Arcanis: Gonnes, Sons, and Treasure Runs (COMPLETED)

[talien]

Belly of the Beast: Part 2 – Gresty’s Sentencing

A guard affixed manacles to Kham and Gresty. Then he dragged them both out before the magistrate. To Kham’s surprise, Egil was present at the witness stand.

Magistrate Ivan Edward Snell said, in a sharp and hasty manner, “the next charge on the list?”

“Wilfred Gresty,” bawled out one of the sergeants, at the full stretch of a powerful voice, opening, as he spoke, a door that led to another room where the undisposed “charges” were congregated together.

“And the charge?”

“Breaking and entering,” said the sergeant. “Trespassing and assault.”

“State your place of residence, sir,” said the magistrate.

“127a Brick Lane,” responded Gresty.

“How do you plead?”

“Guilty to all three charges, your honor. Though I claim the last accidental.”

The magistrate leaned forward. “Do tell.”

Gresty shuffled in place. “I’ve recently been…unwell. I had been having trouble sleeping, and my memory of the night in question is confused, to be honest, your honor.”

Snell sighed. “Try.”

“I know I couldn’t fall asleep at all and in the early hours, I must have gotten dressed and left the house. As I passed the Temple of Althares, I felt a compulsion to pray. I think I forced a window to enter.” Gresty held up his hands. “I must have bloodied my hands then. I remember praying before the altar, and then I heard Mr. Egil call out. I panicked, and ran out the door that Mr. Egil had come in. I didn’t see him as I ran out, or realize that I had knocked him over.”

Gresty turned to address Egil. “Very sorry, sir.”

Egil looked distraught, but he nodded back.

“Since you have no prior convictions, I’m fining you two silver pieces plus the cost to repair the property at the Temple of Althares.”

The magistrate banged his gavel as Kham was dragged to the stand.

“The next charge on the list?”

“Kham val’Abebi,” said the sergeant.

“And the charge?”

The sergeant took a deep breath. “Breaking and entering. Assault of a government official. Assault upon a Councilor’s personal guard. Incitement to riot. Murder of one Elijah Quelch.” The sergeant checked his list. “Oh yes, possession of an illegal substance: ghoul juice.”

The magistrate’s eyebrows rose with each charge. “Is there anything you haven’t done, Mr. val’Abebi? I’m afraid these charges are dire. I’m moving this to the Fortress of Justice.”

“If I may—“ interrupted Egil.

“Tell it to the High Justice.” The magistrate banged his gavel once more.

 

[talien]

Belly of the Beast: Part 3 – The Fortress of Justice

It was one of those charming Freeport mornings, when a kind of triangular duel took place between the rain, the fog, and the smoke, all fiercely battling for mastery. The result of their contest was an unanimous agreement on the part of all three to half-drench Freeport with drizzling raindrops, largely mingled with soot, and half-choke and half-blind everyone else with coal smoke combined with the native odor, so it would seem, of the Aval marshes, which exhilarated perfume in the shape of fog.

Kham awoke out of his drug-induced fog to the sound of Price’s voice once more.

“’Ere now, we’ve got ter stop meetin' like dis, mate.”

“Trust me,” muttered Kham. “I’ve been trying very hard to avoid you.” They marched him through the streets to a carriage.

The Fortress of Justice loomed into view, a splendid building. The southern, northern, and western fronts were of white stone, but the eastern had red bricks interspersed with the stone, as did the interior courts and quadrangles. Dwarf towers, arches, and other features relieved each front; and there were two high towers, one at the south-east angle, and one at the eastern end, the former of which was one hundred and seventy feet in height.

“Aww, don’t be mad,” said Price as they got out of the carriage. “Got me a promoshun, I did. I work fer da magistrate ‘imself, matter ov fact. Me savin' 'is arse from a bomb did me some good.”

The general height of the great building was about ninety-five feet; and above its main block towered the large Central Hall, which from its base to the top of its roof measured one hundred and forty feet. The architect's plan had given accommodation to no less than eighteen distinct courts of law, each with its own entrance and staircase, and separate approaches and doors for the judges, the jury, the witnesses, the bar, and the public, together with rooms for clerks, secretaries, and registrars; and also waiting rooms.

Price rambled on as they strode into the courts. “Seems you’re a lot mawer impawtan' van I thought. Honestly, I could give a fig who yew shoot,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “as long it’s not me, ‘caaahrse. But yew musta pissed someone off, mate, ‘cause they were in a fix ter snap yew up. And leave i' ter old Price ter do it!”

The guards dragged him into the hall. There were a great many arches supported on massive pillars in the hall; and, on the whole, it struck Kham that an unnecessary number of thousands of gold doubloons have been lavished on the construction of a gigantic vestibule into which the public have been distinctly warned that they have no right of entrance unless they were personally concerned in some matter which was before the Court.

