Without Rhythm (The Lament) Read online

  The man did actually stop for about half a second, then bellowed and swung at her with a blow that left a line of ice cold pain on her right arm, just under the elbow. He had a knife. The shadow tried it again, but didn't connect as she scurried backwards, searching around for something to use as a weapon. There wasn't anything there, so she called out again.

  "In here! Guardians! We have the man here! He has a knife, use lethal force if he doesn't drop it!" That sounded like something from a play she'd learned once a few years before. So hopefully the man would be scared enough to quit his attempted murder of her.

  Pran hit the wall and ran into a trash bin that smelled like it was the tavern's compost heap. It had a solid wooden lid on it which would have been a great shield, but when she tried to take it off, it turned out to be hinged. She couldn't get it off in time to use it as a weapon. She didn't know for a fact, but she kind of thought the man was working his way toward her, limping for some reason. The woman on the ground whimpered, but at least she was alive. For now. She got ready to fight. If the woman was smart, or even frightened enough, she'd run.

  For some reason there was no fear then. She couldn't beat a man with a knife in a fight. There was simply no way. He was too big and strong. The truth was that she just didn't care at the moment. Holding up her hands like she'd been taught for her stage fighting classes, Pran got ready to die. It was a matter of simple pride that she at least look decent while she did it. Hence the fact that she was going down fighting just as hard as she could.

  Then there was a flash of light from behind her, a hand beam from down the alley, not bright, but enough to see the man slowly coming at her, pants around his knees, male parts out and aimed roughly toward her. It was shocking, because she'd never seen a man like that before, so it was an unknown thing to her. What she did know though, was a thing every orphan girl learned young. Boys hurt a lot when you kicked them between the legs. She leaped in, kicking with her leg straight, like she used to when playing kick the rock as a child. It worked pretty well. True, the man did slash her leg a bit with the knife he had as he fell. That probably wasn't on purpose, he'd kind of been falling at the time and tried to grab her with his knife hand, she thought. Could happen to anyone.

  At the mouth of the space between buildings a flare went off, it was bright blue and cold, but made the whole thing look like it was daytime suddenly, the man standing there had a Kinetic pistol in his right hand and a beam light in the other.

  "Halt."

  The tone of command got Pran to go still, but the man on the ground tried to stand, which made the man step closer, to about ten feet away.

  "You... Apprentice. Secure that man. Use my restraints." He tossed the metal band toward her, which Pran caught as it slapped her in the face. It wasn't a great throw, which was forgivable, since the fellow had done it with a heavy weapon in the same hand, but her catch wasn't perfect either.

  The problem however was that she had no clue how to make the things work. She knew that such things existed, from reading she'd done, but had never even seen them used before. The rapist stood up again, knife still in hand. He was bent over clearly still in pain, so she jumped in and kicked him in the nethers again, hoping it would work twice in that short of time. It did, thankfully, but she still couldn't work the restraints out. As she was about to ask how to do it, more people came to the mouth of the alley.

  One had another beam light and the other wore a white robe that nearly glowed.

  "What do we have here then? More work? This town is proving to be all kinds of entertainment." This came from the direction of the new beam light. There was no sound from either of the other people. "Clark, who's that? With your restraints?"

  There was no response for a moment, then a low, deep voice answered, form black against the bright flare behind him.

  "New apprentice. Subduing a rapist."

  "Oh. Good then, we can always use the help." The second voice was female, and seemed to be the one in white. It was too hard to make out the faces in the dark, since they were behind the flare.

  The male voice, the low one, spoke again.

  "Tell him to drop the knife. If he refuses, remove it from him. I'd recommend kicking it from his hand, given your relative positions. If that fails, jump back and Mara and I will shoot him." The words were soft and slow, almost gentle.

  Pran went with something harder, trying to mask the fear she felt, the terror that made it feel like she might pass out at any moment.

  "You heard the man. Drop the knife. Do it now!" Then she kicked the man in the hand several times before he dropped the thing, just as the woman that had been being raped found her feet and finally ran toward the light.

  The woman in white moved to her, catching her carefully as the man on the ground tried to stand again.

  "It's alright dear, the Guardians have him now. He won't escape or be allowed to harm you anymore." There was some sobbing then, but it wasn't that loud.

  The other voice, which wasn't exactly girly, but was probably a woman, shone her beam on the downed man as he struggled up.

  "You don't want to do that. Your best course of action is to lie down and allow the restraints to be placed around your wrists. Be a good fellow and do that now, will you?"

  It didn't sound mean or even harsh, but the man acted like it was a mortal insult. He tried to run toward the voice, tripping on his own trousers, landing flat on his face. There was a thud to it and a slick crunching sound that had probably involved teeth on stone. Pran winced but moved in anyway, holding the restraints up.

  "Um, not a clue how these work."

  The larger one grunted a little.

  "Good. That means you probably aren't a criminal. Wrap the end around one wrist and then slide the other end around the other arm and back through the cinch-lock, keep them behind his back, always do that. Then tighten it until he can't get away. Not too tight, or his hands will fall off from blood loss. Even if he seems to deserve it now, that isn't our job. It's important for a good apprentice to know that kind of thing." The man, it was clear, was kind of laughing at her, the whole apprentice thing being a big joke to him.

