“Hauling out the dead?” said Tal, not believing his ears.
“It’s a good time. You’re outside for the afternoon, first burning the body, then digging up some ashes, then you carry it down to the cliffs over there above the north beach, and scatter them to the wind with a prayer. It’s a nice little break from the ordinary, in’it?”
Tal shook his head. “What’s in the bucket?”
“That’s your kit.” Will reached in and pulled out a metal pan, then a wooden spoon. “Me or one of the other lads will be by twice a day. You get porridge in the morning and a nice stew at night. Not much by way of variety, but it’ll keep you alive. Zirga told me you was one of the specials, so you’ll get more.”
“Specials?”
“It’s a bit of a joke, actually,” said Will, smiling and letting Tal see there was a face under the dirt and hair. “Duke Kaspar gives orders for some extra food and an extra blanket, maybe even a coat, so the prisoner’s around a long time, to ‘enjoy the stay,’ as Zirga says.
“Most of us are in the middle. We’re just ordinary blokes, and if we don’t make trouble, they feed us and don’t beat us too often. We used to have this one guard, name of Jasper, he’d get crazy mean drunk and just beat someone to be doing it. Got drunk one night and fell off the cliff; broke his neck. No one misses him.
“Then the ones the Duke really hates are down in the dungeon. They don’t last long down there, maybe a year, maybe two.
“You, you get some bread with your meals, and on special days, maybe something else. You never know. Depends on Zirga’s moods.”
“Does anyone ever leave?”
“You mean like is anyone pardoned or serve out their sentence?”
“Yes.”
“No,” said Will, shaking his head. “We all come here to die.” He sat down on his haunches, and added, “Well, strictly speakin’, if I can last another twenty years, then I should be freed. Of course, by then, I’ll have to remind them my sentence was for thirty, and then I’ve got to hope someone here cares enough to send a message to Opardum, and that someone there can find a record of my trial. Then someone else has to review the trial record, and get a magistrate to sign an order to release me, and bother sending it back to Zirga or whoever’s the Governor here in twenty years. So, you can see, I don’t put much faith in it. Mostly because no one’s lived thirty years in the Fortress of Despair.”
“You seem uncommonly cheerful for a man condemned to live his life on this rock.”
“Well, the ways I look at it, you got two choices: you can curl up and be miserable, or you can try to make the best of things. Me, I count it lucky they didn’t hang me. They called me an incorrigible thief. I’d been caught three times. First time, I got sent to the work gang for a year, ’cause I was only a lad. Second time, I got thirty lashes and five years hard labor. This time, they could have hung me, but for whatever reason, they sent me here. I think it was ’cause the last time I got caught it was breakin’ into the magistrate’s home, and he thought hangin’ was too good for me.” He laughed. “Besides, you never know what might happen. One day I might just wander down to the dock and find a boat there, or maybe those murderers up at Bardac’s Holdfast will decide to attack and kill off all the guards, taking the prisoners with them to be pirates.”
Tal found himself laughing, despite his pain. “You’re quite the optimist, aren’t you?”
“Me? Maybe, but what else can you do?” He stood up. “They say your name is Talwin Hawkins. That right?”
“Call me Tal.”
“Tal it is.” He looked around. “Well, I’ve got to head back to the kitchen and get the meal ready. You should be hungry by now.”
“I could eat. How long has it been?”
“They cut off your hand three days ago. Didn’t know if you were going to make it or not. After I bring around the meal, let me take a look at your wound.” He held up his own stump. “I’m somethin’ of an expert.”
Tal nodded, and Will left. Tal leaned back against the stones and felt cold sucking the warmth right out of his body. He pulled his blanket around his shoulders, fumbling as he tried to do it with only one hand. At last he had it around him, and he settled in. He had nothing to do but wait for food.
Will looked at the wound, and said, “That’s healing nicely.” He rewrapped the bandage. “I don’t know what that muck is Zirga puts on the rags, but it works. Smells like a pig died under the house a month ago, but it keeps the wound from festerin’, and that’s what it’s about, in’it?”
Tal had eaten the stew, a watery broth with a few vegetables and a hint of flavor that suggested that meat had once touched the pot the broth was made in. He had also got half a loaf of a very coarse bread, which Will said was to last him the week. He said only the specials got bread every week.