Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I (17 page)

Nuzbek glared.
“Not much.”

“Psychokinesis? Teleportery?” Baus mused. “The possibilities are
endless! Now, if these figures use the sum of their powers upon us,
we are all snake bait as Nuzbek has alluded. Hence, and in such
wise, I urge you to surrender us for release, Captain—if only to
forestall such a contingency, and alleviate us from otherwise
injurious malaise.”

Germakk choked
on his tongue. “Captain, you can’t—”. He rounded on Baus. “You
would suggest that we let you all walk scot-free from here? An
unlikely occurrence!”

Lopze brought
forward a galled outcry. “Enough raillery! Baus’s words are
sagacious! His argument is sound and germane and it is imbued with
a conviction that is compelling.”

“True,”
announced Zestes. “Our lives are all in peril. Baus is our only
invaluable comrade, a laudable spokesman who plays Flanks and
augments our purses with bander.”

Many
agreements came supporting the cause. Valere locked arms with
Zestes and they twirled arm in arm. Dighcan caught Quintlo in a
clapping jig, and Zorez, Tustok and Karlil held up fingers and
cat-called.

Baus moved to
the front of the group and held up his hands. “Peace, brothers.”
Signalling for a space of silence, he entreated the men to quell
their enthusiasm and allow the Captain to speak.

Graves gave a
nod of a saturnine amusement at the courtesy. “Keep up the charade,
Baus, for if any can do it, it is you. You have won excellent
rapport with your bedfellows—bravo! Indeed you are a jocular
fellow, bringing a merry cheer to this stark world of the yard. As
for liberating the compass of your mongrel breed, that would be a
breach of judiciousness—if not sanity. What would the innocent
inhabitants of Heagram say when, tossed in the ditch, robbed of all
chastity of their dulcet daughters, they lie broken and maimed?
Would they come bloody-jowled to me crying, ‘Captain, you permitted
Dighcan and Zestes to foist atrocities on our persons? Why?’“

Dighcan made a
small sign of resentment. “That is an offensive remark! Do you not
know I am a reformed man?”

Graves gave a
gesture of smiling compassion. “That may well be, Dighcan, but I am
vexed by this unwarranted and perplexing theft of my stores. The
mysteries shall be exposed! I shall await the moment with relish!”
He turned to Deputies Ausse and Germakk. “Now summon Skarrow and
Mulfax. Tell them to haul their carcasses over here pronto. I want
them replacing Germakk and you.”

Ausse’s eyes
widened with surprise. “A wise course, sir? When would you wish the
order relayed?”

“Immediately!”
he snapped. “Would I utter it only to have it ignored?”

“But after—?
Where shall we—?”

“You,” he
cried frigidly, “are relegated to the scullery. I would have you
first scouring the office for clues, and with a fine-toothed comb,
if you weren’t so inept! Nevertheless, give the space the best
dusting ever! Then, after compiling the observations, report to me.
Present yourself to Cemurk the cook and await your duties. As for
the rest of you rabble, consume your regular slops. On the mark! I
want three more volunteers chipping rock on the road to
Tavilnook.”

Dighcan
thought to interject a complaint.

Graves
interrupted. “Dighcan, Zestes, Valere! How quaint. You look like
worthy candidates—with all that spry energy and capering about, you
must be pining for a chance to employ it?”

“Me?” asked
Zestes innocently.

“Yes,
you.”

“What of
myself?” bawled Lopze morosely. “Do I not at least account for an
honourable mention in this crew?”

Graves
smoothed his cheeks. “How could I forget my favourite
strangler?”

Lopze
brightened with a cheerful grin. “A jewel, Captain—you are a jewel
in the rough.”

Graves
murmured that he could understand the comparability. “Now!” he
called out sharply. “Out to work! Cold weather is on the way and
there remain numerous chores to be completed! Germakk! Ausse! To
speed!”

Limping toward
the office, Germakk gave a sour-lipped grumble. A dour Ausse
followed on his heels to summon the replacements and gather the
prisoners for the road gang.

