A Game of Colours

Chapter 27: Words on the Walls

The town of Preston, full of faceless people in chattering crowds, lies before us. The marketplace is bustling with action as the smell of sweat and hay fills the air. Horses cross the dirt road in all directions, springing up great clouds of sand with their hooves that fog up the view; their riders donning beaver pelt hats and smug faces. I hear the distant blast of a train coming to life, its whistling far too merry for my mood. In its first moments, I recognize it as a business town. The ladies all wear large skirts down to their toes, wide-brimmed chapeaus, and dainty white gloves. Trailing helplessly behind them, I see slaves. And not just the occasional one-no, this town is full of them.

In their hands they carry baskets full of fruits and bread that they can neither eat nor touch. A sickening feeling enters my stomach, as I see their faces, gaunter than mine, staring longingly at the meals before them, closer than ever but still out of reach. I glance to see Isaac, expressionless and fists clenched.

"Welcome home, gents," says the Chief with a broad smile.

*

The jail is smaller than I anticipated, only ten or so cells lining each wall covered in cheap, white plaster. Engravings are written all over them, messages for the next unlucky soul, but I can't read them. I remind myself to ask Jarrah or Isaac later. A musty stench hangs over the entire place, like the gloom before an execution. I look into the cells, to see the unmistakeable sign of defeat in every man's face. I feel the Chief's presence beside me, as he searches my own to watch my reaction.

"Homey, is it not? We try and make them much the same as the plantation quarters are, you know."

I lift my chin slightly.

"Well, that'll be all. Enjoy your freedom for now." The Chief strolls away, hands in his pockets as a whistle plays on his lips.

Jarrah is immediately separated from us to the other end where the whites are kept. Isaac and me are unceremoniously shoved into our respective inglorious piles of hay with a trough-yes, a trough of dirty water.

"We're low on space, so the Chief's asked a personal favour of me that you hold the smallest cells we've got. Sleep tight," says the cell-keeper with a toothless smirk.

I stare across from us to see several empty (and larger) cells, and take the hint that we aren't exactly welcome.

"We've been in worse," I laugh awkwardly.

"Right," frowns Isaac from his cell, immediately turning to the corner away from me and nestling in.

"Everything alright? Besides the obvious, I mean," I ask slowly.

"Peachy," he grumbles.

I stare at him for a few moments, before turning to my own corner and lying down underneath the barred-up window. My hand runs over the rotting wood.

I miss the night sky.

*

We're awoken early the next morning to the clanging of a bell.

"Rise and shine, you lot! Breakfast!" yells the cell-keeper.

I hear grumbling stir throughout the cell, and I awake stiff and tired. I whisper across to Isaac in his cell when he remains motionless.

"Wake up, Zac!"

"What is it?" he asks groggily.

"Food."

His eyes light up, before he remembers where he is. I smile slightly, still unsure what else is troubling him.

"Don't wake me up, next time. I was in a better place asleep."