Port Lorrel- Prison Break

[Jack Rothwell]

The southwestern corner of the gallows bore little difference to the rest of the back of the large building. It had the same, tall, featureless walls bedecked with twisted metal to prevent enthusiastic convicts who'd got their hands on a rope from clambering over without obtaining severe cuts in the process, and the same drop off into the unsanitary water that the city was built next to. There was, however, one important detail that had drawn Myra's attention.

Some ten feet below the waterline was an iron grille, clearly an exit for refuse, but also a possible way in.

Desmond saw what the woman was looking at; he turned to her with incredulity written all over his face.

"You think?"

"It's wide enough even for a big bastard like you to crawl up." Myra replied. "If you don't mind the smell that is."

The big man shook his head, not in disagreement, but in exasperation.

"Are you sure we can't just- you know- bribe them and get the boss back?"

Myra snapped her head to look at him, the anger on her face was clear.

"It's the principle." She hissed. "They kill our people, so we fuck them up." She looked over at Jack with the same steady stare. "What do you say pretty boy? Are you in? There's gold in it for you, and we'll pretty much have to kill you if you can't keep your mouth shut."

[Alberich]

In or out? Well, in. Followed by some more of the old "in-and-out." Maybe he ought to be bored with this kind of thing. But somehow he never was.

"Since you put it so alluringly," he said, flirtatious assurance in his voice, "then it's got to be 'in.' I'll need some more weapons, though." And given the level of attrition she'd described, there ought to be blades and to spare. "Lockpicks, too, if you have them."

[Jack Rothwell]

"Trifles." Myra replied, tapping a pocket which made a jingling noise.

"Good to see we're on the same page." Desmond rumbled. "So, we head back to camp."

"And bring the boys up to speed." Myra finished. "... if that asshole Lyman hasn't fucked up command, that is." She saw Jack's questioning look and clarified. "Riekstien's newest lieutenant, he's a total hothead." Then, to Desmond. "I still don't see why he got promoted."

"We needed him to manage the new recruits."

"Then I guess that makes him redundant now." Myra sighed. "You coming with, Jack? We've got some time to kill."

..............

A banging at the cell door woke the former militia captain from a doze. He opened his eyes. His brow furrowed as it took a moment for him to remember where he was.

"Out to the yard, Averis!"

Ah. Prison. Right.

The old routine of his previous incarceration came fresh to his mind and as he stood up and made his way to the door. Some six years ago it had been, a three month stretch of staring at bars, pacing a dirt filled yard and taking occasional beatings from irate thugs on the opposite side of law. The last time he escaped this place it was through contacts made and favors owed. This time however...

The sunshine felt good on his face as he stepped outside.

[Alberich]

Jack grinned a lupine grin and loped along with them. "Killing time" with Myra suited him well. So did getting a blade at his hip and making ready to play "cat amongst the pigeons." So did getting a chance to see where these fools kept their gold - just in case they fucked up the mission to a fare-ye-well.

[Jack Rothwell]

And so, an hour so later.

The Bandit camp was about three miles from the smattering of farmland and lower district buildings that marked the edge of Port Lorrel. As the trio climbed up the gentle slope, and the tips of the hide tents came into view, the sound of an argument could clearly be heard. It was the kind that signaled that a pummeling was imminent. The smell of campfires and cooking meat was sharp in the air as they cleared the end of the rise.

Myra, after taking a moment to lean back in her saddle and stretch in manner that Jack, who'd been sitting directly behind her, found impossible to ignore, dismounted and walked over to see what the commotion was about. Desmond followed with a grunt, clutching at the short, wide blade that hung at his side. In the big man's hand, the thing resembled a meat-cleaver a butcher might use if he'd gotten bored of pigs and decided to tackle an elephant.

"The fuck's going on?" Myra shouted, putting an angry snap on the curse word to turn the heads of the two men, who were inches apart with their fists raised. Desmond and Jack arrived a moment after, the big man stopped and made a tutting noise.

"Lyman." He said to the man on the left. "An explanation?"

The bandit stared back at his greeter from a moment, before glaring at the arguer and then storming over to the other 'officers'.

"It's bloody insubordination, that's what it is!" He exclaimed. "Where've you been? And who the fuck's this?"

[Jack Rothwell]

"Private Robert." Gabriel murmured. "It's been a while."

The hour had passed slowly, but that hadn't bothered the Captain at all. After being marched outside Gabriel had simply parked himself on a bench and waited. His course of action was clear enough; now he knew the location of his mark if was just a matter of waiting for the opportunity to present itself where he could go and find him. So he'd waited, exchanging a knowing nod with Old Roland as the break had come to an end, sitting quietly as the warden's had begun to file everyone back to the cell block, staring blankly ahead as he saw the remaining two guards detach themselves from the group and come over to fetch him.

"Break's over, Averis. Get out your seat and go back to your cell."

"I don't think so." He replied quietly.

"I wasn't asking you."

