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Authors: J.S. Morin
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to be
something of a pariah when he first arrived and was assigned to a work crew,
just as the warden had intended. He had gotten past that social impediment by
agreeing to take the members of his chain-crew into his protection. Once it
became known that anyone who gave trouble to someone on his crew would have to
answer to Denrik, only one prisoner tested his resolve. The rest of the
prisoners on Rellis Island learned an important lesson that day when they discovered
that though Acardia no longer executed criminals, Denrik Zayne had no such
reservations. When the body was found, Denrik was safely locked away in his
cell with the rest of his crew, but nevertheless suspicions ran strong among
the more superstitious prisoners that Denrik had done the deed himself.
The guards stood watch over the prisoners while they
ate. Each guard was dressed in loose-fitting garments of light linen, all a
dusty shade of white. Wide-brimmed straw hats kept them well shaded during the
hottest parts of the day, and on that unseasonably hot spring afternoon, the
prisoners dearly envied them that shade. In a land with trees and shade and
cool water to drink, the day would have seemed beautiful and bright, but not in
New Hope. The ground was barren of plants of any sort, the whole of the island
being little more than an oversized outcropping of rock jutting from the sea.
“Eat yer grub and be quick about it,” ordered one of
the guards, a fat surly man by the name of Pierson.
Despite the lightweight uniform and all the other
comforts afforded the guards, he was dripping rivers of sweat and in a foul
mood. Seeing little response from the prisoners, who in spite of his
remonstration were already eagerly slurping up the stomach-turning meal, he
cracked his whip over their heads. Several men were startled and fumbled the
bowls containing their lunch, and one even spilled the remains of his meal.
Denrik, who had with long practice trained himself not
to flinch at the sound of the guards’ whips, merely looked up at the guard with
dangerously narrowed eyes.
Pierson scowled back at him. “What’re you looking at?”
He cracked the whip again, this time within a few
inches of Denrik’s head. Denrik clenched his jaw and willed himself not to
move, but betrayed himself slightly by blinking when the tip of Pierson’s whip
drew close. Salvaging a bit of authority from the exchange, Pierson let the
matter end at that.
Secretly many of the guards were a bit afraid of
Denrik Zayne. The name had been synonymous with piracy in Acardia for well over
a decade, and even years after his capture, something about the name still
commanded fear and respect. He was so unlike the rest of the prisoners on the
island; they knew not what to make of him. Most of the men sentenced to hard
labor on Rellis Island had been criminals because they knew no honest trade or
had taken too easily to the lure of undeserved riches. They were generally an
undisciplined, unruly bunch, and prone to much violence when left too long to
their own devices. Though little of Denrik Zayne’s earlier life was known, it
was apparent that somewhere along the line, he had acquired a nobleman’s
education. Though he spoke little when the guards were about, his accent and
vocabulary singled him out clearly among the rest of the rabble incarcerated on
this island, and he carried himself calmly and with a strange, offended
dignity, as if imprisonment were beneath him. It struck a strange chord in
men’s minds when they reconciled his demeanor with the reckless brutality for
which he had been convicted.
*
* * * * * * *
At the end of the day, the prisoners were led back to
their cells. The cell block was built from stone native to the island, which
had a distinctive reddish-brown color to it, and which Denrik had always
thought gave the place a rather cultured look, as far as prisons were
concerned. His crew was led into their cell, a stone-floored, square room with
no windows and a heavy
something of a pariah when he first arrived and was assigned to a work crew,
just as the warden had intended. He had gotten past that social impediment by
agreeing to take the members of his chain-crew into his protection. Once it
became known that anyone who gave trouble to someone on his crew would have to
answer to Denrik, only one prisoner tested his resolve. The rest of the
prisoners on Rellis Island learned an important lesson that day when they discovered
that though Acardia no longer executed criminals, Denrik Zayne had no such
reservations. When the body was found, Denrik was safely locked away in his
cell with the rest of his crew, but nevertheless suspicions ran strong among
the more superstitious prisoners that Denrik had done the deed himself.
The guards stood watch over the prisoners while they
ate. Each guard was dressed in loose-fitting garments of light linen, all a
dusty shade of white. Wide-brimmed straw hats kept them well shaded during the
hottest parts of the day, and on that unseasonably hot spring afternoon, the
prisoners dearly envied them that shade. In a land with trees and shade and
cool water to drink, the day would have seemed beautiful and bright, but not in
New Hope. The ground was barren of plants of any sort, the whole of the island
being little more than an oversized outcropping of rock jutting from the sea.
“Eat yer grub and be quick about it,” ordered one of
the guards, a fat surly man by the name of Pierson.
Despite the lightweight uniform and all the other
comforts afforded the guards, he was dripping rivers of sweat and in a foul
mood. Seeing little response from the prisoners, who in spite of his
remonstration were already eagerly slurping up the stomach-turning meal, he
cracked his whip over their heads. Several men were startled and fumbled the
bowls containing their lunch, and one even spilled the remains of his meal.
Denrik, who had with long practice trained himself not
to flinch at the sound of the guards’ whips, merely looked up at the guard with
dangerously narrowed eyes.
Pierson scowled back at him. “What’re you looking at?”
He cracked the whip again, this time within a few
inches of Denrik’s head. Denrik clenched his jaw and willed himself not to
move, but betrayed himself slightly by blinking when the tip of Pierson’s whip
drew close. Salvaging a bit of authority from the exchange, Pierson let the
matter end at that.
Secretly many of the guards were a bit afraid of
Denrik Zayne. The name had been synonymous with piracy in Acardia for well over
a decade, and even years after his capture, something about the name still
commanded fear and respect. He was so unlike the rest of the prisoners on the
island; they knew not what to make of him. Most of the men sentenced to hard
labor on Rellis Island had been criminals because they knew no honest trade or
had taken too easily to the lure of undeserved riches. They were generally an
undisciplined, unruly bunch, and prone to much violence when left too long to
their own devices. Though little of Denrik Zayne’s earlier life was known, it
was apparent that somewhere along the line, he had acquired a nobleman’s
education. Though he spoke little when the guards were about, his accent and
vocabulary singled him out clearly among the rest of the rabble incarcerated on
this island, and he carried himself calmly and with a strange, offended
dignity, as if imprisonment were beneath him. It struck a strange chord in
men’s minds when they reconciled his demeanor with the reckless brutality for
which he had been convicted.
*
* * * * * * *
At the end of the day, the prisoners were led back to
their cells. The cell block was built from stone native to the island, which
had a distinctive reddish-brown color to it, and which Denrik had always
thought gave the place a rather cultured look, as far as prisons were
concerned. His crew was led into their cell, a stone-floored, square room with
no windows and a heavy
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