11. TALIESIN
The morning starts off with the princess groaning and moaning as she wakes up and understands what it’s like to get the shit kicked out of you.
Stupid idiot.
I’d already told Hector to throw the fight, and I’d let him into the Diggers.
But, oh no. Aurora Drakeward thought she could go it alone and see where it got her.
I look at her, lying on the cot, still caked in dirt and dried blood, wincing as the little mouse she rescued mops her forehead.
The irritation that’s been simmering in my gut for weeks finally boils over into something else. She just took a punch from a man who shifts into a crocodile. A crocodile. And she did it to save a girl she doesn’t even know, a girl who has nothing to offer us but more trouble?
Why? Because she’s got a soft heart under that superior exterior. It would be easier if she were just an arrogant, vapid Elite girl I could despise.
Desiring her is stupid; liking her is even more dangerous.
“I’ll get you both some breakfast,” I announce. The waif-kid squeaks and hides behind the privacy sheet.
Gods, give me strength.
Once I’ve organized Clay to deliver the girls some food, I un-fucking-fortunately don’t make it to chow myself. A kid comes running to tell me one of the laundry crew has stabbed another—over a packet of ramen.
At first I’m confused, this kind of behavior is rare in the Diggers, especially under Dot’s watch, but then I remember what day it is.
Fucking Christmas.
Peace on earth, unless someone touches your noodles.
Everyone gets out of sorts around the holidays. Fucking idiots, what does it matter? Trying to celebrate anything here is pointless.
On my way down to the laundry, I stop by sewage. Skid looks up, wrench in hand, as I enter. He’s working on the gray-water filters—a never ending job, those things are antique.
“Hey, Bossman. What’s up?” Skid’s real name is Mark, but the nickname was painfully obvious from the get-go. He’s an OG. Probably has more time under his belt at Quo than anyone else.
“Checking in. Anything I should know?”
“Oh yeah, let me show you this week’s haul.” Skid wipes his hands on his coveralls, then leads me over to a battered basin. Inside is a metal breathmint container, two sharpened pieces of plastic and a bindle, in this case, it’s a knotted condom full of crumbles.
The one reason working in sanitation is a popular job is the contraband. If cells are getting shaken down, all the goods get flushed, then my little sewer rats remove the blockages and reap the reward.
After I’ve taken what I want.
I pick up the Altoid tin first and flick it open. Inside, wrapped in shredded plastic, is some dried out tobacco.
The condom contains shrooms; the dark and the heat in this prison make for excellent psilocybin growing conditions.
I shake half the mushrooms into my palm and pass the rest over to Skid. “For you and the guys. Merry Fucking Christmas I guess.”
He nods. “Appreciate it.”
Everything else goes into my pocket. Always good to have a few bribes or rewards to hand out. A thought occurs to me. “Hey, have you worked on the isolation block recently?”
“I was there yesterday,” he grins. “Blocked toilet, duh, the cisterns are so outdated they hardly fill anymore.”
“Did you see the new guy in the hole?” I ask. I’m not asking for Aurora’s sake, or so I tell myself. I just like to keep tabs on the inventory.
Skid’s grin stretches, revealing a chipped tooth. “That j-cat motherfucker? Yeah, they had to haul him out so I could get to the pipes.”
“Tell me about him.” I lean back against the wall and try to be unbothered by the stench.
Shaking his head, Skid laughs. “That dude is nutso, man. He was in here for a stretch when I first arrived.”
Interesting. “You’ve got history.”
“Not exactly. It was like… four years ago? I was seventeen. He got busted in Havengard without a visa, set for deportation.” Skid’s eyes light up with a rare, genuine amusement.
“Kid’s a Brit. Mad as a hatter, but he made those first few weeks at Quo feel like a godsdamn circus—in a good way.
I actually missed the freak when he left. ”
“How well do you know him?”
Skid shrugs. “Nobody knows a guy like that. He was a Quo celebrity. Always singing, doing backflips off the benches, tumbling through the yard. Us new-fish, we couldn’t look away.
He made us think maybe this place wouldn’t break us.
” He pauses, his grin fading into something much sadder.
“But he got shipped out, and I figured he was just genuinely, deeply broken in the head.”
Unpredictability is a disease in a place like this, and I’m glad he’s quarantined. “He’s been in the hole three weeks. Is he surviving?”
“Thriving, more like. Most guys come out of the Hole crawling. This guy? He was walking on his hands the whole time I was snaking the toilet, whispering rhymes to the floor tiles.”
“Any clue as to when he’ll get out?”
