17. N #4
He shrugged, but looked pleased at the praise. “Ma raised me right,” he repeated. “I don’t give a shit what the others think about me. Ma would be proud, and that’s all I care about. They can go fuck a cactus.” He paused a moment. “Let me step away, so you can get dressed.”
She didn’t know what a “cactus” was but the expression made her give a startled laugh anyway, and that seemed to please him too.
“Finish cleaning off, I’ll be back in a wink with that second bucket. While I’m gone, shove the bloody clothing through the cage bars next to the door.”
And before she could reply, he’d already turned and left.
She quickly scrambled into the fresh clothing he’d brought and sat down on the cot.
She put her head in her hands. “Shit, and double-shit, Rock. More food for me, but half-again as long to shovel and scrape … and at some point do you get full and not want any more? Getting those rods out is going to take time as well … and I can’t look like I’ve been beaten with a cane every day.
Just when I most needed to be forgotten about, and he wants to be friends. Shit.”
Still, she managed a smile when he returned and placed the second bucket next to the first. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll get started right away.” He picked up the torn, and blood streaked clothing, gave her a long look, and whistled. “Impressive.”
She thought he might call out her story.
He smiled instead, an open and honest grin.
“Ma would have liked you,” he said. “Reckon you’re about the same age. When it came to Our Mighty Lord Haldeen, she was a bitch too.”
She laughed again, both with astonishment and chagrin that he thought she was that old.
Then again … starvation hadn’t been doing her any favors, she suspected.
Still. The comment did touch her vanity …
she would need to start putting some effort into how she looked.
She didn’t mind letting her appearance slide, when there was no one to see.
Now, for whatever reason, someone—the guard—was taking notice.
One more thing she would have to commit time to doing.
A moment later she laughed again. His comment was rather a bit of relief. No one wants to fuck their own mother. “Sounds like your mother had a mind of her own.”
“Aye, and she was pretty free with giving you a piece of it too.”
“I’ll bet.” She looked around. “Umm, I have to get straight to work, and get this lump moving and eating, if I’m to have seconds. I’ll see you in ….”
He paused, his face going still, as he thought about the question …. “Umm, nine marks today. Schedule varies to keep you off-balance, so you won’t know when we’ll come.”
She already had her “politics face” on, the genial mask she could assume when she didn’t want her expression giving away her thoughts. So, that’s it!
What she said was: “Excellent, then I should have both buckets ready.”
He looked a bit skeptical. “That’s a hard pull. I’ll tell you what … if the second isn’t quite full. I’ll leave it and you can finish up in the following shift.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she replied, then looked pointedly at the empty bucket and the full bowl. Internally, she swore again. Now, he’s paying attention to how much, and when, I produce. She let the silence lengthen.
“I’d better go,” he said.
“See you in nine marks,” she answered, as he packed up the remainder of his things, her tattered clothing, and departed.
Once he had gone, she looked at Rock. “What just happened?”
Rock didn’t respond. Not that she actually expected it to, but …. I might be going a little crazy without anyone to talk to. I need to watch that.
She had grown stiff sitting, and going to her food bowl proved painful. She wolfed down the food, took a long drink, and went to sleep. She might have lasted four heartbeats before she went out. It certainly wasn’t five.
Weariness, stiff muscles, and bruises dogged her when she woke.
She pushed herself to fill the first bucket, and a good portion of the second, with Rock slowly grinding after her.
Now that Gellert had given her a time reference, she could begin to estimate the intervals and look for a pattern …
saving the work on Rock’s back for when the intervals would likely be longer.
She was glad for that bit of intelligence, and it did help her move forward with more confidence.
She went to work on the rod embedded in Rock’s back again after two sleep periods, when Gellert let slip he would be delayed in the morning …
he had to cover part of another’s duties.
Breakbone had gotten out and several of the guards were down.
They would recover, but recovery was slow, and the disease lingered.
Now that she had a small success, she pressed hard for more, and wore herself out to break the rod free.
She found the extra food made an extraordinary difference, more than just offsetting what she smeared on Rock’s back so she didn’t slip.
Gellert’s tiny herb packet had made such an impact on the bland gruel that the first time she tasted the food tears came to her eyes because it was so good.
Better than anything she remembered from a feast.
Better still, the little cube was some kind of highly compressed dust, and all she needed for actual flavor was to scrape off a tiny bit with a fingernail.
The second rod came out at the end of the second work period after a long and brutal series of jumps from Rock’s back and onto the lever.
Her bare feet took the impact as her weight came down on the narrow bar, and she felt the damage build as the soles began first to ache, and she hissed in pain each time she hopped or jumped up and onto the bar.
She still only got about two jumps in before the shovel slipped or the bar bounced away.
Still, she made progress. Each time she felt the rod move, she stopped to check its progress.
Each time it shifted, she gained perhaps a fingernail paring.
After three or four jumps she paused to loosen, rewet, and retighten the blanket strips.
She had done this for what she now felt were marks and marks of time, when she jumped one final time.
The rod lurched upwards, and the bronze lever slammed down, nearly overbalancing her.
She took two staggering and painful steps towards what looked like a pearlescent cliff before she caught herself, just at the edge where she had applied her gruel and ash mix.
Rock had been nosing slowly, working through the mix she had spread, when the rod wrenched upward.
He stopped, and went still, even for Rock.
She carefully walked on sore, bruised feet up to where the second rod now jutted upwards.
She could see a slight discoloration and a bit of a crystalline ring where she pulled it upwards.
It looked to have moved around the distance of her forearm.
She put her hands around the base and pulled, to see if she could draw it out the rest of the way. No luck.
She untwisted the lever, loosening the blanket strips, then slid them down to where the rod emerged from Rock’s back, and retightened them.
This time instead of jumping up onto the rod and using her full body weight, she leaned across the long part of the lever and pressed down.
She felt a slight movement. She pressed her arms down on the lever and pushed, leaning onto it as she did so.
That proved sufficient to move the bar. Shortly afterwards, she drew the remaining length out.
She raised the second bronze rod triumphantly, holding it over her head as the gladiators held their weapons when they won in the ring.
She put her sore foot up on the inverted shovel, both in triumph, and to keep it from sliding away now that it wasn’t tied to anything.
Rock chose that moment to move, and she overbalanced and nearly fell. She caught herself, but the shovel slid off Rock’s side and clattered to the floor.
“Thanks,” she said sarcastically.
Two down. Three to go.