Off Center (The Lament) (2 page)

Pran
let her body straighten a bit, which took work and got a pained grunt from the man
next to her. He'd live however, in pain or not.

Pran
fixed the father with a glare.

"
Stow
it
! The Judges will deal with this, not angry relatives. Now, you people clear
out. There will be questions for many of you, so don't leave town. Move!" She
made herself sound older, firm and like she, personally, was going to kick their
collective behinds, if they didn't do what she said. For once it worked and the
people actually pulled back enough for them to load the man into the back of the
wagon. The two horses at the front, the older gray, and the light tan mare, both
shifted uneasily.

Clark
moved to the front, his form rippling a bit, moving without rhythm throwing off
the eye of the watchers, even hers. Guardian magic, after a fashion. The large man
pulled an air rifle from under the front seat, by Roy, who wasn't much older than
she was, and tossed it to her as the Doctor moved into the back of the wooden wagon
with the man.

"Walking
guard. I'll take the rear, but watch for ambush. I do
not
trust this situation."
He was watching the street, which was just mud here, so closely that Pran shrugged.

A
walking guard was hard to do, moving without pattern, in a trance state. It was
a thing that was pretty close to impossible for someone not raised to the practice
to do, at all. She'd been told how to do it, certainly, but her brain just didn't
work the same way. Worse, Pran had been trained as a Bard, which was almost the
exact opposite really. All music, and even stories, used regular patterns and beats.
She tried though, and worked to make it look good, dashing forward and then making
a half turn right, walking for a step and stopping before dipping back.

It
hurt, but there was a soft gasp from the woman with the tied up skirt, whose eyes
went wide.

"That
girl... vanished..."

It
wasn't true, but it was a good trick, and a sense of pride tickled her mind for
half a second. She'd pulled it off. Sort of. It wasn't good enough though, and she
knew it. That was why it was a great thing that she'd gotten back into being a Bard
instead of a Guardian. She wouldn't have lasted too long doing that, after all.
No regular person could.

She
tried anyway and even though it was hard and she started gasping about ten seconds
later, Pran kept going, her heart racing, and the weapon feeling heavier in her
now sweating hands.

There
was a trick to moving like she was, and she didn't have it, so the key would be
watching the surroundings closely as she huffed and puffed along the slightly muddy
path. It was one of the worst roads she'd ever seen, but Clark had mentioned on
the way out that a lot of the more rural areas didn't do a lot of work that way.
They were technically supposed to, but laying stone was a lot of work, and most
people had other things to get done first. Farming, or milling grains. Surviving
the winter to come. That sort of thing.

If
you had to pick between making the council happy and putting in an improved road,
or getting enough wood to last the cold season, you did the one that worked for
you
. Not some bigheaded fool thousands of miles away.

It
was funny, but Clark, who was normally pretty pro-council, had said the words exactly
like that. Of course he'd met a lot more of those bigheaded leaders than she had,
over the years, so he was probably talking from experience. The Guardians were supposed
to protect them, after all. The Judges too. That, and the environment. For the most
part that last one was both the real job and the one that no one understood. They
didn't have to. Because the government did it for them, the vast majority of people
didn't understand how much others were looking out for them.

Pran
knew her mind was wandering, and was surprised when her air-rifle, which wasn't
that big of a thing at all, meant for killing rabbits, not men, fired into the brush
to the left of the road, just before the bend that was coming up. She didn't see
anything at all, but there was a short scream.

"Damn
it!" It was a deep voice, and three men popped out, all with sticks, which
should have been menacing, except that they were nearly twenty feet away, and all
stopped when Pran re-aimed and hit the man next to the bearded one that she'd hit
first. They mainly all had facial hair, of one kind or another. There were four
of them in all, and only the youngest lacked a beard. He had a wispy mustache though.
Otherwise he was sort of cute.

Pran
pointed her rifle at him, her motion stopping, even though she should have rushed
them. She wasn't a real Guardian, so decided to keep the extra distance. Her strength
was in playing make believe and lying, so she went with it.

"Morons."
She managed to sound bored, rather than anything else. "Now
you're
in
trouble too. Okay then, line up, behind the wagon. You two wounded men will need
to be treated. Thank all your luck that you didn't actually do anything yet. I highly
suggest you don't start now. Interfering with a prisoner transport is worth, I don't
know,
years
in a camp. Let the Judge handle this. It really isn't that hard
to understand." Pran was lying really.

She
wasn't a Guardian and didn't know those kinds of rules at all. Even pretending to
was probably illegal, but she didn't want to fight the four men if she didn't have
too. On the good side she didn't have to tell them to drop the sticks, because the
old hurt man did it for her, and Clark's chuckle got them to line up, two of them
limping into place.

They
didn't moan or carry on though. Even the one that was hit in the middle. He was
older and clearly in pain, but he just glared at her a bit. On the way past he spoke,
his voice calm, however.

"Hadis
is my granddaughter." Then he moved to the back, where Clark had Doctor Millis
check the wounds. The men still had to walk though, since they weren't going to
let them access the injured man in the wagon directly. They might kill him, even
if it meant going to a camp forever.

It
was understandable, after a fashion.

Pran
could get that it was bad to hurt children, or abuse them. In fact it was a thing
she personally wasn't a fan of.  The part she didn't really get was these people
being willing to lose everything to punish the man for having done it,
after
the fact. Why not just let them take him away to a camp?
If
he was guilty
and it wasn't Kevin that had done it. If that was the case, well, then they could
take
him
instead.

