Stowaway Slaves (6 page)

Teo stopped picking at his feet and cast a doubtful expression at the Gaul.

“What's wrong with him?” said Argon.

Gladius shrugged. “He probably doesn't understand what's happening.”

“Yeah,” Argon agreed. “Well, that will change when Hain marches in here and runs us all through with his sword.”

Teo suddenly scrambled to his feet and crossed the room in two long strides. Argon stepped back instinctively, but Teo hurried past him and moved to stand beside the window.

“. . . Where . . .” he said, pronouncing the word as if it was the most complicated thing he'd ever had to say, “. . . are . . . we . . . ?”

Argon, Ruma, and Gladius all shared glances in the stunned silence. Apart from his name, these were the first words Teo had ever spoken to them.

It was Gladius who answered.

“We're in a place called the Suvius Tower,” he said. “It's about five miles from the coast of Campania. They brought us here last night, in the cart with all the chains. Do you remember? Do—”

“Of course he does,” Ruma interrupted. “He's foreign; he's not stupid. How do you know where we are, anyway?”

Gladius heaved himself off the dusty floor and padded over to the window. The view was mostly flat land, punctuated in places by the odd town or the outline of a distant city.

“I heard the guards talking when we were in the cart,” he continued. “YOU all fell asleep.”

“I've heard of the Suvius Tower,” said Ruma, a dark expression on his face. “It's a place for . . . big events. People come from miles around to watch.”

“By big events you mean executions, right?” Argon spat. “C'mon—at least have the guts to say it.”

Ruma glared at him.

“FINE. I was just trying not to dwell on the bad stuff, okay?”

“Whatever,” said Gladius, with a dismissive shrug. “We're all doomed, anyway.”

The door flew open at that moment, causing all of the gathered slaves to step back very warily.

Three guards entered the room, making way for a short and gaunt-looking jailer who marched in wearing the sort of spiteful expression the boys had come to recognize in many of Doom's servants.

“I have news for you,” he said, his words dripping with poisonous undertones. “The great Slavious Doom and his honorable servant Drin Hain have decided that you will each die in an interesting and entertaining manner, for the amusement of his lord's guests. In three days' time . . .”

He looked around the room, his eyes finding Ruma, then Teo, and finally Argon, before they came to rest on Gladius.

“One of you will be thrown from the top of this very tower . . . “

The little jailer allowed his message to sink into the minds of his audience before he continued. “After that, another of you will be dropped into one of several cages. The cages will be covered, so you will not know your fate until it is upon you. We currently have a wonderful selection of lions, snakes, sharks, and crocodiles . . . so, once again, entertainment for Lord Doom's guests will be assured.”

All four slaves managed to hold the jailer's gaze, not one of them giving the little man the satisfaction of seeing their fear.

“Then, when only two of you remain, one shall be hung on a scaffold in the square at the base of this very tower. The other . . .,” he hesitated slightly, another cruel smile spreading across his face, “will have the honor of being executed in traditional style by the hand of Drin Hain himself . . . in a duel of mortal combat.”

The jailer started to laugh, but he was quickly interrupted by Argon.

“Who gets what?” he snapped. “Are we allowed to know which of us will go first?”

The jailer smiled again, his jackal features creasing up so his face was consumed by folds of loose flesh.

“You will all find out at the appointed time . . . and then you will be able to watch one another suffer!”

He turned and went to leave the room, pausing briefly in the doorway and casting a sly glance back at the group.

“Unless your friends give themselves up, of course,” he muttered.

Ruma, Argon, Teo, and Gladius watched as the group paraded out of the room and slammed the door behind them. The jailer's cackle still echoed through the tower several minutes after the spiteful little wretch had departed.

T
he ship had departed shortly before dawn. Decimus knew this because there were slivers of light penetrating the hiding place he and Olu had found upon boarding it. Unfortunately, the space behind the captain's cabin soon proved to be a busy spot and so they'd decided to relocate elsewhere. Now they were hunkered down in the bilge, wedged between stinking barrels and chests that smelled like they were full of rotting fish.

“Did you notice those benches on the deck above?” Decimus whispered, pulling Olu away from a potentially noisy rack of chains.

“What?” came the hushed reply. Olu shook himself from his reverie. “Yes, I saw them . . . and the oars. This is a slave ship, Decimus. You know what that means?”

“Yeah,” said the young warrior, with a grim smile. “It means that if we start trouble while we're on board, we'll have the slavers outnumbered.”

When Olu looked up sharply, his eyes wide and his jaw gaping, Decimus quickly raised a hand.

“Relax, Olu. I know we can't afford to be captured on here.”

The other slave smiled, and a flood of relief washed over him.

“I'm not like you, Decimus,” he said. “I don't think I can do this much longer. I'm so very tired, and my bones feel like they're crumbling.”

“You're doing well, Olu. Just remember, if it weren't for you, we would never have escaped from the arena. You SAVED us. It's my turn now—whatever we do next, I will make it happen. I just need you to go along with me. Shhh—someone's coming!”

The two slaves crawled deeper into the shadows as a pair of sweaty-looking galley slavers clambered down the steps and began to stalk around the bilge.

“C'mon,” said one. “We'd better get this barrel up or the captain will make us row in place o' the slaves . . . like he did last week when old Reeky talked back to him.”

“It was hard going, that was,” said the other, spitting on the floor and cracking his knuckles. “I don't know how those skinny scrapers manage it.”

“They get whipped if they don't row. They get no food if they don't row. They get drowned if they don't row. THAT is how they manage it. Besides, it was hard because there were only eight of us; there's forty of them! We should get to the Suvius Tower with time to spare, I think.”

Together they lifted a barrel from the bilge and began to heave it toward the steps. After dropping the load several times, the two slavers eventually managed to get it onto the deck above, and soon scrambled after it. As the second one disappeared through the gap, a scroll fell from his tunic and landed in a puddle of dirty bilge water.