Anarchaos

XIV

“I think he’s awake,” said the woman.

“His eyes are closed,” the old man told her.

“I don’t care,” said the woman. “I still think he’s awake.”

“So do I,” said the young man. I heard his boots crunch on the ground as he walked over to me. He stopped with his feet very near my head. “He’s faking,” he said, and kicked me on the shoulder, painfully. “Open your eyes,” he said.

I didn’t respond, didn’t move. The longer I could convince them I was still unconscious the better it was for me.

The old man said, “Take it easy, Alfie. Don’t bust him up.”

“You quit faking,” said the young man. Alfie, he was the young one. He kicked me again. “Open your eyes and get up from there.”

The old man said, “Alfie, don’t! We won’t get nothing for him if he’s busted up.”

“I’ll bring him out of it,” said Alfie. “Tina, go get a needle or something. Something with a point on it.”

I heard the soft pad of the woman’s feet as she hurried away. Then there was silence, while the old man and Alfie and I waited for her to return.

I was lying on my back, on bare ground, somewhere in the open; red sunlight illuminated my closed eyelids. I had been awake now for perhaps ten minutes, listening to the three of them talk.

They were taking no chances with me. They’d disarmed me this time, and tied my wrists together in front of me, and hobbled my ankles so I would be able to walk but only with small steps. From their conversation I understood they meant to sell me to the slavers.

They were a kind of family group. Tina, the woman, was the wife of the man I’d wounded and mother of the youth I’d killed. Alfie was some sort of cousin, and the leader of the group. The old man, whose name I hadn’t yet heard, was the woman’s father. They lived nearby, had been on particularly hard times recently, and considered me — and my weapons — a real windfall. They were all more or less afraid some larger or stronger group would come and take this unexpected treasure away, though only the old man actually stated their fears. Alfie put up a good tough front, denying the possibility, and the woman preferred not to think or talk about it.

They’d checked the wounded man down in the lean-to, but none of them could guess whether he’d live or die, so they’d decided to leave him where he was until they’d taken care of me. Then they would come back and look the situation over. I had the impression they would prefer him to die, as being the simplest solution to the problem.

In the meantime they were only waiting for me to regain consciousness, and getting increasingly impatient. Now, as I heard the footsteps of Tina returning, I moved my head and groaned, as though just coming back to awareness, and blinked several times, and looked up at last into the disgusted eyes of Alfie.

He was very close to the mental picture I had formed on the basis of his voice; narrow and sleek, with a long thin face, shiny black hair brushed straight back and flat against his head, thin lips, a long thin nose, and eyes in which intelligence had been distorted into cunning. His clothing was old and mismatched, but worn with a certain flair.

“You’ve wasted our time, you,” he said. “I ought to make you pay.”

“Never mind, Alfie,” said the old man nervously. “He’s awake now, let’s be off.” He was a thin and shrunken old man with jittery birdlike movements. I’d heard a certain mushiness in his voice before this, and now I saw why; he had no teeth, his mouth was a collapsed double flap, his stubbly chin jutting out beneath his nose.

Alfie spat on the ground near my head and said, “All right, then. Up on your feet.”

The woman, glaring at me, said, “The nasty thing. I ought to stick him with this anyway.” She waved something in her hand, something metallic that glinted. She was heavyset, fiftyish, as poorly dressed as the others, and with a round sullen face framed by stringy hair.

She made a move as though to attack me, but the old man clutched at her arm, saying, “Don’t, Tina! Let’s be off, let’s be away from here!”

“He killed my boy,” she cried, outraged, and shook the old man off.

Alfie, though, stopped her, saying, “Never mind that. He’s right, we’ve got to get going.” To me he said, “I told you to get up.”

Laboriously, I rolled over onto my stomach and pushed myself up onto hands and knees. I was weak, and stiff, and shaken, but behaved as though I were much worse off than that. I was grasping at every advantage, however slight, and it seemed to me there was an advantage in being stronger than they knew.

When I finally got to my feet I saw that we were in the middle of the road between the lean-to and the metal shack across the way in which the assassins had lain in wait. I stood swaying, tottering, only half faking my dizziness and weakness, and Alfie approached me with a thick coarse rope, one end of which had been formed into a loop like a hangman’s noose. As the older couple stood well out of the way, the woman pointing my own pistol at me, Alfie put the loop over my head and told me, “Now, you be good and give us no trouble. Don’t make it no worse on yourself.”

“I’ll pay you,” I said. “Take me to Ice, to the tower. I’ve got money there; I’ll pay more than the slavers.”

“You must think I’m simple,” Alfie said, and smiled upon me, and backed away, letting the length of rope slide through his hands until he reached the other end of it. The rope was about ten feet long, connecting us. He looped the other end around his wrist.

“I give you my word,” I said, though I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

He didn’t even bother to answer. “Follow them,” he said. “Not too close. And watch yourself.”

He meant Tina and the old man. They started off down the street now, looking back to see if I was coming. I hesitated, but I saw Alfie’s face harden, and knew there was nothing to do but obey. I started off, stumbling, forced by the hobble to take short scuffling steps, and followed where Tina and the old man led. Behind me, at the far end of the rope around my neck, came Alfie.

My head drooped, from weariness and from frustration. I found myself looking at my hands, hanging useless from the ropes tying my wrists together, and I saw the dark red marks on my finger where the youth had bitten me. But I didn’t see Gar’s ring.

I raised my head, startled, and inadvertently took a longer step than the hobble would permit, and lost my balance. I thought I’d strangle when the rope around my neck grew taut, but when I hit the ground the tension lessened. I lay there gasping.

Alfie called, “Get up! Get up, you!” And tugged at the rope.

It was harder to get to my feet this time. I couldn’t feign weakness greater than I actually felt. But I finally did attain my feet again, and the couple in front started off once more, and I followed them.

The ring? I could see it. It glinted in the light of Hell, ahead of me, on the hand of the woman, Tina. I ground my teeth at that, and very nearly gave in to a despairing fury.

But I held myself in check, as I had learned to do in the prison. I could see there was nothing to be done. They were all too far away, and I was bound too tightly. Besides, there was the weakness and stiffness all over my body. If I’d been stronger I might have tried attacking Alfie anyway, since I knew disabling him would stop or at least slow the other two, but not the way I was now. All I could do was scuff forward, led like a dog on a leash, and hope for a better chance later on.

As we moved away from the immediate area of the shooting we began to see people again, living their lives, moving about, traveling from here to there. None of them paid any attention to us as we passed in our slow parade, the woman and the old man ambling along in front and then me shuffling in their wake and at last Alfie bringing up the rear like the master of hounds. This caravan, impossible anywhere else in civilization, was normal on Anarchaos. No one would come to my aid, no one would question my imprisonment, not here in the ultimate land of the rugged individualist. I was alone.

And I had lost.