Condemned (Death Planet Book 1) (25 page)

But was this a test? Had the King seen the way the panther looked at her, and looked for an excuse to have him killed? It was the right thing to do... but it would be such a shame.

“The axe-man,” she said.

The King laughed. “And why do you think that?”

“The cat is fast, but the axe-man has armour, and only has to hit him once to put him down.”

“Hmm. We'll see.”

The crowd yelled as the axe-man swung the axe above his head, and those at the front climbed high on the arena wall to see the fight more clearly.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” the axe-man said.

The band at the front of the grandstand thumped on their drums and blew through their bugles as the panther and axe-man danced around each other in the arena.

The axe swung again, and the panther dodged. The axe continued past him, and a man on the wall yelled as the blade slashed across his arm, smashing through the bone, and tearing it away just below the elbow. He fell back, spraying blood from his severed arm. The crowd yelled, and more men jumped back from the wall as the red fountain turned their way.

The panther’s claws raked across the axe-man’s wrist. Most just scraped on leather, but one drew blood. The axe-man grimaced, and adjusted his grip on the axe. The panther swung his sword, and it clanged against the axe-man's shield as he blocked it. The axe swung toward the panther's head. Princess' heart jumped as the panther pulled back, and the blade passed a centimetre from his nose.

Her heart fluttered at the sight, and she closed her eyes. She couldn't watch any more. Don't let him get killed. Please.

The men grunted and yelled, and metal clanged. She pressed her eyelids tighter together, and stuffed her fingers in her ears. It still didn't block out the sounds of the fight.

The crowd cheered.

“Not enjoying it, my dear?” the King said.

She opened one eye, just in time to see the panther's paw lash out. His claws slashed across the axe-man's neck. The axe-man pulled back, but blood spurted from the gash between his armour and helmet. Light glinted from blood oozing between his lips, and he raised his shield hand toward his neck.

The panther smiled, and raised his hand, showing claws that dripped fresh blood. The crowd cheered louder, and drones buzzed in to circle around the two fighters.

“You’re gonna be dog food,” the axe-man gargled as he swung the axe again. This time, slow and wavering. Blood streaks dripped down the front of his armour, red against the grey chainmail.

The panther swung his paw again. The axe-man blocked the attack with his shield, then the panther swung from the other side. The axe-man screamed as the panther’s sword raked across his face below the helmet.

He stepped back, his right eye socket red. The eye dangled down his cheek, and swung from side to side on the end of the optic nerve as he moved.

“Not looking so good now, I think,” the King said.

“I doubt he’s looking at much of anything.”

“Just the ground, I imagine, my dear.”

The axe-man stumbled forward, and swung the axe wildly toward the panther. The panther dodged to the man's blind side, and swung a paw. The axe-man gasped as the claws scraped across his wrist, cutting through it and spraying blood. His hand turned red as the blood oozed out, and he dropped the axe. He stepped back and panted, holding the shield high, and turning on the spot as he looked for the panther.

The panther grabbed the axe, and his muscles strained as he raised it high above his head. The axe-man's blood-stained lips quivered as he raised his hand to try to block the blow. The axe swung, and the axe-man's head rolled across the dirt as his neck sprayed blood. The panther dropped the axe, grabbed the head by the hair, and held it up. The lips moved for a second more, before the eyes went blank.

The crowd cheered, and three drones circled him, recording his victory. He glanced toward Princess, and winked. She looked away, then glanced back. He was still watching her.

“Not a good choice, my dear,” the King said.

Princess' head flicked around toward him, her cheeks red. Had he seen her staring at the panther? “What?”

“The axe-man. Armour doesn't help much, if it just makes you slow and unwieldy. A fast man without armour can beat a slow one wearing it.”

The King stood, and the thunder of his steam-powered, metallic hand-claps echoed back from the stone walls of the courtyard. Princess covered her ears, but they still rang after the claps slowed, then stopped.

“Good show,” the King said. “A hundred silver shinies to the cat. Toss the other on the barbie.”

The crowd cheered and clapped. The panther bowed, then tossed the head toward the stand. Blood dripped from the neck as it flew, splattering across the audience below the King's box. It smacked into Princess' cleavage, then fell down into her lap. She squealed, grabbed it by the hair, and tossed it aside.