Kham blinked, trying to focus. “I’m sure this has nothing to do with the bounty on my head.”

Price flashed him a gap-toothed smile. “Bounty? Why, whatever do yew mean, chap?” He clapped a hand on Kham’s shoulder. “Now we’re gon'a take yew ter caaahrts. Try ter be civil, right? Don’t wan' ter get yaaahrself in'er mawer ov a bind then yer already in.”

To Kham’s left was a kind of darksome bower in which an attendant was sitting in a grove of overcoats and umbrellas, all emitting the approved Freeport Particular Law Courts smell. Kham hated that smell.

At length the guards piloted him up a narrow and gloomy staircase and into a corridor narrower and gloomier still. First turning to the right; second turning to the left. Then he encountered a great rush of lawyers' clerks and people of indescribable mien who apparently had some business in that most unlovely place.

The courtroom was scarcely an imposing one; it was only one of a series of ugly, mean, and shabby rooms, quite unsuitable for the dispensation of justice, to say nothing of dignity, in Freeport. It was ill-lit, ill-ventilated, and full of the old Freeport Particular Law Court odor, which grew stronger and stronger as the Bar, the attorneys with their clerks, the jury, and the witnesses trooped in.

There was a little pen with appliances for writing in which a group of two or three, swelling imperceptibly to double that number of gentlemen, were gathered and began to refer to their notebooks. These persons Kham instinctively recognized as representatives of the press.

He turned around to look at the barristers' seats, which rose amphitheatrical till the rearmost were lost in the misty distance. The counsel learned in the law had begun to muster with some strength; and presently he recognized more than one eminent barrister and several rising stuff-gownsmen.

“Who did you say you worked for?” asked Kham through gritted teeth.

“Why Justice Angus McGowan,” said Price with a touch of reverence in his voice. “A learned judge. Black le'er scholar, so they say. Experienced, impartial, clear-sighted, 'igh-minded, an' altogether exemplary luminary ov da law, 'e is.”

Kham’s posture slumped. “I’m screwed, aren’t I.’

“Yep,” said Price.

 

[talien]

Belly of the Beast: Part 4 – Lucius Roby’s Sentencing

His lordship was the most punctual of judges, and at the stroke of ten thirty Justice McGowan emerged from a little door as though he were one of the automata which once flanked the dial of the great clock; he bowed with somewhat of an air of cast-iron courtesy to the Bar and the spectators generally, and took his seat on the Bench.

The jury came tumbling into the dock and went through, in the usual uncouth and ungainly fashion, the process of being sworn. In a minute or so, the swearing-in completed, the jurymen settled down in their places, looking, on the whole, as if they knew that they were about to be profoundly bored.

“Deese gentlemen ‘ere,” pointed Price, “re Barrister Buzfuz an' Barrister Anders, wiv their juniors, Mr. Skimpin an' Mr. Phunky. Mr. Pickwick no longer wears shorts an' black gaiters, yet 'e still sits occasionally on da low bench just benearf da desks ov da Sea Lord's Counsel.”

Kham noted that the desks were constructed for the convenience of attorneys who from that spot could whisper into the ear of the leading counsel in the case any instructions that might be necessary during the progress of the trial.

“THAT’S my defense?”

Of all the men of law, Anders was the most distinct, for she was not a man at all. She was clearly of orc heritage, although Anders made an effort to present herself in the most civilized manner possible. Her lustrous black hair was immaculately cleaned and pulled back into a single long brad. Highly polished calf-high black boots added to her imposing demeanor. Anders’ hazel eyes watched the world through gold-rimmed glasses. She wore a black silk glove on her left hand and walked with the aid of a custom-made steel cane.

“Aye. ‘er left hand and leg were crippled once when she tried t’ snatch a bone from a mastiff.” Price shook his head in disbelief. “She’s a tough one, that.”

The witness-box looked like a kind of pulpit with a brass rail, and in the background, high up towards the gallery, there was the same numerous muster of gentlemen in wigs and gowns, who presented as a body all that pleasing and extensive variety of nose and moustaches that were pretty plentiful, and even beards made a far from infrequent appearance among the Counsel.

“We call upon the case of Mr. Lucius Roby versus the People.”

Kham cocked his head. “Lucius?”

Price leaned in, arms crossed. “Aye. The world don’t revolve around you, mate.”

Justice McGowan wrapped his black robes round him and, comfortably ensconced among his cushions, seemed to be taking his first nap.

“He asleep?”

“Awww, nah,” said Price. “Don’t be led away ter adopt an erroneous inference by da triflin' circumstance what Justice McGowan is ter all appearance fast asleep durin' a greater part ov da cases 'eard befawer 'im. He contrives ter follow every sen'ence in da addresses ov counsel fer da plaintiff an' da defendant, an' every jot an' title in da examinashun an' cross-examinashun ov da witnesses. It is only Justice McGowan's way ter close 'is eyes an' ter appear ter be wrapped in da arms ov Morpheus. When da time fer summin' up arrives, i' turns aaaht what 'e 'as made careful notes ov da entire body ov evidence, an' 'e proceeds ter astonish da jury by da exhaustiveness ov 'is knowledge ov da sui' an' da lucidi'y an' cogency ov 'is commun's thereon. Trust me, I’ve seen i' befawer.”

