Condemned (Death Planet Book 1) (27 page)

Brunhilde's fist swung through the air. He ducked, and it passed above him again. Then his ear rang, as something smacked into the side of his head. A dark, purple object the size of a baseball bounced off him. It flew on and smashed into the wall, leaving a green smear of goo as the skin of the fruit, or whatever it was, cracked and slid down to the ground.

“Fucking hurry up,” a red-faced woman yelled from the top of the arena wall. She pulled out another fruit and tossed it.

“Get out there and fight,” Skull-Face yelled. He swung his arm, and a rock barely missed Daniel's chest. It bounced from the wooden wall with a loud crack.

Daniel backed toward the wall, dodging the rocks and food the crowd threw at him. Just ignore the hissing and boos. There was one way out of this, and it could give those assholes more entertainment than they had planned for.

“Come on... little girl,” he yelled at Brunhilde. Insulting her gender identity felt so wrong, and went against everything he’d been taught in EdCamp. But he had to do it, if he wanted to survive. He raised his hand. “I'll... I'll spank your girly ass... and send you crying to your mummy.”

Brunhilde glared at him. “Are you fucking mental?”

Daniel put up his fists. “Are you scared?”

The crowd laughed. At least they'd stopped throwing things at him. They wouldn't be laughing for much longer, if his plan came together.

Of course, if it didn't, he'd be dead.

But, then, he'd no longer care.

“
I
can explain,” Guy said. Fuck knows how. There weren’t many ways to explain how you came to be transporting one of the most famous men on Hades in a crate. Before the King slapped the Brain in the dungeon, pictures with that tattoo had been almost as common as the King’s. Despite all the time spent down there, you couldn’t really mistake him for anyone else.

Not to mention the fucking spider that followed him around everywhere he went. That was a pretty damn obvious giveaway. Why couldn’t he have left it behind?

“Oh, my dear friend,” Moses said. “There's no need for you to explain. Everything is perfectly clear here. You did have a rat in your crate. It was a human-sized rat. A smart rat. Just not smart enough not to nail itself into a crate with a fucking great big man-eating spider.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“I’m sure you had no idea that the second most important man in the Borderlands was in that crate you had me help to carry away from the scene of your crime.”

“No-one was supposed to know.”

“When the King hears I helped you, he won’t just feed my balls to his daughters. He’ll torture me for days before I get that delight. Weeks, perhaps. And he’ll make me fucking watch.”

“It won’t be that bad.”

“Try this one with some hot sauce, they’ll say. Munch, munch, munch. Oh, that tastes so good. How about the other?”

Simon was hissing at the crossbowmen, and flicking his legs in the air toward them. They backed away, weapons still ready, and glanced toward Moses as though unsure of what to do. Killing the Brain’s spider wouldn’t go down too well with the King, either. Or the Brain.

Guy was the only one they’d consider expendable.

“Let’s not rush into anything.”

“Let’s see. How about you fuck off right now, and I return him to the King for a big reward? That sounds like a better plan. That way, I get to keep my balls, and you get to keep your life. We all win.”

Guy would be an exile from Kingston, wanted across the Borderlands, and never able to show his face again without someone wanting to stuff a gag in his mouth and drag him back to the King. Fuck that. Death could hardly be worse.

“And you get rich,” he said.

“A man can’t have everything his way.”

Guy sighed, and nodded slowly. “Maybe you’re right.”

Moses slapped his hand on Guy’s shoulder. “It’s better this way. Really. They’d have been hunting you for the rest of your life if you’d got away with it.”

Guy grabbed Moses’ arm, and twisted around, putting Moses between him and the bowmen. His revolver swung up. One of the crossbowmen turned toward him. Guy aimed from the hip, and the revolver boomed. Shoot the first one who moves, and the others would duck for cover so they’re not the second.

Blood spurted from the crossbowman’s chest. His arm swung as he fell toward the deck. The crossbow clicked. The bolt hissed through the air.

The slave-master yelled as the head of the bolt burst from his neck in a spray of blood. His whip-arm swung as his free hand reached for his neck. It cracked across the backs of the slaves at the oars. Those on the right rowed harder, and the deck jerked beneath Guy’s feet as the boat turned.

