. No one should, really. It was too big of
a story for one small girl.

She
let a soft smile come to her lips. One thing was certain, the man in front of her
wasn't going to hop up and hurt anyone. He was hurt enough that even the small bit
of sharp metal he had in his left hand probably wasn't going to do much for him.

She
winked, which was over the top. After all, the man wasn't up to being a good audience.
Sitting there in pain like he was.

"Here's
the plan. Doctor Millis is going to come in and treat you, which will probably hurt
a bit, but not as much as the beating did. Then we'll take you out of here, back
to the ship. The Lament. It's an airship, attached to the council. Is that all right?
After that, well, I don't know. The only thing I can promise you is that, if you're
innocent, you'll be found that way. Even if you aren't, I like your odds better
if you come with us." Not that the man had a
choice
, but she was more
than willing to lie, if it made him feel better. She let her smile grow, projecting
confidence she didn't feel totally. Her body language spread outward, and opened,
which would have been dangerous if the man was going to attack. "First I'm
going to have to take the weapon you have. I promise, we won't beat you. If anyone
tries I'll fight them."

She
knew what was coming, and Clark did too, but it was clear from the way that he moved
forward that the Doctor wasn't. The man was not going to just give up his only protection.
Not willingly. He tightened his hand on it, looking scared, even as Pran threw her
right hand out hard enough that she hit the thin old Doctor's chest with a thump
that got a dirty look from the man.

"Sorry,
Doc. Let me secure the weapon first? I know this is scary, but Will here will get
the idea, after a bit. I'm a little girl. Barely an Apprentice, and
just
a Bard. Not a threat. I couldn't hurt him if I wanted." Her voice was a bit
sing-song and light sounding, even as the acrid odor of the space assaulted her
again. The man was still sitting in a puddle of his own fluids after all. She could
see the glint of liquid on the floor. Having done the same herself, more than once,
she could forgive him the failure.

Moving
in she tried to not seem menacing in her all black outfit. The clothing was borrowed,
and all she had really, except for her old school uniform. It wasn't exactly bright
and cheery Bard clothing, that was for certain. The man didn't seem to notice that
however, and when she reached out to take the bit of metal, which wasn't even sharpened
yet, though it had a point to it, he just passed it over.

"Thanks.
I need to search you too, but I'll try not to hurt you." She'd checked people
before, but not an innocent person. True, this man might not be that either, which
meant he was possibly dangerous. Then again, everyone was, weren't they? Even she
was a lot more than she seemed, especially when pushed.

It
was a lot ickier than touching a grown man that had been an upstanding citizen two
weeks before should have been. He wasn't just covered with filth, but gore and gross
things. It was sickening, really. Even having been in nearly the same condition
that he was before, she didn't like it. Once upon a time it had been her sitting
in a similar place, if with less reason. She'd been accused of taking extra bread
at the table. She hadn't, that had been a lie, but the Keepers at the Orphanage,
the sisters, they didn't care about that.

They
never did.

The
man was clear though, and she moved back, her face pleasant, she hoped. It was what
she was going for, and no one had ever claimed her acting skills were low end or
anything.

"Doctor
Millis? He seems ready for you." Pran didn't leave the cell however, trying
to empty her mind and hold her place, off to the left hand side. Not that she'd
be a big help if a real fight came, but Clark really was going to be more useful
out in the hall than in the small space with the Doc. He was too big to use his
full fighting skills in there. She wasn't.

Now,
if only she had real fighting skills.

The
older man wasn't tentative, even when he caused pain. Since that was every few seconds,
it wasn't probably for the best.

The
man grunted, and the Doctor spoke softly.

"Right
arm broken. Several ribs at least cracked. He might have a concussion, as well as
wounds that are infected in at least three places. Do you think you can walk out
of here?" Doctor Millis had leaned in and whispered the words, as if it was
a secret, but that got the man to nod.

"Yeah,
I think. I'll do it." His beard was matted on the right hand side, and Pran
assumed that would be due to dried blood. What color it was she didn't know yet,
since there wasn't enough light in the stone space to tell. Something dark, she
figured.

The
Doc was a fussy man, when not treating a patient, and while he was a good soul,
working the ship as his retirement project, so that he could travel without doing
too much work day to day, he could also be hard when needed. That meant he was old
enough not to feel bad about gesturing for her to help the man move. The butcher
was heavy enough that she had to struggle to hold him upright, holding him to her
body for support, and she might just have to burn the clothing she was wearing as
soon as she got back. Or at least scrub them for a few hours.

It
was decently petty of her to think that, since the man had no control over it, but
she still did it. The trip out of the jail was slow, and frightening. The three
guards that were probably looking at their own incarceration for the beating were
standing back and sneering at the man she was holding up. She was under his right
arm, and he looked like he might just be sick from the pain. If that happened she
had no illusion that it wouldn't end up all over her. The man, Will, kept going
anyway. When hope arrived, you went with it, no matter how awful things hurt.

Clark
was in the front, and the Doctor behind them. For her part Pran was trying to keep
herself in a clear mental state, aware of what was going on, in case an attack came
from the men. Not that they'd make it to her, not with Clark there, but just in
case they had friends outside, she needed to be ready.

That
wasn't a bad thought, she saw, since the wagon with Apprentice Roy in it was surrounded
by townspeople. Mainly men, but a few women too. All armed with various things.
It was kind of interesting to see what they all had. Mainly farm tools, like hoes
and heavy hammers with big metal heads on them, but the ladies had iron cooking
pans and wooden rolling pins. They were things that Pran only recognized as props
from some of the plays she'd been in, having never learned to cook, herself.

"There
he is, get him!" This came from a woman, who had a frying pan in her right
hand, and her drab blue and tan dress tied up, in what was probably an attempt to
get it out of the way for the fight she expected. She also was on the side, away
from Clark, who simply turned toward the lean framed lady that looked about twenty-five
or so, and shook his head once, making her freeze.

"No."
His voice was flat and even. Hard, of course, but not threatening. She hadn't committed
a crime yet after all. There was time for that kind of thing later still. "We
don't punish people like this. We take them in front of a Judge, and then, if they're
guilty, we try to teach them not to commit further crimes. To beat a person without
need is barbaric. I expect better of you." He fixed the woman coolly, the scar
on his right cheek shining softly in the cloudy mid-day sunlight.

The
woman looked away and let the pan droop a bit, but spoke angrily.

"That...
Beast
, he touched little Hadis. He had no right! She's only six..."
She didn't reset to fight though, and no one moved in, realizing that Guardian Clark
probably wasn't going to let that really happen, and being beaten by a Guardian
could well be fatal, everyone knew that from the stories and legends. It didn't
hurt that Clark was the largest person there by half a head and had more muscle
than any two of the upset looking men standing there put together.

It
didn't help anything, but the butcher clenched his jaw and then spoke, if not very
loud.

"Lies.
This bitch is blaming me for what the girl's own father, Kevin, done. She knows
it too. I never touched no little girl. That's on
him
." He tried to
gesture at the man, but winced, having let go of his broken arm briefly. That was
clearly a mistake.

"Liar!"
The man that spoke, clearly Kevin, turned out to be one of the guards.

Because
that
made him look innocent.

Of
course in a place this small, they wouldn't have real jailers, would they? Just
people from the village that took the position as needed. Still, if he were being
accused too, then beating the man into not talking could have been part of his plan.