Read Online Forged in Blood I by Lindsay Buroker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lindsay Buroker
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support behind the brick addition, but it’d take more than a shoulder thump to topple it.
“Maldynado?” Amaranthe called. “How’re you doing over there?”
“Between keeping these rowdy prisoners subdued and piling as much junk as possible in front of the door?” came the response.
“Yes.”
“Fine, but I heard someone in the stairwell holler to get Lord Mancrest, and I believe the words ‘battering ram’ also came up.”
Amaranthe didn’t think a ram would prove effective in that tight stairwell, but if Deret’s father came down and started hollering at his son through the door, that might have a scheme-withering effect. If Deret decided they should give in and let the others in, that wouldn’t leave Amaranthe and Maldynado in a good place. “If you’re done piling up junk, come give me a hand.”
“Be there in a minute.”
Amaranthe paused beside a rusty press beneath a drop cloth. She eyed the furnace and boiler. It wouldn’t be the first boiler she’d caused to explode, but she feared it was too big and too surrounded by other heavy objects for three people to push over to the wall. She kept looking. Perhaps there was a smaller press, or perhaps… Her thoughts took a jog to the left when she spotted the jars of ink again. Nodding to herself, she lugged two of them through the crooked aisles toward the back wall. On the way, she caught sight of Maldynado and his so-called rowdy prisoners. Both were sitting on the ground, their wrists and ankles still tied. She paused, setting down the heavy jars.
“Ten ranmyas says they get caught in the next ten minutes, and these outlaws get shot,” one said.
“I’m not taking that bet,” the other said. “That’s a foregone event. The real question is whether Lord Mancrest will give his son a spanking when he finds him out of his cage.”
The two men shared snickers. Maldynado was leaning against one of numerous crates he’d shoved in front of the door, wiping sweat from his brow. “We’re not getting caught,” he told the prisoners. “But if we did, I’d pay a lot more than ten ranmyas to see Deret spanked.”
“Maldynado,” Amaranthe said, causing him to start.
“I was taking a break. A quick one. I swear. Look at all I did.” He flung his arms wide to highlight the size of the stack he’d piled up.
“You and your prisoners aren’t in trouble.” Amaranthe smiled at the tied men, figuring it couldn’t hurt to start talking to them if she hoped to draw them to her side later. “But I need help.” She picked up one of the jars of ink and nodded for Maldynado to grab the other.
“I’d rather see her spanked,” one of the prisoners said as she moved away.
His cohort guffawed. “I’d pay fifty ranmyas for that.”
Maldynado snickered. Amaranthe raised an eyebrow at him.
“Sorry,” he said, “I could thump them around so they couldn’t say such things, but you mentioned winning them over. I thought that might be easier if we didn’t mash up their faces or perforate any important organs.”
“Thoughtful of you.” Given that spanking comment, she wouldn’t mind some light thumping, but she decided she shouldn’t encourage brutality.
When they reached the wall, Deret was still pushing boxes aside. Amaranthe and Maldynado deposited their loads and went to retrieve more jars of ink. By the time they’d made their last trip, Deret had cleared the area. He stopped to mop sweat from his face and eye the semicircle of giant jars.
“You think the storm tunnel is on the other side?” Maldynado waved to the outline on the wall.
Amaranthe pictured the street, the tunnel, and their location within the building in her mind. “I’d guess ten or twelve feet away.”
“What if this side stub is bricked in all the way?”
“Let’s hope it’s not.”
A resonating bang came from the stairway. Huh, the soldiers might have gotten a battering ram into the stairwell after all.
“Deret, printing press ink is flammable,
“Maldynado?” Amaranthe called. “How’re you doing over there?”
“Between keeping these rowdy prisoners subdued and piling as much junk as possible in front of the door?” came the response.
“Yes.”
“Fine, but I heard someone in the stairwell holler to get Lord Mancrest, and I believe the words ‘battering ram’ also came up.”
Amaranthe didn’t think a ram would prove effective in that tight stairwell, but if Deret’s father came down and started hollering at his son through the door, that might have a scheme-withering effect. If Deret decided they should give in and let the others in, that wouldn’t leave Amaranthe and Maldynado in a good place. “If you’re done piling up junk, come give me a hand.”
“Be there in a minute.”
Amaranthe paused beside a rusty press beneath a drop cloth. She eyed the furnace and boiler. It wouldn’t be the first boiler she’d caused to explode, but she feared it was too big and too surrounded by other heavy objects for three people to push over to the wall. She kept looking. Perhaps there was a smaller press, or perhaps… Her thoughts took a jog to the left when she spotted the jars of ink again. Nodding to herself, she lugged two of them through the crooked aisles toward the back wall. On the way, she caught sight of Maldynado and his so-called rowdy prisoners. Both were sitting on the ground, their wrists and ankles still tied. She paused, setting down the heavy jars.
“Ten ranmyas says they get caught in the next ten minutes, and these outlaws get shot,” one said.
“I’m not taking that bet,” the other said. “That’s a foregone event. The real question is whether Lord Mancrest will give his son a spanking when he finds him out of his cage.”
The two men shared snickers. Maldynado was leaning against one of numerous crates he’d shoved in front of the door, wiping sweat from his brow. “We’re not getting caught,” he told the prisoners. “But if we did, I’d pay a lot more than ten ranmyas to see Deret spanked.”
“Maldynado,” Amaranthe said, causing him to start.
“I was taking a break. A quick one. I swear. Look at all I did.” He flung his arms wide to highlight the size of the stack he’d piled up.
“You and your prisoners aren’t in trouble.” Amaranthe smiled at the tied men, figuring it couldn’t hurt to start talking to them if she hoped to draw them to her side later. “But I need help.” She picked up one of the jars of ink and nodded for Maldynado to grab the other.
“I’d rather see her spanked,” one of the prisoners said as she moved away.
His cohort guffawed. “I’d pay fifty ranmyas for that.”
Maldynado snickered. Amaranthe raised an eyebrow at him.
“Sorry,” he said, “I could thump them around so they couldn’t say such things, but you mentioned winning them over. I thought that might be easier if we didn’t mash up their faces or perforate any important organs.”
“Thoughtful of you.” Given that spanking comment, she wouldn’t mind some light thumping, but she decided she shouldn’t encourage brutality.
When they reached the wall, Deret was still pushing boxes aside. Amaranthe and Maldynado deposited their loads and went to retrieve more jars of ink. By the time they’d made their last trip, Deret had cleared the area. He stopped to mop sweat from his face and eye the semicircle of giant jars.
“You think the storm tunnel is on the other side?” Maldynado waved to the outline on the wall.
Amaranthe pictured the street, the tunnel, and their location within the building in her mind. “I’d guess ten or twelve feet away.”
“What if this side stub is bricked in all the way?”
“Let’s hope it’s not.”
A resonating bang came from the stairway. Huh, the soldiers might have gotten a battering ram into the stairwell after all.
“Deret, printing press ink is flammable,
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