Kham looked sideways at Price. “Sometimes I can’t understand a damn thing you say.”

Mr. Skimpin opened the case in a not very interesting succession of drawls, lisps, and sniffs, and then barrister Anders proceeded to address the jury for the plaintiff.

Listening to Skimpin, in whose nasal organ perhaps the sound of the loud bassoon was too frequently audible, one might yield to the pleasant presumption that if there existed on the face of this earth an individual who was only a little lower than the angels, that person was Mr. Roby. Somehow or another, Anders, contrived to mingle with the merely legal elements in her client's case the information, doubtless so highly pleasing to the jury, that Mr. Roby was a devoted librarian.

“The plaintiff's learning,” Anders, continued, “is prodigious; and as for his lexicon, it might be read from cover to cover by a whole High School full of Young Persons, and all the sweet girl-graduates of the Freeport Institute to boot.”

Then he put Egil into the box as a witness.

“Oh, e’s gonna make a mess of it, ‘e is,” said Price.

Egil spoke with a very low and foggy voice to begin with, and he had a deplorable habit of biting his nails when he was asked a question.

Egil’s voice was so indistinct that Justice McGowan woke up and exclaimed, "Speak up, sir!" in such a thunderous tone that the unhappy Egil collapsed for a moment over the brass rail of the witness-box.

The poor man had really a plain tale to tell, only he failed to tell it plainly; and even his friendly advocate was compelled every so often to snort at him half-angrily and to entreat him not to wander from the point.

Kham rubbed his forehead.

“It gets worse,” said Price. “Buzfuz ain’t got to him yet.” Barrister Buzfuz, who led for the defendant, had been eyeing Egil and licking his lips throughout the whole of his examination.

Then came the hideous agony of cross-examination. Buzfuz rended the unhappy Egil, figuratively speaking, limb from limb. He cut him up into ten thousand pieces; he tied slow matches between Egil’s fingers and set them alight; he heated copper basins and clapped them on the shuddering priest’s pate; he turned Egil inside out, and then suspended him by the hair of his head, tied to a rope which passed through a pulley in the ceiling of the court.

At the expiration of about half-an-hour's torture, this wretchedest of Egils emerged from the witness-box, streaming with perspiration, staggering feebly, and groping in the air with his hands as though he had been dazed with some fierce light.

So he had. Bozfoz had brought his biggest guns to bear upon him, and what with the fire and the smoke, and the smell of villainous saltpeter, the poor wretch was for the moment all but bereft of his senses.

The jury looked upon Egil more scornfully than compassionately. While Egil was being examined by Anders, their countenances seemed to show that they considered Lucius Roby to be an honest man, although a bit of a blunderer. But when Bozfoz was done with Egil, and flung his remains into the well of the Court, to be picked up and put together again by his solicitor, the jury had come to the conclusion that if there ever cumbered the earth a hardened miscreant deaf to every dictate of honor and morality - a despicable caitiff who would think nothing of committing murder, libeling the continent, and setting Freeport on fire - that wretch was Lucius Roby.

“Wonder why Roby didn’t retain Bozfoz,” said Price.

“Who can afford him?” asked Kham. “His own brother wants Lucius in prison. And I hear Grahame’s got money.”

“Aye, it’s all about that, innit gov?”

When it came up that there was another witness for the defendant, the magistrate inquired as to whom. A whispered conference indicates that said defendant was charged with murder, whereupon Kham’s testimony was thrown out without ever being heard.

The magistrate summed up the evidence, including Lucius Roby’s confession. The jury was directed to consider their verdict.

The officer of the Court put the usual question: “How say you, do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?”

The foreman replied, “Guilty.”

That was enough for McGowan. “Lucius Roby is hereby sentenced to The Hulks, effective immediately. The next charge on the list?”

“Kham val’Abebi.”

 

[talien]

Belly of the Beast: Part 5 – Kham val’Abebi’s Sentencing

“People of the jury,” began Anders. “I ask you to consider the plight of poor Kham val’Abebi. Today you see him in a sorry state. But his life is in your hands. And it is a precious life indeed.”

Anders began to pace. “Kham val’Abebi is a noble man from a humble upbringing. His father is none other than Corinalous val’Abebi, recently deceased at the hands of Drak Scarbelly. It is no wonder, then, that he incited a riot with orcs; knowing his father was assassinated by one of their kind, we’re fortunate that Mr. val’Abebi did not do more harm to an orc or to himself. While his actions are not laudable, the pitch of emotions he must have felt at the time certainly ran hot. We must forgive him for his impertinence in sharing his beliefs on orc heritage. It was poorly timed words during a sensitive row in the street.”