The King laughed. Princess wiped the blood from her chest, and wiped her hand clean on the seat beside her. She glanced down as she did so, and the axe-man's dead left eye stared back at her, while the right hung loose beside his cheek. She kicked his head away, and it rolled beneath the seat in front of her. That was disgusting.

But at least it wasn't the panther's head on the floor.

Liam pulled Daniel into the ring. The band played a loud drum roll, interspersed with out-of-tune bugling.

“Is he still alive?” Princess said. Shouldn’t he be dead already? He had attacked the King, after all. His skull should be on a stone pillar like the others, on show to visitors. Not still up on his shoulders.

Daniel had nothing on. And, from what she could see, nothing much to hide, if he had been clothed. No big muscles... no big anything else on his body. He’d clearly never spent any time in a body shop, unless he was one of those weirdos who actually wanted to look weak and useless. One of his eyes was a bruised mess, the purple eyelid barely open, and he held his right arm firmly against his side, as though he was trying to avoid pain from moving it.

The King leaned toward Princess, and whispered to her. “For now.”

What was the boy doing on Hades, anyway? For someone who looked about as dangerous as a newborn puppy, and about as likely to break a law, to be be Condemned, he must have done something pretty damn perverse.

Then again, the girls in EdCamp had always said to watch for the guys who looked too normal. They were the ones who were looking for a nice girl to take back to their dungeon.

Maybe he was one of them.

“Did he tell you anything?”

“Nothing useful.”

“Didn’t you torture him?” She would have, if someone had tried to kill her. Just out of spite, who cares what he knew? The
Dwarf Riders
had tortured her once, back home, and she hadn’t even known anything, really. She was lucky they eventually decided they’d rather bang her than kill her.

“A little. There are other ways to get information.”

“Torture seems a pretty good way to me.”

“The boy is retarded. I could have had him skinned alive...”

Bianca stamped her foot. “Daddy, I wanted to skin him, and you said I couldn’t.”

“...or buggered half to death by hounds...”

“That was my idea,” Furball said, and giggled.

“...and he still wouldn’t have known anything useful he could tell me.”

Or he was just good at pretending to be stupid. “It has to be worth a try, doesn’t it?”

“I would rather see who this little show brings out of the woodwork. The little shit was working for someone. He’s far too stupid to have planned this himself. They’ll likely be here to save him, or to make sure he dies before he talks. The Guards are watching for his accomplices.”

“I still think the hound thing would be more likely to work.” Any guy she’d ever known would be screaming and blubbering like a little girl, in seconds.

“That’s what I said,” Furball said, then slumped back in her seat with her arms crossed. “But how do you convince a King of anything?”

The boy glanced around the arena. The crowd stared at him, as he stood there naked. Then it parted as the gate on the far side opened, and a furry giant pushed its way through, with a Guard at each side of her. What was Brunhilde doing there? Hadn’t she escaped?

Drones buzzed in to record the two fighters. The crowd murmured as Brunhilde and Daniel squared up. His face barely reached as high as her floppy breasts, and his arms were barely as wide as her thumb. The boy wouldn't be much of a fight, unless he did have something in his body worth hiding.

The King cleared his throat. “As a special treat for this year’s Brawl, we have a fight that’s very close to my own heart.” He pointed at Daniel. “This asshole just tried to kill me. So now we can all enjoy watching him torn limb from limb by...” he waved his hand toward Brunhilde. “... this... thing. After which, it’s barbecue time.”

“I want his balls,” Furball said, and giggled again.

“I want them,” Bianca said.

“There’s two,” Princess said. “You can share.”

Furball pouted. “I don’t want to share.”

Bianca nudged her. “We’re sisters. Sisters ought to share.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday, when I wanted to ride your hauler.”

“That was different.”

“I asked for them first. I should get them.”

The King coughed. His steam engine hissed as he crunched down into his wooden throne. “Sadly, I doubt this brawl will take very long.”

M
oses wiped his face with the back of his hand. Streaks of dark yellow liquid ran down his metal breastplate. He grabbed a cloth, and wiped some of it away, then cupped water from the river and tried to wash away the rest.

