The young hopeful and the guard with the club walked slowly down the corridor, speaking in low tones Arin couldn't quite make out. It was an odd sight. The guard had reason to be down here – that made sense. But the boy had no business being in this part of the ship.
Still, Arin was pretty sure he knew why he was here.
"Whatever, let's see where this goes," he thought, and stretched one hand through the wooden bars of the cage, giving a cheerful wave.
"Hey there! Brought me another little piece of bread, have you?"
They stopped. The guard's expression didn't change. After two weeks of dealing with Arin, he'd grown more or less accustomed to his antics, though certainly not pleased by them.
The boy, on the other hand, reacted very differently. Arin still thought of him as a "boy," but he was probably the same age – twenty-one or so. Either way, the look on his face was thunderous. If his glare could summon lightning, Arin would've been ash already.
With brisk, angry steps, he broke from the guard and marched straight toward the cell. Arin greeted him with a smile.
"How's Vaneth? Last time I was too hungry to mention how absolutely charming she looked in that coat—"
The words were cut short when a fist slammed into his gut, knocking the air from his lungs. He gasped, but then the boy grabbed a fistful of his hair through the bars and yanked his head against the wood.
A jolt shot through Arin's skull as their foreheads nearly touched. The boy grinned, satisfied.
"Think you're clever, do you?" he said.
Arin found his breath again. He grabbed the boy's wrist out of pure instinct, but didn't pull.
"I do, actually. Still mad about the bread, or did you just miss me? I mean, it's got to be the second one – you don't exactly look like you need more food."
His tone was mocking, but part of him genuinely couldn't believe the academy boy had come back just to settle a score. Shouldn't he be off studying for his entrance exams?
"You're a barking dog. And sometimes barking dogs need to be put down."
Arin took it back. The kid was just out for revenge.
Said revenge-hungry idiot drew his fist back again, the other hand still tangled in Arin's hair. The punch landed square across his face. His vision spun. He didn't fall backward, though, because his head was yanked right back to the bars.
Part of him wanted to break the boy's wrist right then and there. He had one hand on it already – it wouldn't take much. Just pull, trap the arm under his armpit, twist with the other. It wouldn't take more than a few seconds, and the hopeful should know so too.
What was a boy like this doing at the Blade Academy? Arin would've thought that one of the great academies of Wishundi would accept some more elite students than this.
But still, Arin didn't break the boys wrist. That would ruin everything.
The guard wouldn't step in, not until things went too far. The boy would scream a bit, fall back, and that'd be it. The guard wouldn't bother punishing him for being an idiot.
But he would step in if Arin was close to real damage – if he looked like he might die. Or worse, become too broken to work the mines.
Arin needed the guard to come closer.
After all, there were some very lovely keys hanging from the man's belt…
Arin's gaze locked onto them. Three, maybe four bits of iron, fixed to a loose ring that dangled from his belt loop. They clinked softly with each step.
A sound like hope. Or madness.
He needed that guard close.
Something warm was already running from his nose, dripping onto the cell floor. One or two more hits and he'd break something. A jaw. A nose. Enough to make the guard intervene.
"Come on. Hit me again," he thought, grinding down the pain.
Or better yet, a knee, a kick, anything that would make him useless for a week or two if done correctly.
Arin let go of the boy's wrist.
"Come on," he whispered.
"I like it rough."
The boy flinched, momentarily confused by the sudden lack of resistance. Then he growled and drove his fist into Arin's side. The rings on his fingers slammed into bone – metal against ribs. Arin gritted his teeth, snorted, and slumped forward slightly.
That was enough.
"Enough," the guard said. His voice wasn't loud, but it sliced through the corridor like a blade through leather.
The boy finally released him. Arin staggered backward into the cell, caught himself on a bar for a moment, then let himself tremble, just enough to sell it. The shaking was fake. The look he gave the guard was not.
The guard stepped closer. It was that slow, annoyed walk of a man too familiar with violence to be hurried.
"If you think you've earned your beating, prisoner, then at least take it in silence."
"And what if I think I've earned some company?" Arin croaked, then coughed dryly.
"Your friend here's quite chatty. I think he likes me. Too bad I can't reciprocate his feelings. Ah, but for the record – I do like his lovely friend in the chair."
"You're a piece of shit," the boy muttered, stepping back toward the guard.
His fury hadn't burned out, just twisted. Arin could see it in his face: shame. Not for what he'd done, but because Arin was still talking after two solid hits. Somebody needed better technique.
The guard stepped in closer. And suddenly he was too close. For him.
Arin straightened slowly. His left arm was still through the bars, just as before. The position looked harmless.
"You know what happens next time you run your mouth, don't you?" the guard said, stopping just half an arm's length away.
The keys dangled right above Arin's hand.
"Oh, I do," Arin said softly.
"Your big friend here pays me a visit in the night."
And as he spoke, his fingers moved.
It was not more than a faint jingle. Barely more than a breath between words, as the ring came loose. The guard hadn't fastened it properly. Maybe he never needed to. With the other prisoners as broken as they were, Arin doubted any of them had tried escaping.
But Arin wasn't them.
The ring slid into his palm, vanished into his sleeve, while his gaze never left the guard's.
"Alright. I'll keep quiet," Arin said at last.
The guard watched him for a moment longer, then turned without a word. The boy followed. More slowly this time. Arin watched them until they disappeared around the corner.
"Can't believe they fell for it again..."
With that, he slumped back against the wall, heart pounding like war drums in a battle only he knew was coming.
The keys were cold in his hand – but warmer than the chains he'd worn that morning.
And for the first time in a long while…
He had a plan.