Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I (10 page)

Baus and
Weavil enjoyed perhaps an easier integration into prison life than
the magician crew. As pugnacious as he was, Baus decided that an
altercation with the likes of Dighcan or Zestes, or even the
red-bearded Valere, or sardonic, ferret-faced Lopze, would prove
unproductive. For the most part, he remained aloof, humming sea
chanteys to pass the time while alleviating the boredom of
captivity with speculations on prison escape. He resided somewhere
between the midway mark to rock bottom in the pecking order of
these rogues, and so silently received his share of cuffs,
abrasions and bully-whacking from a new set of peers. But survival
was critical and Baus realized that circumstance could not be
altered. Weavil, in theory, caught the brunt of crude jokes, the
majority of them accompanied by a swift hoof in the rear or a biff
that sent him sailing through the air like a tamegendron.
‘Ankle-nipper’ or ‘Globe-nogger’ was his common title, also
‘Poodle’, a cognomen he despised and had earned due to the comic
nature of his head and height.

Heagram’s gaol
consisted of thirteen inmates—a sordid collection of swindlers,
thieves, kidnappers and ruffians as has been mentioned—but now it
boasted eighteen upon the arrival of Baus, Weavil and Nuzbek,
Nolpin, Boulm. Overseeing the compound was the notable Captain
Graves, a severe sort who assumed the role of ‘Primary
Warden’—Heagram being too small a district to command a separate
police chief and warden. While in an advisory capacity, Tilfgurd
remained commander of the two prison deputies, Ausse and Germakk,
Graves was the absolute governor. On a part-time basis, Skarrow and
Mulfax were the other deputies’ peers. The four comprised the teams
that patrolled the grounds by day and guarded the barracks by
night, all wielding snapperwhips, poison daggers and a long-hooked
bill to prod any disorderly convicts into obedience.

The compound
consisted of a rectangular field: a waist-high barren tract of
spongebush and tussock spread out along Heagram’s northern quarter.
About a mile from the sea, the area had once kept the old keep of
Lord Smitheron safe, back in days when the region had been known as
Särch when it enjoyed its brief but prosperous period of opulence.
The blackstone had been razed by sea raiders a century ago, but the
outer wall remained strong: an enclosure of limestone ramparts, a
foot thick, fifteen feet high and weathered grey and white from
salt and lichen. The wall surrounding the entire grounds and the
old court was roughly eight hundred feet by four hundred feet—a
terrain which by some peculiarity of the architect’s planning, ran
on a slightly downward tilt toward the sea. A replacement wooden
watchtower, had been erected in the last half century—a twenty five
foot high octagonal structure, part of the southern masonry and
gate that peered out over the beobar portcullis, fashioned of
black-varnished, reinforced bars. A barbaric iron lantern overhung
the portcullis along with a crudely forged emblem depicting a man
chained at the leg and striking a clam with a mallet. The
watchtower, buttressed by slats of timber, was capped with an
antique bronze cupola and stood upon a narrow portico, behind which
the guards’ quarters sheltered and the well-furnished Warden’s
office, two dusty repositories, and a lavatory and refectory.

If Baus
thought escaping the yard was to be easy, he was naive. The
inner-facing wall was sanded smooth of footholds and its summit was
cemented with shards of broken glass. Surrounding the rampart for a
mile or more, spread a compact dense forest whose tangly depths and
murky pools were enough to deter even the most venturesome of
escapists. Limestone cliffs, sheer and forbidding, flanked the
western wall which couched behind the guards’ quarters and
commanded an imposing view of the sea.

Upon the
felons’ arrival, Graves had confiscated their weapons and monies, a
total of fourteen cils, razor, pocket knife and several soiled
handkerchiefs. Five of these cils belonged to Weavil, nine to Baus,
and none to Nuzbek or his cronies. The three ‘emergency cils’ that
were taped inside the lining of Baus’s right sock were not yet
discovered, nor the bizarre items concealed in the flaps of
Nuzbek’s black boots.

Graves had
appeared the following morning to inspect the new arrivals. A
vicious cat scratch, Baus noticed, was raked along his left cheek.
Nadek, who had been apprehended by Skarrow and Madluck in the wee
hours, apparently had proven to be a rather ‘lively’ house guest,
and her spiritedness had earned her a charitable release. Now
Graves, walking on remarkably stiff legs, had taken the newcomers
aside, and with Tilfgurd hounding his heels like an eager
lackhound, addressed each of them in turn with a formal salute.

“Well,
gentlemen—you are now official inmates of Heagram prison! Be proud,
and stand to attention! No boorishness is to be seen while I am in
command!” He smoothed out his moustache.

“Normally I am
not a man ruthless or pettifogging, merely a martinet for rules.
Morals comprise the clear makings of law! This is my own maxim.
Rules must be adhered to with verve! Are we clear? Excellent then!
This brings about the most noteworthy aspects of my speech. As
Warden, I must cite these regulations, which briefly go as
follows:

“Item 1:
Prisoners must maintain an appropriate level of hygiene.

