Derelict

Haggard From Want and Hunger

Chapter Six

"Last thing I need is an ignorant Speck infecting our pups with a bunch of yangee nonsense." The man looked him over with a mixture of disgust and loathing. "My name is Kemp. I am the Tourinar of this clan and you're nothin' but a Speck. You hearin' me? My word is law, second only to that of the Touri and I'm tellin' you to keep that mouth of yours shut. The next best thing to a dead Speck is one what can keep his trap shut."

"Yes sir. I was only..." Wyatt's words were cut short as stars exploded in his head. The man had backhanded him with an iron fist.

"I knew you was stupid. Didn't I just get done tellin' you to keep your mouth shut?" Kemp glanced around, irritation growing on an already irritated face. "Gilmer? Where'd you git to? Gilmer!" He yelled this last part with spittle flying from his mouth and a vein standing out on his forehead.

"I'm here, my Tourinar," said another equally thin and dried out man, scurrying to Kemp's side.

"Secure this Speck til we can properly deal with him."

"Should I have his feet removed, my Tourinar?"

"No! You imbecile. How much work do you think you're gonna get out of a Speck with no feet?" With that, the leather-faced man stalked away, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, leaving Wyatt under the authority of Gilmer.

The caravan continued rolling as they both watched Kemp. Then Gilmer drew in a deep breath and hawked out a huge wad of phlegm to the road.

"That's disgusting, Gilmer," called out the man in the cart following Wyatt's.

Gilmer turned and walked backwards, laughing but exhibiting no visible sign of humor on his face. "Excuse me, your highness. I didn't realize we was in the presence of royalty. Henceforth I shall display a tad more decorum for those of a more delicate constitution."

He turned, snickering to himself but Wyatt noticed the other man wore a scowl. It seemed obvious Gilmer was not quite the fount of humor he had imagined himself.

"Well get yourself down outta that cart," Gilmer commanded. "You plannin' on givin' me any trouble?" The question must have been rhetorical because he allowed no answer. "I'm here to tell you, if you be thinkin' about givin' me even one bit of trouble, I'll have you flogged. And it won't be pretty. It'll make whatever gave you those bruises seem like a lazy day in paradise."

Wyatt scooted to the edge of the cart and slid feet first to the ground, wincing at the ache in his ribs. Gilmer grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him from the path of the mule and cart following.

"Ignorant Speck! Are you really that stupid?" He turned toward the head of the caravan and called out over his shoulder, "Keep up Speck. Don't got all day."

Wyatt's head reeled and his knees began to buckle but he managed to follow, knowing he couldn't escape and was too exhausted and sore to resist. Gilmer strode ahead while Wyatt did his best to remain close. His history with Boss and the stick had conditioned him to fight through any discomfort and pain, to always find a way to obey and follow orders. Gilmer didn't seem the type to allow sloth and dawdling any more than did Boss so Wyatt decided he would do nothing to earn a beating. He put his head down and grit his teeth, willing his feet to move. As he passed each wagon or cart, he put out a hand to steady himself, afraid he would topple to the ground and incur the wrath of Gilmer.