Anders’ heritage suddenly seemed like a stroke of genius to Kham.

Anders nodded towards Kham. “As for the subsequent murder of Elijah Quelch, it is believed that Mr. Quelch had connections to one Michael Coombs, a vicious thug also tied to the bombings. When Mr. val’Abebi accosted Mr. Quelch in the street, he resisted. Slipping on the ice, Mr. Quelch fell off the bridge and into the murky canal. Had Mr. val’Abebi planned to commit murder, he would most certainly have simply shot him with his pistols, of which he is well known for.”

Anders turned towards the jury. “Taking into account Mr. val’Abebi’s good standing, his noble heritage, and his efforts in the Freeport community, I ask you to consider leniency in your sentencing, and merely confine Mr. val’Abebi to The Tombs. Thank you.”

Bozfoz took the stand.

“You have no doubt heard the pathetic plight of the defendant.” He pointed at Kham. “But I am here to examine not Mr. val’Abebi’s character but the nature of his crimes. I think you will see when I am finished here that this man deserves the Hulks.”

Bozfoz put his hands behind his back. “What Ms. Anders failed to elucidate upon was the despicable form in which Mr. val’Abebi’s crimes were perpetrated. On the charge of murder, Mr. val’Abebi hunted down Mr. Quelch and, we believe, shot him several times. The reason Ms. Anders didn’t mention the bullet wounds is because we have yet to recover Mr. Quelch’s body. It was last seen floating down the canal into the ocean. Rest assured, the reason Mr. val’Abebi is here is because of the loud retort of his gunshots, which were heard by several Freeport citizens. That, and all the screaming.”

Bozfoz shook his head. “After that, high on Ghoul Juice, Mr. val’Abebi then proceed to burglarize Mr. Quelch’s home, stealing at least one book and setting the dead man’s basement on fire.”

He paused. “Shall I go on? When Councilor Verlaine’s guards came to arrest Mr. val’Abebi, he shot the sergeant with two pistols…in the face. When Mr. val’Abebi couldn’t get the answer that he wanted from Mr. Reed, Freeport’s esteemed record keeper, he shot him in the leg. There’s more, but I will let one of my first witnesses testify, who will most assuredly reinforce the importance of confining Mr. val’Abebi to the Hulks before he hurts someone else or himself. I call to the stand Mr. Kolter.”

A small gnome with a limp took the stand.

“Mr. Kolter,” said Bozfoz. “Please tell the jury what your relationship is with Mr. val’Abebi.”

The shifty-eyed gnome hesitated before squarely looking at Kham. “My family had suffered harassment from citizens of Altheria, who by their nature are a prejudiced breed, as evidenced by Mr. Kham’s rioting.”

Justice McGowan cleared his throat. “You’re not a barrister, Mr. Kolter. Please stick to your testimony.”

“Ah, yes. Well, my family and I finally decided to move out when Mr. Kham ambushed us. He held us up at gunpoint and stole our plans for our family business, Kolter Clockworks.”

“Please tell the jury what it is Mr. val’Abebi stole, specifically?”

“The plans to the Clockwork Pistol,” said Kolter.

“I object!” shouted Anders. “Mr. Kolter is in league with Dirwin Arnig, a member of the Captain’s Council and, thanks to Arnig’s bankrolling, just recently opened the Kolter Clockworks Factory. This information is prejudicial—“

“Overruled,” said the magistrate. “Mr. val’Abebi can share his version of the story and we’ll let the jury decide.”

Kham swayed at the stand. He raised one finger, undoubtedly the prelude to an eloquent defense. Instead, it came out as the bastardized child of a frog’s croak and a hoarse scream.

“You no good little twisted maggot!” shouted Kham. “The flintlocks are a gift from Althares! You stole it from our people! I was doing my country a favor by taking those plans from you! I should have shot you when I had the chance!”

McGowan banged his gavel to no avail in attempt to shut Kham up. It finally took Price, who squeezed Kham’s shoulder, to calm him down.

“Well,” said Price. “You showed ‘em.”

The magistrate summed up the evidence, including Kham’s defense. The jury was directed to consider their verdict.

The officer of the Court put the usual question: “How say you, do you find the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty?”

The foreman replied, “Guilty.”

“Kham val’Abebi is hereby remanded to The Hulks, effective immediately.”

 

[talien]

Belly of the Beast: Part 6a – The Hulks

Kham was manacled hand and foot and marched out to a dock, along with four of his fellow prisoners.

“Shouldn’t Lucius be here?” asked Kham, looking around.

“Aye, but ‘e was in The Tombs,” said Price. “They’ve got ter go get 'im. Don’t matter mate, you’re gon'a get a boat load ov new friends.” He looked almost sad.

