The Copper Horse #1 Fear (7 page)

"No one will be lookin' for 'im," said Jacob, still playing with his dirty money, from the sound of it. The fucking Judas! "I can get ya more like 'im."

"I fuckin' saved your life today!" Reuben yelled at him, already physically sick with panic. It was so true. No one would look for him. His father might even get an extra drink tonight to celebrate the departure of his useless son. And what the hell was to happen to him? What 'public'?

Jacob was silent for a moment but then exhaled, as if the situation made him tired. "Ya think I could watch him tonight?"

"What, at the Pit of the Dead?" One of the younger men laughed in disbelief.

"Where?" Reuben screamed and writhed so forcefully that he threw the attacker off his back. He didn't get to stand up, though. A sharp, agonizing pain spread through his skull, and then everything went dark.

Chapter 5

Reuben jerked up at the feeling of a million icy needles penetrating his skin. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn't out in the backyard anymore. He was sitting in the dirt, his naked body trembling from the cold water that someone poured down on his head. There was something heavy around his neck and hands, and he was shocked to discover it to be shackles.

Still dizzy, he tried to get some focus, looking around the dimly lit room. More than ten men lay around on the floor, all of them wearing the same iron cuffs he was. None of them would meet his gaze, keeping their eyes on the floor in quiet resignation. Reuben tensed, discovering a small boy crying in the corner, his painful sobs echoing in the dark. The other prisoners seemed to be at peace with what was coming. Sitting on a bed of dirt and straw, they stared into the distance with neutral faces, as if they weren't really there.

The room looked like some kind of medieval dungeon. In the cramped space, the reek of urine and feces coming from a large bucket in the corner was nauseating. There was only one grated window just below the ceiling. Reuben spotted a large, topless man with a bucket. He had to be the one who'd poured water over him. Since he was the only one with no shackles, it was safe to assume he was a guard.

"What is this?" muttered Reuben, still a bit light-headed after the rude awakening. The feeling of being trapped dawned on him, choking all air out of his lungs.

"Shut up, meat!" growled the guard. His face was heavily scarred and unpleasant. Reuben wouldn't have liked to meet him in a dark alley, yet meeting him here was even worse.

He wanted to say something back, but the guard was so imposing that he didn't dare open his mouth. What was to happen to him?

A small smile curved the guard's lips as he studied the hopeless prisoners. "Listen up,
meat
!" He straightened his muscular body. "You all know what happens now! You live, or you die!"

"I don't know where I am," whimpered Reuben, his lips trembling.

Dark eyes stopped at him, making him break out in goose bumps. He had a feeling this man wouldn't hesitate to kill if provoked.

"You're gonna fight the undead, you brainless slap!"

Someone cackled hysterically in the corner. "If he got no brain, maybe they not gonna eat 'im!"

Reuben's mouth fell open and he looked around, expecting someone to laugh at the cruel joke, but no one did. He felt like crying. His gaze fell to his shackled hands, the weight of the collar making his arms slightly numb. What had he gotten himself into? No. It was Jacob who'd got him into this!
The fucker
. His arms were tense with the instinctive readiness to fight or run, but he couldn't think of any way he could do either.

"You'll only have one free arm, so put it to good use. We want you to survive the arena, so don't disappoint!" the guard added with a cruel laugh which suggested that the prisoners' survival was the last thing he cared about. "You live through three fights, you can go."

"One arm?" Reuben exclaimed in shock before he could bite his tongue.

"Shut up, braindead!" The guard shook his head in disbelief. "Some make it, so use your time well."

Reuben looked around in panic, his whole body breaking out in cold sweat. There were ten of them. How many zombies would there be? He didn't dare ask if they were getting any weapons. They didn't even have clothes, for God's sake!

Before the guard said anything else, a petite woman approached him from behind and said something Reuben couldn't hear. The man sighed, rolling his eyes in frustration and shooting a look at the prisoners. "You, stand up, now!"

Arguing with him was the last thing on Reuben's mind, so he quickly got to his feet and leaned against the wall. He sniffed, trying not to let the tears spill from his stinging eyes. He should have listened to his father. The thought of the undead, their rotting teeth, long sharp nails tearing into his bare body like it was a piece of butter made him sick with fear. The prisoner sitting on his right side moved toward the door, pulling Reuben along with the thick chain attached to both of their collars. Moments later, they were all standing in a neat line, and the guard led them out of the room into a narrow corridor. It was dark and smelled of dust, but Reuben still wished they could walk forever because at the end was death. He could practically smell it already: the sickening, sweet, and acidic odor of rotting flesh. Shaken, he marched forward, afraid to look up when they went into a much larger and brighter room. From what he could see with his head bowed, it was very simple, with white walls and long tables, as if meant for eating, but he didn't see anyone sitting on any of the wooden benches.

"Stop!"

He searched for anything he could use to escape. Anything! And to make matters worse, the boy he'd seen crying in the cell only became louder and more heart-wrenching.

"Shut up, or I'll restrain both of your hands!" This finally shut the youngster up. He still panted every now and then, but he made an effort to be quiet.

The bare room seemed cold and unwelcoming, but at least it was clean compared to the cell downstairs. "Now, don't you dare speak unless spoken to. I'm talking to
you
, braindead!" growled the guard, staring straight at Reuben and making him flinch.

"I will not, sir," he said in a tiny voice, only to make the prisoner next to him laugh out loud.

"We're gonna die anyway, all of us."

The guard didn't give them any more attention. He looked out of the room and bent his whole body in half in a sorry excuse for a humble bow.