The wounded guard slumped down. The others ducked low behind the crates. The slave-master spun on the spot, mouth open wide, eyes bulging, blood oozing from the wound around the crossbow bolt. The whip smacked randomly into slaves as he turned. The boat twisted and tilted as the slaves rowed, their oars smacking into each other. It tipped as it turned sideways into the waves, and Guy and Moses slid toward the water.

Guy ducked as the whip cracked toward him. It smacked into Moses’ chest instead, clunking against the metal breastplate.

Spank-Monkey looked up from behind a crate.

“Shoot the fucker,” Moses said.

Spank-Monkey grabbed for his bow, but it slid sideways across the boat as the slave-master’s whip hammered down on the right-hand oarsmen, and the boat twisted sideways again. Guy grabbed the remains of the Brain’s crate for support.

“I feel sick,” the Brain said.

Guy felt a sudden, sharp pain in his thigh. He glanced down. Blood was dripping down his leg. The handle of Moses’ knife protruded from Guy’s leather trousers, and the wide blade was embedded three inches into his flesh.

Fuck.

B
runhilde's thick eyebrows furrowed, and her eyes narrowed, as she stared at Daniel. Her feet stomped the dirt, tearing into it with the claws on her toes. Her face grew darker as the skin turned red beneath the fur.

“Brunhilde is scared of no man.' She hissed. “And certainly of no fucking little boy.”

“Prove it, then,” Daniel said.

She tilted her head, as though trying to spot the trap he was setting for her. She couldn’t really imagine he could fight her, could she? Though, for all she knew, he could have a ceramic skeleton and power-boosted muscles hidden in his thin arms. Or poisoned claws in his fingers. He’d seen them in VR games, so they must exist in the real world, mustn't they?

“Kill the fucker,” Skull-Face yelled. “Or I will.”

Brunhilde’s foot stomped into the dirt, and she grunted as she stormed toward Daniel. A brown cloud of dust rose into the air around her. The drones buzzed madly as they dodged aside, scrambling out of the way of her charging bulk.

Daniel watched her approach, growing larger and larger, until her claws were centimetres from his body. She was too angry to care about tactics, except brute force and momentum. Her arms swung wildly, and Daniel dodged beneath them, then rolled aside. Her feet barely missed crushing his legs.

Her outstretched paws smacked into the wall as she slid to a stop. The spectators ducked back as she glared at them, then they stared over the wall as she turned.

Daniel backed toward the far side of the arena, raised his hand, and motioned her toward him. “You might scare them, but you don’t scare me. Give it your best shot.”

She took a deep breath, and ran again. He glanced behind him. Not much more than a metre between him and the wall. Her feet thumped down onto the dirt, spraying a cloud over the spectators until they began to cough.

Three metres away. Two. One.

Now.

She was so close, her fur brushed against his skin as he jumped back, grabbed the top of the wall, and pulled himself out of her way. One of the spectators tried to grab his arm, then looked into Brunhilde’s snarling face and thought better of it. The man dropped from the far side of the wall just as Brunhilde smacked into it. Daniel threw himself into the air, then tumbled across the dirt. The wall shook, and the vibration travelled all around the arena. Spectators yelled. The smarter ones let go, and backed away.

Daniel held his arm against his wounded side as he stumbled across the arena. This time, he backed up until he was almost against the wall. Brunhilde panted on the far side. Then her red face turned toward him.

“I am so going to enjoy ripping your fucking head off.”

What other things did his female gender identity comrades talk about back home? Oh, yes.

“Why don’t you go home to mommy, and play with your fluffy bunny?”

Brunhilde screamed with rage. Her face turned red, He could almost see steam clouds from her nose as she hissed, then pushed off the wall. Her feet stomped the ground, and it shook beneath him. Her arms swung like furry sledgehammers as she raced toward him faster than he had ever seen her move before.

Oh, crap.

G
uy looked up from his bleeding leg, just in time to see Moses’ metal-clad elbow racing toward his face. The boat tilted again as the slave-master’s whip cracked across the slaves, and Moses’ blow smacked into Guy’s cheek, tearing a gash across his skin, rather than into his forehead.

“For fuck’s sake,” Moses said. “This is a business decision, nothing personal.”