“2: Prisoners
are expected to remain civil and attentive to prison officials.
Politeness is considered an asset.

“3: Prisoners
are required to perform proscribed duties day to day, to be
determined at the commencement of each day.

“4: Curfew is
strictly monitored and rigidly enforced—9PM—no exceptions.

“5: Once
lights are extinguished, prisoners are to remain in the barracks
until 6AM.

“6: Prisoners
caught trying to escape the compound are sentenced to three weeks’
solitary confinement in the flap-trap, the hive as we call it, that
structure which stands by the south wall.

“7: No brawls,
combats, skirmishes or violent behaviours are allowed in the yard,
barracks or work area.

“8: Likewise,
no offensive advances, abasements or molestations or vigours are
permitted upon fellow prisoners.”

Graves’ lips
parted and the breath whooshed past his lips. “Are we clear?” He
twirled an index finger and motioned toward the faded yellow notice
pasted to the barracks’ façade. “There are the rules! Heed
well.”

The newcomers
gave no comment, only stared back with crab-like apathy. Baus’s
stomach lurched with hunger. The barracks were drab and
unappealing. A long, low, green-lichened stone outbuilding sported
an almost flat tin roof and two glumly-barred windows poised above
a rickety veranda.

Graves
persisted in his jovial discourse: “Here at Heagram, deeds are
catalogued on a demerit system. Anyone caught contravening an
injunction aforementioned is awarded a penalty based on the
severity of the crime. For example, suppose our magician here was
to omit a cleansing of himself after a toilet visit, well, he would
be assigned a demerit in violating Item 1. Having made two similar
infractions, thereafter, he would serve an entire day in the hive,
having plunged his demerit tally in an excess or quantity of three
points. If Nuzbek were to further neglect curfew and in wanton mood
sneak an abasement or groping upon Nolpin, then he would earn
himself an additional eight demerits. Is this clear? This totals
eleven demerits, which earns him three days in solitary.”

Boulm
scratched his brow and raised a finger with polite inquiry. “This
scheme seems overtly convoluted. By happenstance, I have forgotten
which rules apply to which detriments.”

“Worry not,
you rascal!” The Captain narrowed his eyes and spoke plainly, “In
response to all further inquires of the nature, I shall defer to
Tilfgurd at the time when an offence is perpetrated.”

Boulm
sputtered an objection but Graves would hear no more. “On the
general topic of escape: I advise you only to banish it from your
minds! Each of you is allowed to roam independently throughout the
grounds—a luxury you would do well to respect and provided you
behave. Peer around! The walls are sheer stone, unscalable. Any
attempt to breach them pose hazards to health! Secondly, do not get
any ideas of attempting to overpower any of my Constables. They
have poison daggers in their belts—tipped with prickle sap of the
ollop-plant, and one prod and you are as good as dead. So, Nolpin,
I see your crafty scheming mind spidering toward the gate. May I
remind you that master Oppet’s canines guard that threshold.”
Turning to his deputy, he urged him to do the honours.

Tilfgurd went
to fetch the dog master. The portcullis bars came clanging up. Into
the yard trooped Oppet, a stocky, round-jowled man with a ribbon of
gold hair striping his scalp. He had a benevolent face, a button
nose and was of middle years, upon whose crown a bowl-shaped blue
felt hat was strapped in place by leather chin guards. He was
pulled along by two abominable hounds, all jowl, snouts, and
tails—beasts which Baus guessed were his ‘canines’, ranging six
feet in length from tail to snout.

Graves gave an
appreciative nod and motioned benignly to the two grey and
black-furred yapping animals: “These are our snauzzerhounds,
equipped with a bevy of razor-sharp teeth. They also harbour
powerful hindquarters. Tapered snout easily works like a spear
rammed into a man’s guts.”

Baus and
Weavil’s eyes met in a twisted grimace. The Captain, noticing the
distress, continued in a hearty voice: “A bit of history—Sir Oppet,
our veteran gatemaster, raised the two as pups; bred them from far
west Dharahdor, didn’t you, Oppet?”

The hound
master broke into an infectious grin. “They are a cross between a
rockgrinder and a darpest, in fact . . . both are auspiciously
intemperate and unforgiving breeds of steppe-wolf and Delasian
hide-a-hound.”

The Captain
added an appreciative afterword: “To Oppet’s command only do the
hounds obey; our gatemaster can induce them to yield only with a
secret signal.”

Tilfgurd who
had been listening to all, added an informative sidebar. “Captain,
Oppet’s hounds do not actually cognize a command through ears
alone, they sense the gist of a verbal command through an extremely
sensitive olfactory network which is—”

Graves made a
polite interjection: “Though informative, Tilfgurd, the matter is
overdetailed. Outside of a basic awareness that the hounds are
instruments of death, I think that our new recruits need no further
particulars.”

