Without Rhythm (The Lament) (3 page)

He was also huge, wearing loose black clothing that did little to hide the muscle he carried, lean, once she saw him at less of a distance.

"I'll stand him up. Then you'll want to place one hand on his shoulder, tightly enough that he can't spin on you easily and walk with him backwards to the street. We'll call for a wagon. Once restrained the line doesn't come off until the prisoner is processed. That way no mistakes are made. Those rules can change in the field, but this time I think it sounds right. Here we go..." He used one hand to lift the man by the back of his jacket, which really was a sturdy enough thing.

"Remember what I..."

Pran used her left hand to tightly take a hold on the jacket herself and grabbed the restraints with the other pulling slightly, having to walk backwards herself. The man tried not to move at first, but she kept going, pulling him off balance.

"Hey!" Pran tugged the arms a little harder. "Walk you moron, or Clark and Mara will take over, and you do
not
want that. I'm the nice one here." It came out menacing. After all, she was pretending to be a Guardian, right? At least an apprentice one. Of course the others hadn't been going around acting all tough, had they? It was just possible that she'd gotten the idea of what they were all wrong. Everything she knew about them came from stories and tales. A few plays. Normally those told of a single Guardian taking on a small army of evil doers... and winning.

It was clear that was who they were at least.

That meant that the other one, busily getting blood on her white robes at the moment, while trying to comfort the victim, had to be the Judge. Where one went you could always find the other, or so the saying went.

So Pran would be in exactly the right place to get her sentence for impersonating a Guardian then at least. Well, it was that kind of day. She was just too tired to care anymore, even as the two people in black chuckled at what she said. It was kind of liberating, after a fashion. Or it would be until she got to the work farm. At least they'd feed her there. Better than whoring herself too, no doubt. Or at least no worse. She didn't doubt that there would be something like that available to pass the time there too.

The street stayed clear for a long time, the others taking over, as the Judge tried to soothe the woman, who was slowly starting to collect herself, becoming more quiet.

"What will I tell Henrique? I was never unfaithful to him. We married young... Now..."

"You still weren't unfaithful to him." The Judge spoke gently, her voice filled with calm and grace. It was hard to describe, though Pran figured she could fake it herself if she had to. It was almost breathy and sounded a bit like a person on certain drugs. That probably wasn't it. The Judges had a lot of mental skills they practiced, so it was most likely because of that. Some people even claimed they could read minds.

"A criminal did things, but you were not at fault. I will talk to Henrique for you if you wish it? He'll understand."

"I... Thank you ma'am. Your honor."

The wagon came not to long after, as well as a carriage for the woman that had been attacked to take her to the Doctor. It wasn't a grand thing, just a wooden town carriage pulled by an old horse that had seen better days, but it would be better than walking for the poor woman.

The Judge drifted over to it smoothly, taking the woman along with her carefully making almost no physical contact. It was done very carefully and the big man, the one called Clark, nodded at Pran as she watched.

"When people have been attacked like that they don't want to be touched afterwards. Often for some time. Notice how Claire is using her own body language to guide her? Stepping just in front of her, to the right? That isn't by accident. People are mainly right handed, so that puts her left hand closest to the woman, giving the one in back a position of power. It's a mental thing, largely, but useful." He said it in that ponderous fashion of his, watching Pran carefully the whole time, assessing something about her.

"I think we can treat your wounds ourselves, back at the camp. Do you have somewhere else to go?" It was said in a strange fashion.

For all the world it was like he was pretending she was still one of them, but might have had plans in town. That was probably for the sake of the prisoner in the wagon, who Mara had put in before she hopped up on the little carriage with the Judge, Claire, and the woman that needed the Doctor.

"No. I'm... done here." She really was and no matter what she said, it wouldn't make a real difference later. Maybe she had to keep pretending to be what he'd called her though, for legal reasons?

It turned out that wasn't the case. She figured it out about five minutes later, as the wagon bumped slowly down the stone road, the wooden wheels slipping occasionally, making the whole thing jump and the man in back groan. She'd been put next to the driver, on the seat, which was hard and uncomfortable, but Clark rode in the back, with his prisoner.

"That woman, the one this man was raping? She heard you call out that you were a Guardian. Her mind will rest easier knowing that as a fact than to have it taken away from her right now. I know it seems like a trivial thing, but peace of mind is important, and a big part of our job. We protect and safeguard everyone that needs guarding from harm, to the best of our abilities. Always." The man grinned and nudged the prisoner with his boot. It wasn't a kick, but it made the leg move enough she could see it.

"Yes, that really does mean you were just taken down by a young woman that just happened to be passing by. You might want to reflect on that in the camps as you serve your time for this. What were you thinking anyway? No matter the going rate, it would have been cheaper to pay one of the local whores a few coins, don't you think? Trade some work or something if you're too poor."

He nudged the man with his foot, getting a groan in return.

"Compton don't got no whores. Ugly man like me has no choice but a bit of force."

"Oh." Clark looked into the night, the blackness surrounding them as they bumped along, lit only by a single lantern on the front of the wagon.

The driver shook his head and spoke, sounding disgusted.

"Brilliant there. Just brilliant. Now you'll be five years at hard labor and two in reeducation instead. Could have used your hand, or I don't know, developed a bit of charm maybe? Rape isn't an answer to not getting lucky." He looked about ready to add something more when he stopped and shrugged. "Can't cure stupid most times. Well, miss, what were you doing there then, passing by in time to help stop this one?"

Pran blushed, glad no one could see her. She decided to go with the truth, since she didn't have time to think of anything else.