At the end of the dock, Kham felt a tingling, probably some kind of magical defense. Six dwarves, their faces covered in ash and soot, stood sullenly at the end of the docks.

“Get in,” said the guard captain gruffly.

“See yew in a 'undred years.” Price waved at Kham and then marched away.

Kham was practically thrown into a rowboat, dragged along with the four other prisoners. The guards piled in after him.

“Now row,” said the captain.

The rowing was long and hard, but it gave Kham plenty of time to take in his new home.

The two hulks, the Defense and the Unite, were moored head to head. The bulky hammock-houses were reared upon their decks, their barred portholes and their rows of prisoners' linen swinging from between the stunted poles that served them as masts. Nearly a mile farther down the heavy form of another hulk, the Warrior, moored close alongside the Dockyard, with the little, ugly Sulfur, a washing-ship, lay in the offing.

The Warrior’s appearance was particularly striking. Her square-cut stern and quarter-galleries stamped her at once with the hallmark of antiquity, and her bluff bow showed that she, at any rate, could never have distinguished herself for a high rate of speed.

The prisoners rowed past a cordon of buoys moored around the yellow-painted hulk at a distance of about seventy yards. Kham took note of it.

Kham was to be elevated to the deck of the Warrior by a rough lift. All five of them were pushed onto it. Other prisoners slowly winched them up.

When the prisoners were finally hauled up onto the deck, bristling dwarves and something large and metallic loomed over them. It strode with thundering steps; one arm was a gigantic crossbow with two large bolts the size of a man’s arm. The other had three stubby fingers.

“Get a good look,” said the guard captain, pointing at the sky. “That’s the last breath of fresh air you’ll take as a free man.”

He turned away and was replaced by a twitchy dwarf who paced the deck in front of the new prisoners.

“My name is Warden Darunthar,” said the dwarf. “Welcome to your home for the next two years. If you’re good, you might get your sentence reduced. If you’re bad; well, I won’t lie to you, this will be the last place you ever see. Here’s how it works: you’re divided into three classes, First, Second, and Third. The class you’re in depends on your character. The good news is every man in my eyes is a blank slate. That can be a good thing or a bad thing. If you’re a murderer; well that doesn’t mean anything to me. You’re just as liable for good conduct badges as you are for bad ones. If you were somebody important, in a gang or something, you can forget special treatment. We’ll beat you bloody just like the rest.”

Kham laughed.

Darunthar leaned close to Kham. “You going to give me trouble, val?”

“Yep,” said Kham. His entire body pulsed with psychic energy as Kham smashed his forehead into Darunthar’s head. The dwarf stumbled backwards, clutching his face. Blood dripped from it.

“Split my lip, will you?” Darunthar spat blood onto the wood of the deck. “Clank, show the val what we do to guests who give us trouble.”

There was a blinding light as Kham’s face connected with the deck. Something cold and hard was wrapped around his head. Kham didn’t have to look up to know it was the golem.

“You’ll make a good example,” said Darunthar. “I mentioned classes. Every day, a mark goes down on this book.” He pointed at another dwarf holding a large logbook. “You can be ranked Very Good, Good, Nil, Bad, Very Bad, or Punishment. Be good and you’ll make it to First Class. Be bad and you’ll go down to the decks. First Class prisoners stay in the top deck. Second Class prisoners stay in the second deck. Third Class prisoners get the bottom of the ship. Mr. val here is going down to Third Class with a mark of Very Bad.”

“Kiss my ass,” snarled Kham.

“Just for that,” said Darunthar, “you’re getting a mark of Punishment instead. You’re going to share a cell with another troublemaker. You and Scarbelly will make a nice couple. I’ve heard of how fond you are of orcs.” Darunthar smiled through bloodstained teeth. “I’m sure they’ll give you a warm reception.”

Kham struggled to rise to his feet once the iron golem released his head, but he found himself overcome with shakes.

“Oh that’s right,” said Darunthar. “You’re a juicer. Well, you’ll find no juice here. If the withdrawal doesn’t kill you, the orcs certainly will.”

The guards began making bets about Kham’s odds on survival when he blacked out.

 

[talien]

Belly of the Beast: Part 6b – The Hulks

Strong iron rails, running from one end to the other, divided the bottom deck into two long cages with a passage between them. In this passage a warder paced to and fro, commanding a view of the prisoners, who were slung up in hammocks, fastened in two rows, in each cage of the ship. There was also a little transverse passage at the end of each ward that allowed the officer on duty to take a side view of the sleepers, and to cast the light of his bull's-eye lantern under the hammocks to assure himself that the men were quiet in their beds.

The deep-toned bell against the forecastle sounded three bells. In a minute scores and scores of men tumbled out of their beds, wriggling and stretching themselves in their blue shirts.

"All up! Turn out, men!" cried the officer; and the prisoners were in their trousers in an inconceivably short time.

