Gold Rush

Chapter 1 - Rats Aboard 2/2

Baran didn't move. He tried to speak, to plead his case, but the hand was pressing hard on his lips.

'Right,' the man muttered. 'I'll let you speak but if you scream I'll slice you. You'll be dead before anyone knows what happened.'

Baran nodded. The hand lifted. For a moment, he wondered if he should take the risk and scream for help. But he was the only young man on the ship, it seemed, who wasn't a warrior. Surely, none of the mercenaries in the hold would care to help him.

'I d-don't know what you m-mean,' Baran whispered. 'Do you mean the ticket to the ship?'

'Don't play dumb with me, boy,' the man whispered. The knife pressed harder against his leg – it felt as though his entire leg was on fire.

'B-but, I gave my ticket to the crew, to get on board,' Baran said, sweat from his forehead rolling down and stinging his eyes. His leg was beginning to spasm with pain.

'You know fine well what I'm talking about,' the man said. 'The gold ticket. Everyone who isn't a slave on this ship is going to Magoa for the gold. We all have gold tickets that tell us the price we'll be given for the gold we find. You're not allowed out of Adelmoville without one. Give it to me.'

'I'm not going to Magoa – I'm getting off at Duro City,' Baran pleaded.

'Everyone on this ship is going to Magoa. It's only slaves and mercenaries aboard. The slaves are captured Sola warriors and the mercenaries are going wherever the money is. What other reason would anyone be on this ship?'

'I don't know,' Baran said. 'I'm from Port Meridio. I'm not a mercenary or a slave, I swear. I'm just trying my luck in Duro City.'

Baran had no choice but to lie. The gold ticket was the only way to be certain to get paid if you found gold. Anyone found with gold and no ticket would simply have the gold stolen from them. The gold tickets made sure that nobody stole gold from Magoa and limited the amount of gold that one person could sell. This man, it seemed, had realised that if he had two gold tickets he could either sell twice as much gold or sell the ticket to another mercenary. But without the ticket, Baran would find himself in Duro City or Magoa without any money, with no home, no friends or family. He couldn't lose the ticket.

'I already knew you were from Port Meridio, you Sola scum,' the man said. 'I could smell the jungle on you.'

'Then y-you know I don't have a gold ticket,' Baran whispered, his voice shaking. 'I'm n-not going Magoa. When this ship stops in Duro City I'm not getting back on, I swear.'

For a few heartbeats there was silence. Even the man's breath in his ear seemed to stop and for a moment, Baran hoped that perhaps the man had suddenly died or fallen asleep. But the man sighed in thought. Baran's hope desperately grasped for something else to hold onto – perhaps, perhaps the man was beginning to believe him. Perhaps he would give up and Baran would keep his gold ticket.

In the long silence, Baran cursed himself for being such an easy target. He should have worn rags to fit in with the slaves – or he should have bought a sheathe to pretend he had a sword. He realised now how clear it was to his ship mates that he was not one of them. The mercenaries, if not friends, bore a begrudging respect for one another, knowing that to fight amongst themselves helped nobody. But from Baran's voice and and his manners, it was clear he was a free-civii who was accustomed to a certain civility and security in his life – he was not the kind of man who travelled to distant lands to fight for coin and loot. And while it was true that he came from a low merchant family, that he had owned his own house, that he had once earned a good living as a seller of all sorts of goods, that he had a beautiful wife from a good family of craftsmen and artisans – none of that was true any longer. He had lost it all. And now the manners and eloquence that he had picked up in the previous years betrayed the extent of his poverty. Aside from the slaves, he was no doubt the poorest man on this ship. And yet – with his gold ticket, the possibility of redemption, of escaping his bad luck was just within reach.

'I've had a think,' the man said, now. Baran listened to the hoarse voice in his ear. He had never seen this man before and yet he felt as though he knew him better than anyone in the world. He imagined his face long and sharp, like that of a rat. He no doubt had missing teeth and awful scars from many battles. 'I've been fighting the Sola rebels for two years now. I've lost friends in the jungle. One of your brethren even took one of my fingers. But after our fight, I got his scalp – ha!'

Baran tried to interrupt to say that he was not a rebel – he was a Duro loyalist and this was the very reason he was going to Duro City. But the man wasn't interested and his hand had gone back over Baran's mouth.

'So, here's how it is, boy,' the man hissed. 'I don't know if you're lying or not. I don't know much about you at all. But I do know that you're one of them. The number of sleepless nights I've had in the jungle because of your people. The way their eyes brighten at the sight of blood – they shine against that blue warpaint they wear. I hate you Sola scum. So, I've decided that I'm going to kill you anyhow. Whether you have a ticket or not. If you do – I'll find it anyway. And if you don't – what's one less Sola to me?'

Without another word the man twisted his knife into Baran's leg. He thought that he had pissed himself with fear but it was the blood, flowing freely from his leg. The pain was so sharp, so deep, that he was sure the man meant to cut his leg off. Without another wasted breath, Baran grabbed the gold ticket from the secret pocket in the back of his shirt and shoved it in the man's face. In the dark he could see golden stars – a sure sign he was about to fall unconscious from the pain.

'Ha ha.' The man pulled the knife from Baran's leg. 'I knew it.'

The hand removed from his mouth, and Baran began to weep in silence.

'Aw, now,' the man hushed. 'It's okay, boy. You don't know it but I just saved your life. You're too green. You don't know a thing. If a mercenary hadn't killed you on Magoa then one of them ogres would have eaten you anyway.'

Baran ignored him. He began to weep louder. He felt the warm tears cooling his cheeks. What did it matter if he woke up the other mercenaries. At least he would die quicker. He had lost the one thing he needed to go on living. What was the use?

'Hey, now,' the man said, worry in his voice. 'Don't go dying on me now. I can't get jailed on my way to Magoa. Here. You need a tight bandage, like this.'

As Baran wept, the man, who a moment earlier had stabbed him with rusted knife and threatened to kill him, was bandaging his legs with the gentle touch of a mother. He tightened the bandage and the bleeding seemed to slow.

'Feels deeper than it is,' the man said. 'An old trick. You'll be fine.'

With that, the man turned around in his bunk and fell asleep.

As Baran shivered from the fear that had gripped his body, he heard a rustling. He saw the shadow of a large rat pass by his head. The rat sniffed and paused before making its bed right there beside him. Baran yawned and sniffed. He closed his eyes to sleep before supressing a laugh. He may be penniless and lost but he was still luckier than the captured Sola warriors further down the hold – at least he wasn't tied up. And there was something else that meant his luck wasn't as bad as it seemed. Now that he had been stabbed and robbed by a mercenary, Baran realised, he was no longer afraid of rats.

END OF CHAPTER

Note from the author:

Dear readers, thank you for continuing to read. What did you think will happen to Baran? Why do you think he's found himself in this situation? Do you have a sense of what the gold ticket is? What would you do in Baran's situation?

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Lots of love,

L.K.