“To be fair, that’s not the first time a man pissed in my face.”

Guy peered around the crates from where he had hidden as Red hosed the boat down. How could that bastard's body hold so much piss? The whole boat stank of it.

Not that it was the first time anyone had pissed on him, but the last slave overseer who did it to him at the mine had found himself with a dick in his ass the next day. His own.

He’d deal with Red the next time he saw that asshole. Though what had provoked that display, anyway? Was it just bad luck, or had the fucker been waiting for them? And, if he was waiting, why the fuck would he be? Did he know?

So much for a clean getaway with no-one knowing where he’d gone. If the kid did survive, and give anything away that made the King suspect Guy, Red would be more than eager to tell them where he was.

Of course, even if the kid did speak—and the King's tortures could be very persuasive—he'd only be able to give them false information about the fake Revolution. Without Red’s help, they might be hunting upriver for days, while he got away.

“Guess you normally have to pay for that.”

“Not always,” Moses said. “Do you think I did something that offended him, or he was just having a laugh?”

“Hard to tell.”

“I do hope I don’t have to have him killed.”

The crate rattled. Guy kicked it. It rattled again, and began to cough. Moses stared at it. Guy gave it another kick. The noise stopped.

“What the fuck do you have in there?” Moses said.

Guy slid his hand closer to the revolver in his belt. “Nothing that should concern you. I paid you to deliver me and my crate, not to ask questions.”

“Some things are more interesting than money, my friend.”

Moses tapped on the side of the crate. Something tapped back. Guy slid his hand onto the grip of his revolver, and Moses’ guards grabbed their own weapons.

“It's just a rat.”

“I think we do have a rat on board, but I have a growing suspicion it's not in the box.”

Why couldn't Moses just mind his own business? “Why be so inquisitive, my old friend? I paid you to carry the cargo, not wonder what's in there.”

Moses stroked the side of the crate. “But, you see, I have a living to make, after you leave my boat. I have to get along with the people in Kingston, for years to come.

“I'm not stopping you.”

“Ah, but it's not what you're doing. It's what you might have done. If you've kidnapped someone, or stolen something, and its owner finds out I helped you...”

“I haven't kidnapped anyone.”

Moses tapped the crate. “Some merchant's son, perhaps? A sweet young thing to replace your boyfriend?” He stroked the wood. “Could even be someone I know. How could I ever look his father in the face again? Trade with them, knowing I'd helped a depraved monster like yourself take advantage of their poor, innocent child?”

Three taps came from the crate. Guy smacked it.

“I told you, I didn't kidnap anyone.”

“Eloping, then? How romantic.”

Guy sighed. “All right. You got me.”

Moses slapped the crate, and smiled. “Well, then, let's see who you've managed to seduce with your manly charms.”

If Guy shot Moses, the slaves wouldn't do much. Or, if they tried, the chains would keep them from getting close. The guards, on the other hand... would they be willing to die for him? Probably not, but they'd be willing to shoot or stab if they thought Guy was going to kill them next.

It would be shitty, either way. At best, he would get off the boat alive, but the Brain would be left aboard. Not a win.

Moses stroked his chin. “Or perhaps the box could remain closed. If I was properly recompensed, to cover my risk.”

Guy relaxed, and moved his hand away from the revolver. A shakedown for more shinies? He'd been expecting that.

“How much?”

“Enough that, the next time I'm bargaining with a merchant in Kingston, and he mentions how his son disappeared... the sum will distract me from imagining your sweaty, rotten cock reaming out the poor boy's innocent young asshole.”

Shinies clunked together as Guy reached for the pouch on his belt. Moses' eyes followed his hand as it moved. Guy grabbed the pouch, opened the top, and reached in. How much would keep the dumb bastard happy?

“Ten silvers,” he said.

Moses leaned back and laughed. “I don’t get out of bed for ten silvers. Ten gold, perhaps...”

It was nothing, compared to the money Guy would get for the crate when they arrived at the monastery. Spread the word, quietly and carefully, bring in buyers from around the planet, take his fee, and find a nice, quiet place to retire where he could hire his own guards, and his own harem.