“No, man. But I got the impression he wasn’t fazed one way or another. Gotta be fucking nuts to be happy in the hole. Why the interest, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I shrug, pushing off the wall. “Just keeping my ear to the street.”
Skid nods, pushing his hair back with a dirty hand. “If you want my opinion, boss, that street is one-way to crazy-town. Thanks again for the shrooms.”
“Keep up the good work, Skid.”
Finally, I get to the laundry and lay down the law.
If anyone has a fucking dispute about snacks, there is to be no stabbing.
For fucks sake.
I give some of the tobacco to Dot, because she was the one who had to deal with the fight and still meet quota. “How’d you break it up?”
“Hose. Same as I’d treat my mutts,” she grunts, as she stuffs wads of laundry lint into her pockets.
Before Quo, Dot was a supplier for a dog-fighting ring. I try not to judge anyone’s crimes, and I know she was only trying to keep food on the table, but I hate that fucking world.
Dogs equal good.
Most humans equal bad.
“Good. Sorry you’ve got Aurora out of rotation. But you can have the new kid to train up.”
Dot snorts. “Fat lot of help that waif will be, but I guess she can empty the traps. Need small hands for that.”
“Whatever you think’s best, this is your domain, Dot.”
With peace mostly restored on the block, I feel a little more relaxed. Especially as, when I return to the cellblock, the Diggers nod their heads respectfully in my direction.
Apart from Rice and Danny.
I’m going to have to do something about those two soon. I can’t let their insolence pass.
My hands are still vibrating with the urge to hit something, and they’d be the ideal punching bags.
Fuck, I’m a godsdamn mess.
I’m pissed at the new kid for being the catalyst that got Aurora shredded, and I’m beyond livid with Aurora for being stupid enough to jump into the pit. But mostly, the anger is a heavy weight in my own gut because I didn’t stop her.
I could have grabbed her. But if I’d gone to that girl’s defense like Aurora demanded, it would have been the end of my leadership.
The Diggers would never follow a man they thought was taking orders from an Elite Princess.
Any rumors of being “pussy whipped” could be a death sentence for both her and I.
Before reaching my cell, I stop by Layla’s. Leaning against the door frame, I watch as she finishes a set of squats.
“Hey.”
Layla whirls around, weapon in hand.
“Just me. I want to talk about the kid. Can you squeeze her in with you? I don’t want her at mine.”
“Yeah, I was going to suggest that anyway, Tally,” Layla replies. “She looks two seconds away from a nervous breakdown, being around your cheery-ass personality won’t help that.”
Layla gets away with shit because she’s basically my cousin.
“Come on then, kid’s gonna take some persuading to get out of the cage. She looks at Aurora like she’s a miracle angel or something—and I’m very much the devil.”
Layla raises an eyebrow. “Not surprising, Barbie did go to bat for her while you sat on the bleachers.”
“Yeah, whatever. I need to find out where she’s from, if she’s affiliated. Pronto.”
It’s important to know everyone’s back story so I can circumvent trouble before it happens. The Diggers might be a “family,” but the gangs they belonged to outside these walls are still at war.
Layla gives me a look. We’ve been friends since diapers, so she doesn’t bother calling me out on my heartless act.
When we reach my cell, I immediately unlock the bars and my shadow falls over the kid, who then tries to burrow under Aurora’s cot. Give me strength.
“Where’s home, kid?” I keep my voice low but firm. “Is anyone coming after you? You owe debts?”
The girl doesn’t emerge from her cramped hiding place. I shrug and turn to Layla. “Want to try?”
Layla rolls her eyes. “You were so gentle and comforting,” she snarks. “How could I improve on that?” She crouches down next to the cot. “Listen, kid. Rory could have died getting you a Digger place, so you’ve got to be brave and answer some questions. Tally is an asshole, but he’s our asshole.”
She doesn’t emerge from under the cot, but I hear a frightened sob.
Fine.
“Alright, I’ll give you a day or two to acclimatize before you answer questions, but you have to go with Layla now.” I look at my friend. “Think you can get her out?”
“Oh, I can be a charming motherfucker when I want to be.”
I snort at that. “Just get her to your cell. If you find out her story, report back.” I stomp out. I need to get away from Rory. I need the image of her injuries out of my head before I do something stupid, like apologize or pull her into my arms and tell her she’s a magnificent, beautiful idiot.
Fuck.
I go for a shower, cold, and by the time I return, the kid is no longer in our cell.
Thank fuck.
Aurora is still on the cot, though she’s managed to pull herself up into a sitting position.
“You look like hell, Princess,” I say softly, stepping into the cage.
She tries to glare, but the movement makes her wince. “You should see the other guy. Oh wait, you did. He was the one crying into the concrete.”