VI

Two days
passed. Then a week. Soon a fortnight had slipped by and the air
grew chiller as the fall faithfully progressed. One bright sunny
day Baus stood gazing reflectively up at the measureless sky. His
mood was tinged with a melancholy of burden that he had never
known. His cheeks were sunken; his brittle movements were dull and
mechanical, but the hungry itch for liberation had never waned. His
face had become a haggard mask. A sailor marooned on a island would
have no better complexion. During the interval he had grasped many
things about the guards’ regular movements, also he had learned
much of the intricacies of the convicts’ characters. No revelation
was forthcoming on the nature of Nuzbek’s magic. What was the
source of his sorcery? The magician had made no excursions to the
north wall, as if a decision had been made in his mind as to the
unprofitability of jail-breaking. To lift the stun-wand from the
magician would require a talent of extreme scrupulousness.

The men had
been rotated for their shifts; now Baus, Weavil and others remained
fish-gutting in the compound by the handfuls. Quintlo, Yullen, and
Zorez and Vibellhanz had been sent away with Nolpin and Karlil to
chip stone for road repairs on the wind-worn route to seaside
Tavilnook, eight miles away.

Drays of
eelfish were arriving in the compound, along with sandcrabbers,
golgonfish and rockgobblers. Speckled and varied, the fish were
dumped into a heaving pile on which the men went instantly to work.
Baus and company sorted the gobblers from the crabbers with fingers
raw and bare; Dighcan and others cut, slashed and tossed the
filleted flesh back into the drays. Zestes manhandled the barrows
to and from the gate and to the town with Nuzbek and Boulm, while
Oppet’s snauzzerhounds tagged along to ensure their fidelity. There
remained no chance of escape by any impulsive means.

Stymied by the
disappearance of the jars, Graves had not given up his search and
elected to stay in the compound to supervise the work. From the
office window, he watched as the prisoners went through motions of
tedium. Baus spied him making gruff remarks to Ausse and Germakk
who still were on part-time duty sweeping the office, but all the
time the warden’s eyes were cannily alert and on the lookout for
peculiarity.

The morning
passed.

When the lunch
gong finally rang, the men convened to the refectory. The meal
tables were set with plates and various bowls. Many were draped in
coarse, stained cloth, a colour which Baus disliked and guessed had
once been white.

Steam drifted
from the tin platters. Saucers, forks and spoons were strewn in
random piles beside the smorgasbord.

Tustok and
Jorkoff grabbed their plates and assumed a premier position.
Leamoine crowded close in line, sidling uncomfortably near Jorkoff
who, resenting the encroachment, nudged him away. The magician
muttered a revilement at Leamoine’s presence and steered clear,
standing apart from the group with an obvious distaste for having
to stand in line like a mule. The magician waited for others to
congregate, then fell in behind Dighcan whom he sensed shared an
orthodox view on the matters of male intimacies.

Zestes,
Valere, Boulm and Paltuik sniffed the air; they placed bets on who
could deduce the character of the menu based on scent alone. Valere
was the successful winner: greased eel fillet, potato-leek, cold
snail pasta and a smothering of smoluk-egg pâté.

One by one,
the men received their dollops of victual and tried to guess which
of the oleaginous helpings was which.

Three men
behind Nuzbek was Baus, who watched Leamoine with an inherent
shrewdness. The convict cast the magician a backward wink. The
effect was mildly amusing if not entertaining, insofar as Nuzbek
back-pedaled, deliberately blocked by Zestes who engaged in an
animated debate with Valere.

Baus chuckled.
How was Nuzbek to survive in this pack of rogues? He was disliked
by all. Furthermore, he must be put to task before he could
complete his morbid revenge on himself or Weavil. There was no firm
way of acquiring the magician’s baton outside of—

An interesting
speculation gripped him . . . how efficient it would be if Nuzbek
were out of the picture, unable to retrieve his wand hidden so
cleverly under his bedside pillow! A scheme began to form in Baus’s
mind . . .

The flash of
insight was cut short as Skarrow passed by, berating Lopze for an
act of mischief. Baus whispered the idea to Weavil who put forth a
cry of alarm: “Not I! The plan reeks of peril. Why put me at
risk?”

“You are the
tinier of us,” Baus insisted. He bunted Weavil ahead and put a
mouth to his ear, “Remember! This plan is foolproof. When Nuzbek is
least prepared, you do your business!”

Dancing with
reservation, Weavil pussyfooted down the lunch line. All was
normal. Neither Nuzbek, Dighcan, Zestes or Valere were aware he was
alive—Weavil was so tiny as to be a leg ornament. The plan seemed
intrinsic enough, but with the risky hint of a skull-bashing.