  Did they know who she was then? If so, was this really the time to mock her like that? There was this... animal, right there. They had to do something with him. Maybe take him to the Judge?

  It took time to work the man around enough to secure his hands, but the people holding their lights didn't offer more than mild encouragement. When she had the man tied securely, hands behind his back as instructed, the larger of the other people walked over to her, and smiled. His face was scary in the light he was carrying. Shaved and fresh looking, but scarred, one of them running across his lips on the left side.

  If Pran had been trying to carve a figure to instill fear, this man would do very well for the model.

  He was also huge, wearing loose black clothing that did little to hide the muscle he carried, lean, once she saw him at less of a distance.

  "I'll stand him up. Then you'll want to place one hand on his shoulder, tightly enough that he can't spin on you easily and walk with him backwards to the street. We'll call for a wagon. Once restrained the line doesn't come off until the prisoner is processed. That way no mistakes are made. Those rules can change in the field, but this time I think it sounds right. Here we go..." He used one hand to lift the man by the back of his jacket, which really was a sturdy enough thing.

  "Remember what I..."

  Pran used her left hand to tightly take a hold on the jacket herself and grabbed the restraints with the other pulling slightly, having to walk backwards herself. The man tried not to move at first, but she kept going, pulling him off balance.

  "Hey!" Pran tugged the arms a little harder. "Walk you moron, or Clark and Mara will take over, and you do not want that. I'm the nice one here." It came out menacing. After all, she was pretending to be a Guardian, right? At least an apprentice one. Of course the others hadn't been going around acting all tough, had they? It wa
s just possible that she'd gotten the idea of what they were all wrong. Everything she knew about them came from stories and tales. A few plays. Normally those told of a single Guardian taking on a small army of evil doers... and winning.

  It was clear that was who they were at least.

  That meant that the other one, busily getting blood on her white robes at the moment, while trying to comfort the victim, had to be the Judge. Where one went you could always find the other, or so the saying went.

  So Pran would be in exactly the right place to get her sentence for impersonating a Guardian then at least. Well, it was that kind of day. She was just too tired to care anymore, even as the two people in black chuckled at what she said. It was kind of liberating, after a fashion. Or it would be until she got to the work farm. At least they'd feed her there. Better than whoring herself too, no doubt. Or at least no worse. She didn't doubt that there would be something like that available to pass the time there too.

  The street stayed clear for a long time, the others taking over, as the Judge tried to soothe the woman, who was slowly starting to collect herself, becoming more quiet.

  "What will I tell Henrique? I was never unfaithful to him. We married young... Now..."

  "You still weren't unfaithful to him." The Judge spoke gently, her voice filled with calm and grace. It was hard to describe, though Pran figured she could fake it herself if she had to. It was almost breathy and sounded a bit like a person on certain drugs. That probably wasn't it. The Judges had a lot of mental skills they practiced, so it was most likely because of that. Some people even claimed they could read minds.

  "A criminal did things, but you were not at fault. I will talk to Henrique for you if you wish it? He'll understand."

  "I... Thank you ma'am. Your honor."

  The wagon came not to long after, as well as a carriage for the woman that had been attacked to take her to the Doctor. It wasn't a grand thing, just a wooden town carriage pulled by an old horse that had seen better days, but it would be better than walking for the poor woman.

  The Judge drifted over to it smoothly, taking the woman along with her carefully making almost no physical contact. It was done very carefully and the big man, the one called Clark, nodded at Pran as she watched.

  "When people have been attacked like that they don't want to be touched afterwards. Often for some time. Notice how Claire is using her own body language to guide her? Stepping just in front of her, to the right? That isn't by accident. People are mainly right handed, so that puts her left hand closest to the woman, giving the one in back a position of power. It's a mental thing, largely, but useful." He said it in that ponderous fashion of his, watching Pran carefully the whole time, assessing something about her.

  "I think we can treat your wounds ourselves, back at the camp. Do you have somewhere else to go?" It was said in a strange fashion.

  For all the world it was like he was pretending she was still one of them, but might have had plans in town. That was probably for the sake of the prisoner in the wagon, who Mara had put in before she hopped up on the little carriage with the Judge, Claire, and the woman that needed the Doctor.

  "No. I'm... done here." She really was and no matter what she said, it wouldn't make a real difference later. Maybe she had to keep pretending to be what he'd called her though, for legal reasons?

  It turned out that wasn't the case. She figured it out about five minutes later, as the wagon bumped slowly down the stone road, the wooden wheels slipping occasionally, making the whole thing jump and the man in back groan. She'd been put next to the driver, on the seat, which was hard and uncomfortable, but Clark rode in the back, with his prisoner.

  "That woman, the one this man was raping? She heard you call out that you were a Guardian. Her mind will rest easier knowing that as a fact than to have it taken away from her right now. I know it seems like a trivial thing, but peace of mind is important, and a big part of our job. We protect and safeguard everyone that needs guarding from harm, to the best of our abilities. Always." The man grinned and nudged the prisoner with his boot. It wasn't a kick, but it made the leg move enough she could see it.