Kham looked up from the deck. He had lost control of his bodily functions in the night. He felt like he had been turned inside out. Everything ached.

“Ye had a rough night,” said Scarbelly. The one-eyed orc’s ugly snout poked into view. “Didn’t think ye’d make it.”

“What do you know…” gasped Kham, “…greenskin.”

“I know what a liability looks like,” said Scarbelly. “Me beauty, yer me bunkmate, so what happens t' ye happens t' me. Now get up!”

Kham was half-lifted by Scarbelly yanking on the chain around his wrists. He slowly, painfully rose to his feet.

Presently the gates were opened, and the prisoners turned out one after another, carrying their bolster-like beds on their shoulders.

"Now men, go on there! Steady, steady!" exclaimed the officer. "Come on, men! Come on, the rest of you!" he shouted.

The prisoners appeared in single file, some carrying one hammock and others two. Those who carried two had, in addition to their own bed, that of a fellow-prisoner, who remained below to forward other work. Some of the men were fully dressed in their brown striped prisoner's suit, while others were in their blue shirtsleeves.

The officers continued shouting to the men and hastening their movements. "Come on with that hammock! Come on now!"

Long lines of men, with their hammocks upon their shoulders, wound along the decks. The sides of the black hammock-houses were open, discovering lettered compartments, as A 1, A 2, B 1, etc. The warders on duty went into the houses to ensure the hammocks stowed, as the prisoners delivered them, under their proper letters, varying the work by directions.

"Shove that a bit forward there. Now then, stow away there, my lads, stow away! Do you belong here? How came you so late? Any more C 1? Is that the last of C 1? Now then, come on, lads! Move up!"

Still the brown line of men moved forward to the hammock-houses, each hammock bearing the prisoner's registered number stitched upon it and the word Warrior printed on the canvas.

Their gear stowed, everyone began to wash in buckets, placed ready over night; while other prisoners arranged their hair by the reflection of the windowpane; and others scrubbed the tables ready for breakfast.

Everything and everybody seemed to be undergoing a cleansing process more or less searching. Prisoners covered the white deal tables with painted canvas tablecloths; there were groups of men, down on one knee, brushing their boots, while the messmen were busy at the preparations for breakfast.

The tables, ranged in a row along the wards, accommodated eight prisoners each. Each man took his turn as messman, while the service of the ward was divided. Kham sat shoulder to shoulder with orcs; Scarbelly on one side, a nasty orc with a scar running the length of his scalp on the other.

"Where's your plates? Where's your plates?" cried the messmen.

Something brown clattered on the plate in front of Kham. A syrupy liquid was sloshed into his cup.

Kham turned and emptied what little contents were left in his stomach onto the floor.

One of the orcs hopped up. “No good pinkskin! I’ll gut ye from stem t' stern—“

“Ye’ll do no such thin', “growled Scarbelly. “Thank t' val fer givin' ye his food today.”

The orc squinted at Scarbelly. Then he slowly slid back in his seat. With a powerful swipe, he snatched the bread and cocoa from Kham’s place at the table and began scarfing down both meals.

“Yer father was a good man,” said Scarbelly. “I’m sorry t’hear we didn’t stop Coombs in time.”

The empty vessels were returned to the galley, and washed by two prisoners, appointed as "Inspectors" of Weights and Provisions for the day.

A thorough cleansing of the ship, including decks, poop, and forecastle next took place, at which prisoners continue employed still. Kham was half-dragged by the orcs.

“Come on, ye stupid sack, or we’ll fail muster!” hissed one of them.

The muster of the prisoners commenced. Two officers were occupied in the wards. The prisoners were all ranged behind the tables.

“Silence! Keep silence there!" shouted an officer; and then, while one officer called the names of the prisoners, the other marked down the absentees upon a slate.

As each name was called, the prisoner owning it responded, "Yessir," accompanying his reply with a military salute. The replies of "Yessir," in every variety of voice, ran along the wards.

This ceremony over, the registering officers retired, and the warder on duty padlocked the prisoners in once more. The same routine was performed for the prisoners at work—the cooks, bakers, and the like.

"All correct, sir!" said the registering warder to the chief.

"Now, then, A ward!" was shouted down the hatchway.

Instantly four prisoners appear, following one another.

"That's for A ward. B ward!" was next shouted down. "Now, then, B ward here!"

And in this way the messmen of the various wards were summoned from their decks, to fetch the breakfasts of their comrades, the messmen of each deck appearing at different hatchways.

The messmen moved along in file towards the ship's galley, and presently they reappeared, each man carrying a large beer can full of cocoa, the bread taken down in baskets, and served out by the officers at the ward-doors.

“T' doctor’ll be here soon,” said Scarbelly. “Ye should see him.”

Kham was too sick to disagree.

 

[talien]

Belly of the Beast: Part 6c – The Hulks

At half-past six the doctor came on board. An officer went round shouting in the wards, "Any men to see the doctor?"