Who knows what the knife had cut? If Guy pulled it out, he could bleed to death before he had a chance to do anything about it. Pain stabbed through his thigh as he shifted his weight.

Screw this shit.

Moses reached out to grab him. One hand aimed for his neck, the other for his gun. Guy twisted his wrist, trying to bring the gun to bear, but the boat lurched again. One of Moses’ hands grabbed Guy’s shoulder, and the other smacked on his wrist as Guy knocked it aside. He swung the gun toward Moses’ chest, and pulled the trigger. But Moses’ free hand pushed it aside before it fired.

The gun boomed, and the bullet blew splinters from one of the crates. An oarsman yelled in pain on the far side, then chains clattered together as the others tried to get out of the line of fire. Crates slid across the deck, and the boat tilted to the left as they piled up on that side.

The Brain looked up at the noise, still holding onto the crates. His face had turned a deep shade of green. Then he leaned over the side, and a yellow fountain of vomit burst from his mouth.

Moses released Guy, and grabbed a nearby crate for support. It creaked as it slid across the deck, and Moses toppled over, grabbing the side of the boat instead. The deck tilted until the oars on the left disappeared under the water. Spank-Monkey dropped his bow and clung to the hull. The bow slid past Guy, and thumped against the piles of crates.

Guy kicked the Brain's back with his good leg. The Brain screamed as he fell forward, over the side of the boat, and splashed into the river. His arms swung wildly as he struggled to stay afloat. His head went under, then came back up, spitting muddy water from his mouth.

“I can’t swim.”

The boat tilted further. Pain stabbed through Guy’s wounded leg as more of his weight pressed down on it. Planks from the broken crate toppled over the side. The slave-master followed, his whip cracking one last time as he flew through the air. He splashed into the water, and it slowly turned red around his body as he floated on his back with lifeless eyes.

The Brain grabbed one of the planks, and gasped for breath. He pulled himself up onto the plank, which sank deeper into the water beneath his weight, but kept his face above the waves.

“Get to the shore,” Guy yelled. For someone so smart, the Brain could be pretty darn stupid.

“Simon,” the Brain yelled back.

“I’ll get him.”

The Brain looked around, squinting against the sunlight. Then he kicked his legs, splashing the water high into the air behind him. He slowly began to move, floating past the dead slave-master, toward the far side of the river.

Then he disappeared, hidden by the hull as the boat twisted the other way. The slaves screamed as it tilted further, and the water lapped in over the side. They grabbed their chains and pulled, straining against the big staples in the base of the boat.

Butt-Clench clung tightly to the far side of the hull, beside Moses. Guy glanced down at the water. Guess he was about to take another swim.

At least he might not smell like shit when he got out.

Butt-Clench raised his crossbow, and rested it on a crate as he pointed it toward Guy. Then he screamed as something dark with eight outstretched legs flew through the air and attached itself to his face. He dropped the crossbow, and it clattered off the crates before it splashed into the water. Simon clung to his face as he tried to pull the spider away.

Problem was, Moses knew where Guy was going. If he told the King, then Guy was fucked. The King would just head straight for the monastery, and get in the way of the sale. Guy almost liked the old queer, but, well, it’s always been easier for two people to keep a secret if one of them is dead.

He swung the gun toward Moses. The boat lurched again as the slaves heaved on their chains, pulling against the staples. Moses twisted around, and pushed himself past the nearest crate as Guy pulled the trigger.

The powder hissed, and the gun boomed.

Just as one of the slaves stood up, with the staples of his chains hanging loose where he’d torn them from the hull. His eyes opened wide as the bullet slammed into his chest. Blood sprayed from his back, and splattered across Moses’ breastplate. The spent bullet clunked against it, and bounced off, leaving a small dent before it clattered into the floor of the boat.

Guy pulled the hammer back for another shot. The slaves yelled as they tore their chains free, and stood. The boat tipped back as they moved, and Guy grabbed for the nearest crate.

Then fell backwards into the river.

He sank into the murky depths, borne down by the weight of his clothes and weapons. He dropped the gun, kicked off his boots, and paddled back toward the light. His lungs were about to burst, his mouth desperate to open and suck in a lungful of water, his heart thumping as it struggled to find oxygen to keep his limbs moving. He gasped in a huge breath as his face broke the surface, then glanced back toward the boat.