  "Yes, that really does mean you were just taken down by a young woman that just happened to be passing by. You might want to reflect on that in the camps as you serve your time for this. What were you thinking anyway? No matter the going rate, it would have been cheaper to pay one of the local whores a few coins, don't you think? Trade some work or something if you're too poor."

  He nudged the man with his foot, getting a groan in return.

  "Compton don't got no whores. Ugly man like me has no choice but a bit of force."

  "Oh." Clark looked into the night, the blackness surrounding them as they bumped along, lit only by a single lantern on the front of the wagon.

  The driver shook his head and spoke, sounding disgusted.

  "Brilliant there. Just brilliant. Now you'll be five years at hard labor and two in reeducation instead. Could have used your hand, or I don't know, developed a bit of charm maybe? Rape isn't an answer to not getting lucky." He looked about ready to add something more when he stopped and shrugged. "Can't cure stupid most times. Well, miss, what were you doing there then, passing by in time to help stop this one?"

  Pran blushed, glad no one could see her. She decided to go with the truth, since she didn't have time to think of anything else.

  "Oh... I was there to start setting up as the new town whore. Looking for my first customer."

  For some reason that got a groan from the man lying on his stomach and a laugh from the other two.

  Clark clearly believed her, or at least he didn't call her a liar.

  "Marvelous."

  Chapter two

  Clark smiled for the rest of the trip, from the sound of his voice at least, as Pran tried not to rub at the cut on her leg. It was a little deeper than the one on her arm, but even she could tell they were just scratches. She'd have bled to death if they weren't. It was too dark to see them but when she let her fingers go over the wounds it was sticky, not wet. Hopefully that was a good sign.

  The ride wasn't pleasant, but a big part of that was the whining from the back of the wagon. The man, still really drunk from the sound of him, kept complaining that his mouth hurt. Worse, he kept trying to blame her for it.

  "You knocked me down and stomped my head. Stole my damned teeth." There was a lot of lisping involved, but she didn't make fun of him or try to debate the idea with him. He'd no doubt try for revenge later in the camp. Hopefully she could get put in one that wasn't near where he was. If that happened she didn't doubt the man would eventually kill her. He didn't threaten to right then, but he was surely acting like he would have done that to the woman he was raping earlier.

  Clark looked around and then spoke in a normal tone. The night and being outside made her want to whisper, or at least be quiet, but he didn't seem bothered by it at all. The wagon wasn't loud, but it had two horses drawing it and they didn't look nearly as old or tired as the poor carriage horse had. Their steps were quick and that caused a certain amount of creaking and clomping in the gloom.

  "The camp is just up here, past these trees. We'll have to use the cell in The Lament for the prisoner. That's the airship Judge Claire uses on her circuit." It was nice to have the warning, because while she'd seen the things in the air, large and cream colored as they powered through the sky, Pran really hadn't had a clue how big they actually were close up. It was impressive. The thing was about the size of the art school. The whole thing. Not that the school was that huge, only housing about eighty students at any given time, but the thing in front of her was awe inspiring, even at night.

  It blotted out the stars in front of her, above the trees by at least twice their height, in a huge clearing that she'd never been near before. The landing field. There was room for several more ships of the same size, she thought. Out in the distance, in front of it, she could see a small fire, but there was nothing to be heard except for
the soft sound of a breeze in the evergreen trees.

  "That's it, straight ahead. It's a nice night, but a bit chilly, so most of us will sleep on board. You can take the first watch." He sounded happy enough about the teasing, but didn't add any more.

  The driver did however.

  "What's this now? Setting up house now Clark? Well, she's a comely enough young lady, but she doesn't look old enough for that kind of thing. Still with your face, I guess you can't be too picky."

  The man sounded so serious that Pran expected there to be an argument about it, but Clark just chuckled lightly.

  "You're right, I didn't ask. How old are you... I'm sorry, all sorts of rude tonight I guess. What's your name miss?"

  "Pran."

  She didn't add more and wasn't asked for it, much to her relief. She'd have to cover it all in a bit, but really, every moment not spent going over the last day was a good thing, as far as she could tell. Her thoughts tried to close in on the dismalness of the situation, but more questions came to distract her from that line of thinking.

  "And, if it's not indelicate to ask, what age are you?" His voice rumbled, still sounding slightly playful, rather than hard or stern. It was nearly shocking. He wasn't doing that with the rapist. Then, he was scum and she was just... A Bard that wasn't one anymore. If she could have honestly said she was Bard Pran the whole thing would have been alright, most likely. No one expected a Bard to fight at all, and her jumping in like that would have been considered heroic, not anything else. She was just putting on a show after all.

  Even student Pran of the art school might have worked. After all, they were called Bard too, even if it was an honorary title until they finished their education. She was just her now and that meant what she'd done, claiming to be a Guardian was fraud, not acting.

  "What time is it?" She asked casually, her voice soft, as if pretending she hadn't heard the question.

  Without looking at a watch Clark answered, eyes going up.