A massive cottonwood stood just outside the fence and looked over the camp that night. It dropped a thousand floating seeds, and also Jaysynn hurtled down from its branches. He rolled along the ground when he landed and sprang quickly to his feet, then ran like rodent looking for cover until he made it to his bunkhouse.
There he closed his eyes and thought about how he was never going to fall asleep, kept awake by worrying that Kyrie was upset, and that maybe she had been right to challenge him—maybe he had accepted this place because that was easier than accepting his calling, his unexpected title. But once in his bunk, he soon stopped turning in his bed and grew calm, and the worries of the long day washed away into blackness.
Just then the door opened and the light of torches flooded the room. Jaysynn sat quickly upright. The other men were slower to react. They squinted and groaned.
Half a dozen guards entered the room, and their leader straightened his hat and spoke up: “He’s here now.”
They surrounded Jaysynn’s bunk and told him to get out of bed.
“What’s this about?” he said.
The same guard answered, “Don’t worry. There’s no punishment here that’s so bad that you can’t get up and work the next morning.”
Beyond that, Jaysynn didn’t ask any question or make any complaint. He just leapt out of his top bunk. His bare feet landed on the floor boards without making a sound: every inch of his body knew how to take a fall.
“Come along,” said the leader. Two walked in front of him, two behind, and one on either side as they led him out the door, across the yard, and into the town hall.
This camp was far younger than the city of Falcon Point, and its headquarters was quite new compared to the Old Fort. But in spite of its newness, it was not as comfortable as the castle in town. Nor was it as majestic, nor as beautiful. It wasn’t as proud. Not as sturdy, not as strong. It wasn’t even as stark. It was just there. Practical. And that only for the next few years.
An oil lamp sat on Tarc’s desk and lit his face, its glow flickering off the lenses of his reading glasses. A mass of papers was spread out in front of him, with a sheet or two in each hand. He looked over his glasses to see his men with Jaysynn in their custody.
“Welcome back Captain Mile,” said Tarc.
The guard with the hat, with the sword on his waist and the dagger-shaped lapel pin, brought his feet together and saluted.
“I see you found him,” Tarc went on. He looked back down at his papers and asked, “Did you give him a warning?”
“No sir,” said the captain. “We thought you would want…”
“Don’t you think you should give him a warning?” said the boss.
“Yes, sir.” Captain Mile bowed his head dutifully.
While Tarc checked over the numbers scribbled down in front of him, the captain held his hand out toward one of his guards, who laid his baton in his open palm. Captain Mile raised the baton and took a swing at Jaysynn’s head. Jaysynn instinctively stepped back, but the guards behind him prevented his movement. He held up an arm to block the blow, and the blow sent a tingle from his fingers to his shoulder. The guards then grabbed Jaysynn. He realized that struggle would get him nowhere, so he did not resist. Instead, with his arms chicken-winged behind his back, he readied himself to receive the blow.
Captain Mile handed the baton back to his subordinate and patted Jaysynn on the cheek with his bare hand. “Relax,” he said. “Just a warning. Just something to get you thinking.”
The other guards released him.
“That’s enough,” Tarc said. “Leave us alone.” And the room was soon empty except for Jaysynn and the man at the desk. He laid down his papers and placed his reading glasses gently on the top of the mess.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Um…Elric,” said Jaysynn.
“Sorry about your arm…Elric,” said Tarc.
Jaysynn looked down at his arm and back at Tarc, but said nothing.
“Those guys are just the same as you—just people that came here on the bus. Well, most of them have been with me for a few years, but they were still the same: people trying to get away from a life that wasn’t working out. My operation was quite a bit different before the Cataclysm, of course, but I still tried to get the most good out of all my employees. Some of these guys worked a couple days in the fields and then started picking fights. They just weren’t happy unless they were brawling. So I decided that I would let ‘em do what makes ‘em happy—and I would make it work to my purpose. Since I let one of them take a shot at you and five of them hold you down to show off how manly they all are, they’ll be satisfied for a week. If I hadn’t let them do that, well then they would go pick a fight with somebody who didn’t do nothing wrong. See, when somebody is too violent, that’s an easy problem to take care of—not only to solve it, but to utilize it. But I get the feeling you’re a bigger problem than that. You’re a rule-breaker of the worst kind, would you agree?”
“No, sir,” said Jaysynn.
“You left your bunk at night for an unsanctioned reason. You left the camp. I am probably correct in assuming that you went into the city—which is not only against the rules of this camp but also the laws of the city. I am also reasonably certain that you’ve been in the women’s camp to see the girl that you were travelling with.”
“I’ve not broken the spirit of any of the rules of this camp or of the city of Remirion.”
“And that’s just it,” said Tarc, leaning forward now with an elbow on his desk and a finger pointed at Jaysynn. “It’s not the place of a farmhand to decide which rules apply to him and which ones don’t. That makes you the worst kind of rule-breaker and the most dangerous kind of employee.”
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