Charily,
Weavil snuck under Valere’s legs, then crept past Zestes’
fish-smelling thighs. The midget eased over to Nuzbek to halt
before Dighcan, grimacing as he inspected his backside. It was
large and vulnerable. Straining for its tenderest cheek, Weavil
bestowed Dighcan a jarring squeeze before flying back to his
spot.

Dighcan
whirled about with a face of a drake’s. He glared at Nuzbek with a
rare rancour who was immediately behind, and roared, “You
hypocritical dog! How dare you coddle my rump after berating
Leamoine for a similar act?”

Nuzbek flashed
Dighcan a scathing leer. “Speak in more understandable tones, you
cur, not the gibberish of low-class folk.”

Dighcan was
incensed. “You insolent swine—” He flung himself on the magician
and stung him a backhand blow to the teeth. Nuzbek reeled over in
anguish. Dighcan was on him and crunched Nuzbek’s top hat over his
ears and began twirling him about while hoofing him in the butt and
loins. The magician recalled a similar exercise from an earlier
time, judging by the daft expression on his face.

Zestes
staggered out of line, crying, “Hey, Dighcan, why hog all the fun?
Little Nuzbeka needs a lift!” He upended his boot into Nuzbek’s
gut, lifting him a good two inches off the ground.

Dighcan
chirped in merriment and repeated the process along lines of a
slight variation. “You do have a flair, Zestes. But those
workboots, they are a tad harsh.” He gave Nuzbek a laughing
twirl.

Zestes
cautioned Dighcan: “Careful, Dighcan! It smacks of inconvenience to
block my angle while twirling Nuzbek!”

Nuzbek cursed,
thrashed, unable to see anything in front of his nose. A lucky
swipe caught Dighcan on the lips, prompting Dighcan to stab down a
fist. Immediately Nuzbek fell to the ground whereby Dighcan plunged
his whole weight on top of him like a barrel. There was a fierce
rolling like two stray bullies from Angler’s Row, each struggling
for an advantage, while Nuzbek received the shorter end of the
stick.

The convicts
abandoned their meals, gathering around the fight, hollering and
cheering for his favourite.

“You teach
him, Diggy!” called out Valere.

“Yeah, teach
him a thing or two about gropings!” implored Lopze.

Paltuik bent
low, gripping his knees in mirth. “Ouch, that was a fine tummy tap,
Nuzbag! Bully for you! Keep up the good spirit.”

Cognizing a
disturbance from the office, Graves came running out with his
snapperwhip cracking. He forced his way through the laughing circle
and whipped the grimacing prisoners to submission. “Enough of this
tomfoolery! What goes on? You know I permit no hooliganery in my
yard.”

Dighcan rose,
puffing froth from his blood-smeared face. He expressed his
concerns on woozy feet with a haughty attitude while wiping away a
mouthful of blood. “Nuzbek has instigated a gross indecency upon my
person.”

“It is
untrue!” Nuzbek rolled back, foaming at the mouth. “I thoroughly
deny the allegation!”

Graves lifted
eyes to the sky. “Oaf!” He ignored Nuzbek’s protests. “What twisted
pleasures have you been dipping into now?” He turned Nuzbek an
intolerant leer. “Your just dessert. Ten demerit points.”

Nuzbek
tottered to his feet. “What do you mean, ten demerits?”

“You heard
me.”

“I am being
penalized for unjust cause!”

“You are being
penalized for instigating pugilism in my yard.”

“Hogwash! Do
you accuse me?” The rogue stamped a foot. “This blackguard
tottering before you is a prevaricating liar. He fibs for no
reason—outside of the pure joy of creating grief for me. Are you
kid-blind to such duffers, Graves, to believe in his nonsensical
poppycock!”

“An additional
double demerit, Nuzbek, for vituperations, which pitches you to a
three day confinement in the hive.”

Nuzbek uttered
an inhuman croak. “I hardly call ‘kid-blind’ a ‘vituperation’.”

Graves tapped
a finger to his palm. “A repetition of slander. Another demerit.
Your ears are indeed in need of a waxing.
Item 2: prisoners are
expected to remain politely attentive to prison officials
—I
would not adjudge ‘kid-blind’ as language outside this
injunction.”

Weavil piped
up loudly: “I believe the exact wording is ‘
Prisoners are
expected to remain civil and attentive to prison officials with
politeness being an asset
’.”

Graves nodded.
“I suspect this is the exact wording.”

Baus confirmed
the rendering but then added that in no way did the Captain’s
briefer description undermine the dictate’s fundamental
essence.