Bandits

Chapter 19: Zhebek

Gideon was kicking idly at a loose floorboard when the door to his makeshift cell was unlocked. Two large, gruff looking men stepped into the room with a third scrawnier man standing in the doorway with a scattergun in his hands.

"Get up," one of the men growled.

Gideon stood. He'd been locked away for what must have been several days, though it was hard to be sure. In that time his ankle had gotten significantly better, and was now merely a dull pain. He had received no visitors since Gerard had spoken to him, and only saw his captors when he was brought small meals.

Could they be nearing their destination? Was that why these men had appeared before him? Was he about to be sold to slavers to live out the rest of his miserable, and undoubtedly short, existence in the choking heat of some dark mine deep in the bedrock of some far off fragemn? Or maybe he'd be moved to a real prison, with stone walls and iron doors. Or maybe Gerard really would be able to keep him out of whatever was to come and he'd make it back to Solicito. But what for? His friends were dead, and he had been betrayed, and the princess was going to be sold off or worse.

"Come on," the same man said, already turning to leave the room. "Get a move on."

Gideon followed behind the man. He stepped out into a cramped hallway. The other two men fell in step behind him. The ceiling was low, certainly lower than the belowdecks of the Wraith. There were barrels of supplies and spare pieces of lumber to make emergency repairs. A few hammocks hung from the ceiling, and several heavy iron guns were tied down, their gun-port's shut.

The man Gideon was following mounted a steep staircase with rope handrails leading up to an open hatch. Sunlight spilled into the gloomy space from the exit. Gideon felt the cool metal of twin gun barrels against his spine as the scrawny man pushed the scattergun harshly into his back.

"Let's go," he said, impatiently.

Gideon climbed the stairs.

The sunlight was dazzling as he emerged from below, forcing Gideon to shut his eyes. He breathed deeply. Fresh air. It was good. The air of the Petra Field always invigorated Gideon, and today was no exception. If anything, being trapped in a small cabin for days made the experience all the sweeter, even if he was still a prisoner.

There was hardly any wind, Gideon realized, eyes still shut. They must be docked somewhere.

Gideon opened his eyes and looked around. There was no dock in sight. No city, no port, not even another skyship they had rendezvoused with. There was only a jagged peninsula of a fragemn snaking toward the port side of the ship. The ship swayed gently in the air, only a few feet from the edge of the rocky outcrop.

The fragemn itself was fairly large. At least large enough that Gideon couldn't see the other side of it. It was covered in barren rock, scraggly bushes, and sand. Lots of sand.

"Ah, there he is, my little farmer boy."

Gideon turned toward the stern of the ship. Vane stood on a set of stairs that led up to the ship's wheel, his arms outstretched.

"I trust the accommodations were to your liking?"

Gideon looked around at the other people on deck with him.

There must have been thirty men, and a few women too. All of them were armed, and none of them looked like they were likely to be on his side. He recognized a few of them–former crewmates from the Wraith, some of Vane's cronies, and two or three more that he thought he'd seen around the docks, the rest were strangers. The crowd was restless.

Vane's crew were all over the deck of the ship, leaning on the gunwales, lounging on crates, sitting above him in the ratlines, everywhere he looked he was greeted with scowls, sneers, and sinister faces. The crew pointed at him, whispered to each other, and made jokes at his expense.