Tilfgurd sadly
demurred.

Graves paused
as the barks of the canines heightened. Signalling Tilfgurd to see
Oppet and his pets to the gate, he demanded: “Any more questions?”
Glancing about, eyes glittering, he blew out his cheeks.

Nuzbek dangled
his offensive, bedraggled hat by two forefingers. “I request
recompense for this soiled property!”

Graves raised
his bushy brows in surprise but chose to ignore the
expostulation.

“Well, when do
we get breakfast?” inquired Baus.

Waiting for
the chuckles to subside, Graves forced a sombre grin. “A legitimate
query, Baus, and certainly not as droll as some here may think. The
morning repast is served at precisely 6AM and consists of gruel and
leftover slops. Having missed breakfast, as we all too often do,
like now, having taken too long to discuss Heagram compound basics,
we shall do without.” He motioned to the barracks in the rear.
“These are your sleeping quarters—see them and love them! They are
your asylum until such time as your terms are completed. The
structure is neither vain nor luxurious—in fact, it is rudely
configured with clammy walls, foliated yimbir-wood rafters, mildewy
dirt floor and a pair of barred windows that provide a questionable
view over the yard. The edifice comprises an open dorm
architecture—designed for a minimum of comfort and a maximum of
space-saving. Yard labour commences at 6:15AM sharp. It continues
to 6PM when dinner is served! Tilfgurd shall be your liaison in
these regards, at least until you are acclimatized to your new
surroundings . . .” He peered about, frowning. “Ho-hum! On the
subject of particulars, since Tilfgurd exemplifies so eager-beaver
an attitude, I promptly entrust him to advise you of your upcoming
duties; in fact, he shall personally attend to the rest of your
tour . . .”

* * *

Graves left
the area, but before doing so, he had instructed Tilfgurd to outfit
Nuzbek in a proper pair of boots to replace his foppish ‘elf’
slippers. His complaints that the new boots pinched his feet
received short shrift. Tilfgurd promptly escorted the men to their
quarters and substantiated Graves’ earlier description of
decrepitude of the barracks which in fact demonstrated a much more
vivid clarity. There was a sour, ever-cloying stench of rancid
unwashed bodies and other dismal redolences. Around three of the
four grimy walls ranged a collection of rudely-placed dormitory
beds and a darkened hallway which Baus knew only too well which led
to the privy with the broken door.

Tilfgurd took
the convicts to a space roughly in the middle of the yard where a
subset of the ‘regulars’ worked knee-deep in clam shells and
reeking fish. Baus saw broken rock strewn everywhere. The motley
crew was one of such thatch-bearded ugliness that he fairly
cringed. The muscle-bound, tattooed hooliganish exudation was
without equal; indeed, some of the rogues Baus had briefly met the
previous evening, exhibited their own unique assortment of broken
teeth, eye patches, bandannas, leathers, chains and leers. The bulk
was engaged in clam shucking, rock-grinding, carting drays and
cleaning tools.

Amongst the
criminals stooped Dighcan, the florid-faced, sullen goliath. He
still guarded his crooked smirk, and now he shook his mass of
shoulder-length blond curls and tweaked his golden moustache. His
long lion’s chin seemed ludicrously pointed in the light of day and
his jewel-blue eyes turned inward a bit crazily. Zestes was short,
thickset, a blackguard if there ever were one, with an ever-present
leer and loose blue overalls that were bagged at the knees. He had
a nonexistent neck and wore iron-studded wristlets and green dragon
tattoos fleeing up his arms. Two large looping iron earrings
dangled heavily from either ear, suggestive of irascibility rather
than a preference for men. Valere was a tall, purposeful and
grey-eyed rogue. His beard hung a flaming red, bright as his hair
which complemented his sailor’s orange- and blue-striped dungarees.
A sun-browned face, and a scar breached his left cheek near the
corner of his lips and made his satirical but jesting face appear
fulsome. Lopze was a middle-weight thug and wore baggy mauve
pantaloons. His sneaky rat face was latched with an orange eye
patch and thin bartering lips and stubbly billy goat goatee.
Paltuik was more of a hulking brute, bull-necked and young who wore
greasy, crow-black hair clipped in short bunches and an indigo
kerchief wrapped tightly around his brow—a feature which enhanced
the overall bushy blackness of his threatening, down-curved brows.
Vibellhanz was owl-like and wiry; he owned a bowed back and no
visible teeth. His concept of hair was a collection of white wisps
trailing down the crook of his back. Tustok sported a purple nose
ring, a pair of sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, oily skin and the
thin haggard look of a gangly ruffian. Leamoine had an annoyingly
graceful manner, which his blue, immaculate trousers, grey cape and
right-ear bangle seemed to accentuate—not to mention the shaved
rounded chin, white face, delicate cheeks and placid grin.