Bandits

Chapter 18: Gerard

Gideon's head throbbed. He'd been awake for hours but had yet to see a soul.

His eyes were closed in a futile attempt to ease his headache. His temples felt like they were ready to burst outward, and the pain made him a little queasy. His face felt warm and he was covered in sweat. He must have had a fever. The lingering effects of Vane's knock-out blow were enough to distract Gideon from his tender, swollen ankle. At least that probably meant it wasn't broken.

He sat with his back against the wooden bulkhead. The room he was in was cramped. When he'd first awoken, Gideon had taken stock of his surroundings hoping to find anything useful. He hadn't.

The room didn't appear to be any kind of purpose-built brig. There were no bars on the door, but it was sturdy enough. Gideon assumed there must be something keeping the door shut from the other side. But more than the lack of bars, the porthole and several empty crates and barrels were enough to give away the fact that his makeshift prison was probably just a store room. His captors hadn't even bothered to seal the porthole shut. They must have figured that Gideon was hardly in a position to climb out and make an escape. He'd only end up tumbling into the sky. Which, he noted grimly, would probably be seen as something of a no-lose scenario on their part.

Gideon had elected to rest until something, anything happened. Maybe by the time his captors greeted him his headache would be gone. Wouldn't that be a welcome change in luck?

Just as he was hoping that he might get his wish, and his headache might be allowed to peacefully dissipate, an irritating scraping sound stabbed fresh daggers behind his eyeballs.

Gideon opened his eyes. The sound had come from the other side of the door. The latch lifted and the door swung in. Gideon was made keenly aware of the fact that no one seemed to have oiled the hinges in at least a century judging by the painful squeal they made.

Gerard entered the room. Two other men stood in the doorway, looking down at Gideon.

"It's alright," Gerard said to the two men. "Leave us."

The men nodded and shut the door behind Gerard. He brushed some of his dark hair out of his face with a gloved hand. He gave Gideon an awkward nod in greeting and sat on a nearby crate.

"How are you feeling?"

Gideon looked at Gerard for a long moment. So many conflicting emotions ran through his head that he couldn't make quick sense of them. There was a lingering shock at his betrayal that still didn't quite feel real, and, mixed with his fuzzy head, made everything feel like a bad dream. Then there was the deep despair. Gideon felt hollow and sick. His best friend had turned on him and now sat across from him as a captor. Which led him to the third, and perhaps most powerful emotion: anger. It was an anger that Gideon had never felt before. It was beyond any anger he'd ever felt toward his uncle after being whipped about, harder than any enmity he'd ever borne the nobles of Palateo, hotter than any fury he'd ever experienced in battle, and darker than any hate he'd ever felt before. It stirred a rage inside of Gideon that he'd never known he had; and it scared him.

Gideon tried to make sense of all those emotions at once to reply to Gerard, but failed.

"Fine," Gideon muttered with indifference. He didn't look directly at Gerard, instead focusing on a splintery piece of one of the barrels.

"I know you must be upset, boy," Gerard sighed. "But everything is going to be fine. Things will be back to normal soon. You'll see."

"I never thought of you as a fool, Gerard," Gideon said coldly. He turned to face Gerard. "But if you believe that, you might just be the biggest fool I've ever known. How can you possibly think anything will be normal again?"