Kham joined five other men appear in answer, formed in line near the galley-door. They were ushered one by one into the little surgery. The serious cases were ushered into a trap door, where they passed at once down into a little separate room underneath.

The doctor, a gaunt scarecrow of a man, looked Kham up and down. “And what’s wrong with you?”

Kham swayed slightly. “I…I don’t…”

“Pfft, you’re just a lousy juicer,” said the doctor. He slapped Kham a couple of times on the cheek. “You’ll either die from the stuff or get over it. Either way it’ll be decided by tomorrow. Back to the bunk with you!”

Kham shuffled back to his cell in time to be called back again. .

At a quarter-past seven the officers for duty ashore were called over by the chief warder, while a principal checked them. Twelve extra guards, composed chiefly of soldiers, and some wearing clasps upon their warder's uniform filed down the steps, ready to receive the prisoners. The prisoners began to appear above the hatchways, marching in single file towards the gangway, with a heavy and rapid tread.

It seemed to Kham like there was a never-ending line of prisoners that streamed across the deck, down the gangway, the steps rattling as they descended one after another into the capacious boat.

And through it all were the cries of the officer at the ship's side, "Come, look sharp there, men! Look sharp!"

“Now what?” groaned Kham.

“Work,” said Scarbelly. “Even in prison we orcs can’t get away from bein' used for cheap labor. Ha!”

 

[talien]

Belly of the Beast: Part 7 – Hard Labor

The rowers held their oars raised in the air, as the brown line of men flowed rapidly into the cutter below. Some seated themselves in the stem, but the large majority stood in a dense mass in the bottom of the long low craft, dotted here and there by the dark dress of the officers planted in the midst of them. In fine weather no less than one hundred prisoners were landed in each of the boats.

The long boats glided slowly to the pier, their dense human freight painted brown on the stream. And scarcely had one boat landed its felon crew before another was filled, and making for the shipyards and the shore.

“We’re building ships?”

“Aye.” Scarbelly continued to row in sync with Kham. Because they were chained together, they were learning to do a lot of things together. “Freeport’s lookin' t' build itself a fleet.”

“For what?” asked Kham.

“For war,” said Scarbelly.

The prisoners clambered up to the parade ground and fell in line there with military precision; separated according to the chief officer's directions into working parties (each working party being in charge of a warder). They moved off to the scene of their day's labor, in long brown strings.

The prisoner crew stood drawn up in lines, headed by their respective officers.

“Now what?”

“Searches,” said Scarbelly. “Sometimes t' men try t' make a run for it while they’re on land.”

“Any of them make it?”

Scarbelly squinted up at the sun. Shadowy bat figures circled overhead. “Not a one.”

The officers proceeded to search under the prisoner’s waistcoats and to examine their neckcloths.

The searching and arrangement of the working parties or gangs effected, the officer gave the word of command, "Cover!" then, "Face-forward!" and each gang wheeled off to the direction of its work, the men walking two abreast, and the rear brought up by the officer in charge.

As the several gangs left the parade ground, the officer in charge gave the number of his gang, and that of his men. The gangs were numbered from one to thirty. Kham’s work gang officer called, "Two-eight!" That was gang number two, containing eight men.

For the first time in a long time, Kham worked very, very hard.

 

[talien]

Belly of the Beast: Part 8 – The Rings

The prisoners left their afternoon's work at a quarter-past five, so as to be all collected by half-past. The slanting rays of the sun threw long shadows from the cutters over the water, and the evening light sparkled warmly upon the tide, and danced as it caught every polished point of the dense mass, while the boats advance towards the hulk.

On the cutters reaching the hulk, the prisoners streamed up the gangway in single file as before - then poured down the hatchways, into their respective wards, where gruel was at once served out to them. They were allowed to rest till chapel-time, at half-past six o'clock.

Kham was exhausted. He was practically slumped over the table.

“Ye should choke somethin’ down,” said Scarbelly. “Or ye’ll only get weaker.”

Kham looked up at the orc. “Why do you care?”

Scarbelly took a deep breath. “Truth be told, I’d rather gut ye myself. But ye were done wrong, just like I be, by Kenzil an' his legacy. Ye lost a father t' him. Me, I just lost an eye an' a leg.” He rapped one calloused fist on his wooden peg leg.

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends, orc.”

Scarbelly nodded. “I wouldn’t be havin' it any other way. But if we’re goin' t' survive here, we’d better learn t' trust each other. If I wanted t', I could snap yer neck while ye sleep ye know.”

Kham swallowed hard.

After chapel, at eight o'clock, the men were mustered in their wards and the gates of the wards locked for the night.

The officer cried, "The muster's over!"

The men jumped up, tables disappeared, forms were ranged along the sides of the ward, and each man got his hammock from the corner in which they were piled in the afternoon by the boarders. In a few minutes all the hammocks were slung, and the men talking together.