Gabriel looked up at the young man and smiled at him. He stood and spoke in a voice that was nearly jovial in tone.

"I don't take orders from a petulant little maggot like you." He said and, before the man could react to the insult he'd been given, drew back his hand and slapped him across the face. Not too hard, that wasn't the point of the gesture, but hard enough to bring stinging tears to his eyes, enough to enrage him instantly at the emasculation.

Private Robert roared in anger and punched the Captain in the stomach. Gabriel buckled up and feigned gasping for breath, at the edge of his vision he could see the young man's body shaking in fury. Perfect.

"Drag him to interrogation!" He shouted at his companion. "This prick needs teaching a lesson!"

And drag him they did. Both men were fairly built, his feet barely touched the ground on the way to the ominous, small building he'd visited the day before. No sooner had he cleared the doorway he was taken through a second and into a walled-off chamber. There were no furnishings in this one, no windows, just chains that hung from the ceiling for doubtlessly grisly purposes. Gabriel heard the click of a key being turned in a lock as one of the guards turned back to the entrance. Robert seized his wrist and pulled it upwards to the cuffs at the end of the chains.

'Now.'

Gabriel snapped the elbow of his grasped arm into the warden's throat, turning his angry expletives into a dry, rasping noise. Robert let go and staggered backwards clutching at his windpipe. The other guard turned to see the former militiaman bearing down him with open hands. He opened his mouth to yell for help, but before the call could be made Gabriel grasped his head and wrenched it viciously to the side, slamming it into the brickwork with a wet smack which declared the second man would not be getting back up. Ever again.

Robert, however, was still alive. His rasps had turned to retches as he tried to force air through his damaged throat. He managed to take one gasping breath as Gabriel seized him by his chest-plate and hauled him up against the wall.

"Wrong place, wrong time, kiddo." He said, in that same false-pleasant voice.

Several minutes later a single man in warden dress left the cell, locking it quietly behind him.

[Alberich]

"Where've you been? And who the fuck's this?"

Hiding behind Myra wouldn't be a good idea. "Jack Gallow," said Jack - "It's an old name from the fisher tribes of Weglerd. It means, 'I'm on your side and you can't afford to be short another arm right now.'" He'd've used a ruder translation if he'd wanted to pick a fight -- which he didn't -- but he wasn't going to slot in to a lower tier in this group either. Otherwise, "killing time" would prove a lot less fun.

Some places these dumb animals would insist on a brawl to prove he was one of them. Here, he hoped, Myra could fill them in and drive them back into their pen. He thought she could. Poor little lambs who had lost their way.

[Jack Rothwell]

Lyman snorted derisively at Jack's response. "...and what the fuck's he doing here?"

"Helping us get the boss back." Myra retorted. "Which is a lot more than you've been doing, newbie."

"I told you to stop calling me that." The surly man replied. "And I was maintaining order while you were wasting time in Port Lorrel."

"Didn't look like it to me. And what in Na'ar's pit to do you mean 'wasting time'?"

Lyman's narrow mouth set in a line the banditwoman recognized all too well.

"We didn't discuss this plans of ours properly before you left." He said. "I think it's time for a review."

[Alberich]

Jack would've considered taking charge at that point - if he'd known the actual plan. He knew some of the details, not all. Better to let Myra answer that one. She was their talking herd leader, with that big lump for enforcer by the looks of it, and he had no wish to usurp either spot. Better to let her tell it, but back her up if she needed backing. ("Right behind her," yeah, that was the ticket.) Besides, he wanted to let his eyeballs roam around the campsite and the rest of the herd -- see who was looking scared, who was looking seditious (besides "newbie," great name for a pet), and where anyone was guarding what might be the armory. Or the treasury.

[Jack Rothwell]

The shouting match between the officers was beginning to draw a crowd Jack could easily do a headcount of, some twenty men (mostly men, although there were three women besides Myra who stood up from a campfire and began walking over) fast became the audience for the scene. For the most part they looked typical of the bandits caravans ran into on the northern plains, hide-dressed, and with a disposition for hunting trophies and streaks of face-paint.

"FUCK your review!" Myra shouted into Lyman's face. "We are not running back north with our tails between our legs!" A few jeers met the woman's declaration. She looked around, surprised.

"So what's the master plan then, girl? We're ten men down, so we march to the gallows and invite the militia to finish the job? Pay them all the gold we stole and ask nicely for the old arse back?" The murmurs of discontent grew louder at Lyman's sarcastic suggestions.

"Don't you call him a-"

"There's a way in." Desmond interjected, stepping forward and handing Jack's map to the younger man. "A grille just here. We sneak in, take the bastards by surprise, get Samuel back."

"A bloody sewage pipe?" He replied. "Brilliant. We get covered in waste before we get executed."

"What happened, Lyman? Did your balls drop off?" Myra shot back. Laughter came from the assembled outlaws who were, as the more seasoned member knew, as changeable as the tide when an argument was going on.