"Oh... I was there to start setting up as the new town whore. Looking for my first customer."

For some reason that got a groan from the man lying on his stomach and a laugh from the other two.

Clark clearly believed her, or at least he didn't call her a liar.

Clark smiled for the rest of the trip, from the sound of his voice at least, as Pran tried not to rub at the cut on her leg. It was a little deeper than the one on her arm, but even she could tell they were just scratches. She'd have bled to death if they weren't. It was too dark to see them but when she let her fingers go over the wounds it was sticky, not wet. Hopefully that was a good sign.

The ride wasn't pleasant, but a big part of that was the whining from the back of the wagon. The man, still really drunk from the sound of him, kept complaining that his mouth hurt. Worse, he kept trying to blame her for it.

"You knocked me down and stomped my head. Stole my damned teeth." There was a lot of lisping involved, but she didn't make fun of him or try to debate the idea with him. He'd no doubt try for revenge later in the camp. Hopefully she could get put in one that wasn't near where he was. If that happened she didn't doubt the man would eventually kill her. He didn't threaten to right then, but he was surely acting like he would have done that to the woman he was raping earlier.

Clark looked around and then spoke in a normal tone. The night and being outside made her want to whisper, or at least be quiet, but he didn't seem bothered by it at all. The wagon wasn't loud, but it had two horses drawing it and they didn't look nearly as old or tired as the poor carriage horse had. Their steps were quick and that caused a certain amount of creaking and clomping in the gloom.

"The camp is just up here, past these trees. We'll have to use the cell in The Lament for the prisoner. That's the airship Judge Claire uses on her circuit." It was nice to have the warning, because while she'd seen the things in the air, large and cream colored as they powered through the sky, Pran really hadn't had a clue how big they actually were close up. It was impressive. The thing was about the size of the art school. The whole thing. Not that the school was that huge, only housing about eighty students at any given time, but the thing in front of her was awe inspiring, even at night.

It blotted out the stars in front of her, above the trees by at least twice their height, in a huge clearing that she'd never been near before. The landing field. There was room for several more ships of the same size, she thought. Out in the distance, in front of it, she could see a small fire, but there was nothing to be heard except for the soft sound of a breeze in the evergreen trees.

"That's it, straight ahead. It's a nice night, but a bit chilly, so most of us will sleep on board. You can take the first watch." He sounded happy enough about the teasing, but didn't add any more.

The driver did however.

"What's this now? Setting up house now Clark? Well, she's a comely enough young lady, but she doesn't look old enough for that kind of thing. Still with
your
face, I guess you can't be too picky."

The man sounded so serious that Pran expected there to be an argument about it, but Clark just chuckled lightly.

"You're right, I didn't ask. How old are you... I'm sorry, all sorts of rude tonight I guess. What's your name miss?"

"Pran."

She didn't add more and wasn't asked for it, much to her relief. She'd have to cover it all in a bit, but really, every moment not spent going over the last day was a good thing, as far as she could tell. Her thoughts tried to close in on the dismalness of the situation, but more questions came to distract her from that line of thinking.

"And, if it's not indelicate to ask, what age are you?" His voice rumbled, still sounding slightly playful, rather than hard or stern. It was nearly shocking. He wasn't doing that with the rapist. Then, he was scum and she was just... A Bard that wasn't one anymore. If she could have honestly said she was Bard Pran the whole thing would have been alright, most likely. No one expected a Bard to fight at all, and her jumping in like that would have been considered heroic, not anything else. She was just putting on a show after all.

Even student Pran of the art school might have worked. After all, they were called Bard too, even if it was an honorary title until they finished their education. She was just her now and that meant what she'd done, claiming to be a Guardian was fraud, not acting.

"What time is it?" She asked casually, her voice soft, as if pretending she hadn't heard the question.

Without looking at a watch Clark answered, eyes going up.

"About eleven, maybe eleven-fifteen."

"Oh, well, I'm fifteen then. That's about to change. An hour." Hopefully they'd take that into account when they sentenced her? Probably not. There was little use arguing time of birth, since she didn't even really know if it was her birthday at all. It was just the time of the first day she'd been at school. October seventh. She didn't explain that, just in case being a day before adulthood meant something to the Judge.

"And what better way to spend that than taking the first watch?" Clark sighed though and shook his head sadly.

"Except that everyone should get their birthday off, so I suppose Mara and I will have to get short shrift on sleep again. At least there are two of us on this tour. The last one was near murder. Had to lock the Judge in her room and sleep in the hall in front of her door. People kept stepping on me. You remember that Paul?"

"I do indeed." The driver flicked the reigns and pointed forward.

"Looks like Bard Benjamin is out with his guitar. You're in for a treat Pran, he's good. Just a journeyman, but he already has offers for Master's positions in half a dozen towns. Have you ever gotten to hear a real Bard before?"

She sighed. Of course a Judge would travel with a Bard. It was a good position to get if you could, because it was like being on tour, without the cost or personal risk. No one messed with a Judge after all, because of her Guardians. It wasn't like they were just town guards that someone slapped a necklace of office on and it was called good. They were legendary. Nearly superhuman. The one in the back certainly looked the part, didn't he?

Not that she'd seen much when they were capturing the rapist, except... she had, hadn't she? Who walked around with beam lights and flares like that? Guardians apparently. That level of readiness was a big deal. If she'd had a Kinetic pistol, then maybe the woman wouldn't have been raped at all. It wasn't a good thought and couldn't fix anything, so she made herself let it go. If she'd had a dozen Guardians with her that would have worked too. Or even a few large drunken men from the tavern. It didn't matter now.