"The division is for school to-morrow," cried an officer.

Shortly after, each man was beside his hammock, preparing for bed.

“I found this,” said Scarbelly. The orc placed something in Kham’s palm.

“What is it?” asked Kham. He peered at what looked like a small black marble.

“I dunno, but it was with ye when ye got on board.”

“I didn’t have any clothes when I got here,” said Kham.

Scarbelly shook his head. “I didn’t say it was on ye. It was in ye.”

Kham blinked. He sniffed the marble. Then he recoiled. “Oh.”

“So I take it ye didn’t know ye was carryin’ that around in your gut? Orcs can carry much more than that in their stomachs, ye know.”

Kham shook his head. “I didn’t,” he remembered Touldrix’s voice, “but I think I know what it is.” He grabbed both sides of the marble and twisted. It opened to reveal two rings.

“Magic,” whispered Scarbelly.

Kham nodded. “Well, orc, you’ve got more friends than I thought.”

 

[talien]

Belly of the Beast: Part 9 – Krysos Boz

The next day was more of the same. The prisoners returned to the parade grounds, where a strict search of the prisoners was once again made by the warders to ensure that they had not secreted anything while at work. The men opened their waistcoats and pulled off their cravats, as before, to facilitate the operation.

The search over, the men descended the stairs, in gangs, to the cutters. They returned to the hulk in the order in which they left her in the morning.

"Now, Mr. B--, bring your men up!" A long boat approached, crammed with men and warders.

"Hoist your oars!" cried an officer as the cutter touched the hulk. The warders landed first, and then they hurried the men up the gangway steps. As soon as they reached the deck they advanced, in single file, to their respective hatchways, and descended at once to their wards. The tread of the two hundred prisoners sounded almost like thunder rolling under the decks.

The prisoners were are at once locked up in their wards, where their tin mug and plate were turned upside down, one upon the other, around each mess-table, previous to dinner.

Prisoners appeared at the end of the wards with large clothesbaskets full of bread.

"3-7; 4-8; and 5-8!" cries the warder, as he dispensed the loaves to each mess.

The mess-men of these gangs advanced to the gate of the ward, and received their proper quantities for their respective messes. Some messes had a loaf and a quarter, others two whole loaves, according to their numerical strength. The prisoners divided the quantities themselves.

It was then that Kham noticed that there was no bread left for him.

There was also upon the mess-tables a deal-board to cut up the meat upon. A prisoner came below carrying knife-bags, and distributed them according to the number of men in each compartment.

"To your table, men!" cried the chief warder; and accordingly the prisoners arranged themselves in their proper seats.

"Now A ward!" was shouted down the hatchway. "Come on here. One, two, and three!"

A prisoner from each mess answered the call. Presently the messmen returned, each carrying a small tub full of meat, and a net full of potatoes, together with the supper bread.

One man at each mess served out the potatoes into tin plates. Then there was a cry of, "All up!"

The prisoners rose and grace to Illiir was said. When the prisoners were re-seated, a man proceeded at once to cut up the meat upon the mess-board. The dinner was portioned out.

After the meat was cut into portions, the meat-board was pushed into the middle of the table, and each man took the piece nearest to him. Then the peeling of potatoes went actively forward, and the prisoners were soon fairly engaged upon their meal, talking the while in a low, rumbling tone.

A man sat across from Kham that he hadn’t seen before. He was bearded, with a red bandana tied around his head.

The orcs that always surrounded Scarbelly moved towards them from other tables, but the orc captain kept them at bay with a gesture. He wanted to see what the man had to say.

He took a big bite of a piece of bread. Kham’s piece of bread. “So the dirty orc lover is still alive. Well,” he said around chews, “I don’t care if you’re Finn’s flunky or not. On this boat, Krysos Boz is the boss.”

Kham sighed. “You’re talking about yourself in third person, aren’t you.”

Krysos leaned forward, jabbing a finger in Kham’s face. “I can do more to you than talk, if you like.”

“Well,” Kham rose to his feet. “I think I’m going to go take a walk.” With a snap of his wrist, he looped the length of chain that tied him to Scarbelly around Krysos’ neck. “What do you think Scarbelly?”

“I think I’m goin' t' go visit me buckos over thar.” The orc captain winked with his good eye.

Before Krysos could protest, the orc and the val walked in opposite directions, yanking the chain taut. Krysos was lifted into the air. His face turned bright red and he let out a low gurgle.

"Not too much talking there! Silence! Silence here! " cried the warder.

Kham and Scarbelly switched places at the table, dropping Krysos to the ground as the chain went slack.

“You’re…a dead man,” he choked out. Then he went back to his table.

“I think I just made another enemy,” sighed Kham.

The orcs were smirking at him.

Scarbelly clapped him on the back. “And ye just made some new friends.”