She
didn't like that part of herself very much, but she really didn't care who was held
responsible for the crime that had happened, as long as they got it right. That
wasn't her job though. Really, guarding prisoners wasn't either, but Clark had wanted
an extra body along, just in case, and Mara, the other Guardian on The Lament was
still having a bit of trouble seeing. Not a lot, but the attack that had left the
Judges temporarily blind had gotten her too, since she was in a trance at the time,
and observing the prisoner that had released the flare very closely. Pran had managed
to look away enough not to be hit very much by the brilliant light, which was all
that had saved her from the same thing.

Luckily
they were all recovering, even if it was taking a few days. There was some worry
that the older Judge, Brown, might have permanent damage. That would be really bad,
since the Judges needed to use their eyes in order to work. Her friend, Judge Claire,
was going to be all right though, and could even walk around without feeling everything
now. It had been scary for a bit, and there had been talk of taking all the judges
away, back to their center, to be taken care of long term.

Instead
they still had Claire with them, which was nice. Pran liked her, and the younger
Judge was very nearly her friend, even if they'd really only known each other for
about a week. A little more than that now. It just seemed like a lot longer, because
hanging around with these people on a council vessel was a lot more interesting
than anyone had ever told her. At least as long as "interesting" was given
as being dangerous, with her being put in situations like this.

She
went back to her walking guard, trying to do it right and failing still, as Clark
watched the prisoners from the rear. No one called her names this time at least,
which was nice of them. The last time something like this had happened the Creedy
brothers and their relatives had all started in on her almost instantly. It was
all, cunt this, and bitch that. Not that she'd never heard that kind of language
before, but it had been a while since it had been directed at her, at least without
a bit of grudging respect involved. At school it had happened a few times that way.
When she beat everyone for special awards or favors.

She
smiled, which was noticed by Roy, who was driving behind her, since she turned suddenly
to jog in front of him. The man didn't question her on it, but did shake his head
a bit. What that was about she didn't know. Hopefully he'd only been checking out
her behind and was afraid of being caught, rather than thinking she actually
liked
this kind of thing. She didn't.

Not...
really.

No,
it wasn't that she thrived on violence or excitement even, it was just that she
liked to feel useful. Because that would mean that no one was thinking about getting
rid of her yet. That fear trickled through the back of her mind constantly, even
as she traveled to meet her new Master. It would take a few weeks for that to happen,
and she kept expecting a call to come in over the radio, which was a secret old-tech
device that they used to communicate with the airships in the field, telling them
not to bring her.

It
wasn't like she'd auditioned yet or anything, and without that...

Well,
she needed to prove herself, which meant finding some time to practice soon. If
proving her skills wasn't the very first thing that Bard Clarice asked of her when
they met, then Pran had been taught only lies in school. That was actually possible,
because some of the things she'd been told had been untrue, she'd found, as soon
as she was free of the place. Being ready wouldn't hurt though. She'd need to have
some instrumentals, naturally, as well as a few new stories to tell, and some songs.

Bard
Clarice was the High Bard Councilor, but had gotten that position by first becoming
the most popular singer in their section of the world. She was still famous for
it and only sang for audiences a few times a year. What that meant for Pran's performance
training, she didn't know, but it would be a good experience no matter what, even
if she was just going to help Clark and Mara find spies. At least Clarice knew about
that, so it wouldn't be some horrible shock or betrayal later.

Pran
shook herself, realizing that her thoughts had lulled her into just jogging, like
a regular person, and her mind had been drifting away, into a creative fugue. That
was fine, of course, for a Bard, but horrible for even a pretend Guardian. She dropped
back into the watching mental state and tried to hold it. Mainly failing still.
On the good side, no one jumped them again, and the little line of prisoners got
back to the airfield about twenty minutes later. That was slow going, since they'd
only traveled about half a kilometer over all, but letting the wagon jar and bounce
would be cruel to the injured and beaten man in the back.

The
Lament looked like it always did when tied to the mooring posts. Huge and cream
colored, the lines coming off of it looking too slim to hold anything, until you
got closer and realized that they were each as thick as her wrists and made of thousands
of threads. The only person out front, rather than in the gondola section, was the
First Mate. Paul. He'd been injured in a fight, a week before, but had a chair out,
as well as a small metal fire pit, and an air rifle from the armory. He didn't stand,
holding his post instead, like a real guard would.

Clark
didn't move to the front, since he was responsible for the prisoners, which meant
Pran was the one to jog over and explain things. She thought that was how it was
done. The truth was that she improvised a lot of things in her life lately, and
just hoped it was enough for people to understand what she meant. It more or less
had been working.

"Um,
the one in the back with Doctor Millis is the man we were sent for. These others..."
She
could
have claimed they were prisoners, who needed to see the Judge,
but if she did that, they might well end up in trouble. That was always a danger
when you faced one of that sort.

They
hadn't been planning to ambush them so they could
save
Will Butcher, most
likely, had they? They were just regular people though, and hadn't had a chance
to even step out of the brush before being fired on. They'd only had sticks too,
which could have been about anything, right? She shrugged, making it seem lazy,
telling as to the real situation, and giving a bit of a warning at the same time.
Or that was her intent, if she pulled the complicated movement off. "These
men came with us to help make certain the prisoner got in all right. They forgot
to
tell
us about that, so I shot two of them by mistake. It's horribly embarrassing,
but, you know, I'm a Bard, not a Guardian.
Oops
?" She grinned, and actually
made herself blush a bit, so that she'd seem to be actually embarrassed.