The pounding in her head was how Lucy knew she was awake again—that and the feel of the cold stone floor. She tried to open her eyes, but the light was blinding. Taking control of her breath in the way Ma’ had taught her, she brought the throbbing down to a manageable level and opened one eye just a slit.
Stone walls, bars on the door, straw mattress on which she was NOT laying. The light filtered through the bars from the room outside.
Sitting up doubled both the throbbing and her vision, so she stopped again to control her breath. She kept her eyes lidded and began very quietly mumbling a healing incantation. Must concentrate. Make the throbbing stop. Can’t concentrate. Must… She snarled in frustration, leading to an extra rush of pain.
Laughter brought her attention to the doorway. A boy leaned on the bars. Her age, more or less, dressed in silk and brocade, smug Southlander smirk.
“You’re as skilled a healer as you are a thief,” he said in that precise accent they had. “Face it, orc. You people are nothing but brainless head bashers.”
“Yeah?” she replied. “Maybe you shouldn’t stand so close to the bars, then.”
He quickly backed up two steps.
“Remus,” a gravelly voice said from somewhere out there. “Shut up and go find your nanny.”
The boy turned. “My father said…”
“That his family wouldn’t disrupt the job site,” finished the voice. “Maybe he and I should talk again. Maybe he should send you home to Bravil?”
“Maybe he should!” the boy shouted as he stomped out, slamming the door.
Then she heard a loud sigh, and a chair scraped across the floor. “Sorry about your head,” said the Gravelly-voiced guard as the chair protested his weight.
“You’re the one that hit me?” asked Lucy flatly.
“Yeah. Sorry. Had to.” Neither of them knew what else to say on that subject. “I have to finish my report on you. What’s your name?”
Name. NAME?! Torsten (that pig!) was right. She couldn’t give her real name. They’d be knocking on her door! What’s an orcish name sound like?
“MaGreb. MaGreb GraBashclob. I’m from out of town. Out of country, actually.”
“Sounds Breton,” said Gravelly Voice. “Sure you don’t mean Margrete Ashcroft? Think I’ve heard of you. Fifth Baroness of Something Something?”
Lucy winced.
The chair scraped again, and a massive figure blocked the light in the doorframe. Tusks jutted from his lower lip; broken nose; hair pulled back from a low forehead in thick bands, and brutish eyes under a heavy brow. Lucy’s brain stuttered to a halt. Nowhere in her wildest imaginings could she have foreseen this moment.
“Look, I’d like to help you, but unless you talk to me, you’re probably going to swing.”
“What?” Lucy jumped to her feet. “For stealing a pair of shoes?”
“That,” said the orc, “And resisting arrest, four counts of assault and battery, and threatening the Guard.”
“But that’s not what happened!”
“Maybe you don’t remember throwing three guards to the ground and then shouting in front of forty witnesses that you would…” he consulted his notes, “Get us for this, and we would all be sorry?”
“I wasn’t talking to the Guards!”
“Oh? Who, then?” he asked, bushy eyebrows rising.
“I—“ Lucy snapped her mouth shut. Leading them to Torsten would lead them right into the Warrens. “I can’t say.”
The orc nodded thoughtfully. “So you were working with those that cleared out the shops that day. You created the distraction, and they went to work. Except they double crossed you, left you to rot.”
How’d he figure all that out?
“Tell me who they were and where to find them,” he went on, “we can check your story. Throw out some of the charges. Get you off with a couple of days in jail.”
“I got nothing to say.”
“They sold you out, girl. You don’t owe them a mud crab’s tit!”
“I can’t rat out my people to the Imperials!” she spat out the word “Imperials” like it tasted bad. “It’s against the Code!”
“Your people, what people?” he snorted. “Nords ain’t your people, girl. You’re an orsimer. Nords got no respect for anyone but nords.” He added, ”And thieves don’t waste love on anyone but themselves.”
“That’s not true!” she said. “My Da…” She bit her tongue.
“What about him?” he said, leaning forward eagerly.
“Anyway, you’re just an enforcer for the Imperials,” she said to change the subject. “Who are you to talk about respect?”
“The Imperials have great respect for us. We’re highly valued citizens, soldiers and craftsmen.” He stuck his hand through the bars. “I forgot to introduce myself. Pleased to meet you. Captain Durz Gro-Ushal, commander of this garrison. What’s your name?”
“Durz Gro-Ushal,” she mimicked, “Brainless head basher for the Emperor, at your humble service!” She pointed at the welt on her head to illustrate her point.
He pulled back his hand. “That measured, carefully considered, cool-under-fire love tap saved your life and possibly others. You were slipping into battle rage and my men were drawing weapons. If you’d been brought up in Orsinium, you’d have known how to control it.”
He took a step back, visibly reining in his anger. When he spoke, his tone was bitter. “You know, it’s bad enough listening to that crap from little pink maggots like Remus. Out of the mouth of another orsimer, it just turns my gut.” He walked back to his desk and picked up a quill.
Lucy felt shame, and for the first time in her life, it was not for being an orc. It was for not knowing anything about them and worse, thinking she did.
“Sorry.”
“’Sorry’ and half a gold piece…” he said without looking up.
“It’s not ‘cause I’m trying to protect them,” she started to explained.
“Because of the Code, right?” He gave her half a smile.
“I don’t even know if there really is a Code,” she admitted.
He chuckled. It made him not look so scary, teeth and all. “If there is one, it probably says something about not snitching.”
She chuckled back.
“How’s your head?” he asked.
She realized with surprise that she’d forgotten all about the pain.
“You know another thing you’d have learned in Orsinium is how to ignore pain. Then you probably could have pulled off that healing spell you were trying to use, not that you ever needed it. Who taught you that spell anyway? Breton magic’s not the easiest for orsimer to learn.”
Her smile vanished. How does he do that? Every second I’m here, he’s a step closer to my family. I got to get out of here.
“What if I could get back what was stolen?” she asked.
“You mean like if I let you go, and you went and stole it all back and turned it in?”
“Something like that.”
“Can’t do it. Assault and battery, remember? Witnesses. Procedures.”
“We could make it look like an escape,” she suggested.
“So I would look like a fool, and you would have another count on your rap sheet. No good for either of us. Unless you’re competing with your friends for the highest price on your head?”
Lucy’s gaze dropped to her toes. For kids in the Warren, that was actually kind of a common game.
“Let me call in a couple of favors, “he said. “Of course, you’d have to play it smarter than you did on your last caper.”
Comments
BTW, is Swedish your first language, or English? Which I guess is the same ques... more
Oh, and the Quist could ... more
Also, indeed Sweden is awesome.
How old is Lucy? I got the impression she was younger than Torsten (11) but that would make her a child, and there's no way imperials would HANG a CHILD right?