A strange man entered. Dark leather of finest quality covered him from head to toe, making him look out of place in the oafish surroundings, like a lord in a pigsty. Elegant movements, the way he held his head high reminded Reuben of a racing stallion. The outfit was solid black, as if someone had poured tar over him and it had just stayed that way. It took a moment for Reuben to notice discreet buckles, straps, buttons, and ties, adjoining all parts so tightly that they looked like one skin-tight garment. The man's head and neck were entirely sheathed by a sleek, but strangely intimidating mask. Below a pair of small, rounded goggles, a vertical line ran down his face cover, sharpening the shape of the stranger's nose. It divided the lower part of the mask in two halves, both symmetrically decorated with ornamental folds, which probably hid an absorbent filter. The only conventional part of this person's attire was a modern black top hat, adorned with a bay leaf crown.

Reuben's eyes went wide at the spectacle. The man was a lot shorter than he, but there was something intimidating in the way he moved, like some kind of demon chimney sweeper. The combination scared the shit out of him.

Reuben swallowed, even more astonished when he noticed that all the other prisoners, no matter how dirty or tired they were, straightened up, as if trying to look taller, larger and healthier. They were begging to be noticed as hard as they could without voicing their pleas. The man in black approached the first prisoner in line. The sharp squeaking noises made by his outfit broke the tense silence and made Reuben shiver.

His heart was pounding, but he dared a glance to the side from behind the curtain of wet hair. Who in God's name would wear something like that? Every detail of the stranger's anatomy was clearly visible, including his privates! Nothing left to the imagination.

The man moved to the second prisoner in row and suddenly gripped his jaw with a gloved hand. "Open up." His voice sounded too low for a person of his size, so it had to be the mask distorting the tone.

The prisoner didn't hesitate, opening his mouth wide.

Reuben became both petrified and baffled. These people, the other prisoners, seemed to know who they were dealing with. And all of them were keen to please someone who was looking into their mouths and assessing them as if they were cattle.

His body tensed when the man in black approached the prisoner standing next to Reuben and for a brief moment, bright eyes peered at him from behind the goggles. He looked down before he could even think about it. Suddenly he felt insecure, even though he wasn't the only naked person in the room. The squeak of fresh leather made him jumpy, and then two shiny, black boots stopped in front of his own bare feet. Reuben's heart came to a halt. The man was silent, but Reuben felt slim fingers firmly grasping his cheeks and forcing his head up to face the terrifying mask and a pair of eyes that bewildered him, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason why.

He darted a desperate look at the guard, whose face showed no sympathy. His attention returned immediately to the stranger in front of him, who shoved two fingers into Reuben's mouth, examining his teeth. The man exhaled, releasing him and backing a few steps away to study Reuben from afar.

He finally dared to return the gaze, a concoction of panic and fascination in his heart.

The man in black moved to his neighbor, but for some reason, Reuben still felt that strange stare on himself and the taste of leather on his tongue. Not daring to look up, he listened to the shivering breath of his companions, the squeak of leather and the soft, but all-encompassing sound of the man in black inhaling through the mask's filter.

He gulped. The other prisoners seemed so eager. Whatever the man was choosing them for, it was bound to be better than a close encounter with a bunch of undead. Actually, there was hardly anything worse than fighting zombies naked, with no weapons and with just one hand to use. The examination took forever, and the longer it lasted, the more unnerving the silence was, broken only by the sounds of the stranger's clothing. The wait was unbearable, even more so because he didn't know what they were waiting for.

Reuben finally built up the courage to glance straight at the man in black. He slowly opened his mouth to speak, but the look on the guard's face made him close it. The mysterious man's eyes met his again, and he moved toward Reuben to face him once more.

Reuben licked his lips, blinking far too often. His body was tense as a piece of freshly cut wood. Behind the stranger's back, the guard made the well-known death threat gesture with his thumb moving across his throat.

"Him. Get rid of parasites," the man in black told the guard before moving away and swiftly exiting the room without another look at Reuben. Gone like a summer storm.

"Me?" Reuben choked out in disbelief, noticing another prisoner scowl next to him.

"Why does he fucking choose the half-brain Paddy?" snarled one of the other prisoners, his voice shaking.

"I'm not Ir—" Reuben was interrupted by the guard, who walked over to Reuben and detached him from the chain.

"It's not the brains he's interested in. Mooray!" he shouted with a snarl.

A short fat man rushed into the room, wobbling on his feet. "Yes, sir?"

"Prepare him for Bluefinger. He wants all parasites gone." He shoved Reuben into Mooray's general direction and gave him one more disapproving look. "Cherish what you got, knobhead, or you'll see me sooner than you think."

He didn't have to repeat that, and Reuben was quick to approach Mooray. From what he gathered, it was safe to assume he was to become a servant. Whatever his status might be, any work was better than fighting zombies in the Pit of the Dead. And he was getting rid of lice? Lucky day!

When they left the room, he could still hear the sound of the guard's commanding voice, but Mooray yanked him by the short chain attached to his collar, leading him back into the corridor. "Lucky one, eh? Saved by the Bluefinger."

His voice didn't sound pleasant, but the words were reassuring. Reuben was ready to labor hard, but the thought that he might be doing some kind of coal mining or, even worse, work in the woods made him cringe in fear. Then again, if this 'Bluefinger' wanted Reuben to be healthy and have no lice, than he had to be a good master. At least that was what he chose to believe.

"Yes, I suppose so."

"How much d'ya owe them anyway?" Mooray seemed keen to talk, which was a nice change after the other guard.

"I owe nothing to nobody. Except my father I suppose, but he deserves it," he rambled on, nervously picking on the short chain of his shackles.

Mooray furrowed his eyebrows, giving him a skeptical look. "Then what're ya doin' here?"