Niklas pushed his way into the yard, bleary-eyed and exhausted. As he entered, several workmen grinned at him, and he heard several of them whisper his name in hushed conversation. He noted that many people were absent, and some tried to hide bruises. On top of that, the yard was a wreck. Several things had broken the previous night, including the shelf he had put Tim through. Several liquor bottles and wax paper for meat slabs lay on the ground, abandoned by the spectators of the pit.
Niklas failed to fight a massive yawn and stretched his sore body. He tried to hide his limp, but there was something majorly wrong with his knee.
“Niklas!” Osred cried as he ran up to him frantically.
“What’s up?” Niklas asked dumbly, only slightly anxious that someone may have told him what happened.
“What happened here?” Osred asked worriedly. “I think we had vandals in the yard last night. I should have left you the key to lock up when you were done.”
“Vandals?” Niklas asked. “What do you mean?”
Osred waved his arms around frantically. “Look around. This place is a wreck. Someone broke a shelf and a wood stop. It looks like a stampede came through here last night.”
Niklas furrowed his brow. “Okay, Os,” he said. “I’ll confess. It’s my fault.”
“What?” Osred asked in surprise. “Niklas, what are you talking about?”
“I should have cleaned up after work. I remember thinking it looked horrible when you left, but I was tired.”
“Niklas!” he said urgently. “It didn’t look like this when I left!”
Niklas feigned confusion. “Yes, it did. I remember noting the yard needed some work. Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”
“Niklas!” Osred said earnestly, pulling him close. I think one of the other yards is working against us—probably Sigegar. I want you to be careful. I think he’s jealous that I have you in my yard, and I think...” He looked around to ensure no one was listening, then whispered, “I think he might be hurting my workers. I saw Stephan; he was beaten pretty badly! Tim and Zach haven’t come in.”
“Were they?” Niklas chuckled nervously as he rubbed his swollen and torn knuckles. They itched and ached under his leather work gloves. “Did Stephan tell you what happened”
He shook his head. “He was petrified. I sent him home to recover, but I want you to watch your back. If Sigegar does anything suspicious, tell me immediately.”
Niklas nodded. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
Osred nodded, looking worried. “Be careful, my friend.”
Niklas felt a ping of guilt but more relief. If no one had said anything by now, they probably never would.
Niklas found Robin, who looked at him with dark eyes.
“What?” Niklas asked.
“You look like dung,” Robin muttered. “And so does the yard… I still think what you did was wrong.”
“You were there too,” Niklas pointed out.
“Because I’m an idiot, and so are you.”
Niklas couldn’t hide his grin. It crept onto his face like an unwanted sneeze, making him look like a fool. “You won’t say that when you hear how much I made.”
Robin’s face shifted in surprise. “How much?”
“Four hundred and thirty-seven cesh!” Niklas said.
Robin’s jaw dropped as he failed to find words.
“I walked home with 437 cesh last night!” Niklas repeated to drive the point home. My plan actually worked,” he marveled. “Like a dream.” Niklas felt more and more like Edgar the longer he was in Soutfel. Only he wore a dumb grin instead of Edgar’s calculated smirk.
“I’ll be!” Robin looked dizzy. “You also got to throw hands with Tim and his guys, and I doubt anyone from here to town will cross you.”
Niklas nodded in agreement. “Hopefully, I’ll finally get some respect around here.”
In Pit, reputation was both helpful and dangerous. Here, Relrins were less competitive and more easily intimidated.
Robin looked down at Niklas’ gloves. “How are your hands?”
Niklas scanned the yard to make sure Osred couldn’t see him. Then he took his gloves off to show Robin his swollen knuckles.
Robin’s face shifted again, but this time to a look of almost reverence. “I don’t believe it. That shouldn’t have worked,” he muttered. “It was stupid!”
“Robin, to progress in life, you must think your own thoughts and act. Risk is the forerunner to both defeat and victory. Complacency favored no man.”
He nodded.
Niklas wished he could take credit for those words, but he only repeated what Edgar had told him countless times.
Someone made their way across the yard who caught Niklas’ attention.
He didn’t wear the commonplace dusty workman's clothes like the others. He wore a white shirt, a dark-trimmed vest, and a hat. Scanning his memory, Niklas realized the man looked familiar.
“Who’s he?” Niklas asked Robin.
Robin looked and frowned. “He works for Teaman. I think he works accounting at Wilbur’s teashop in town.”
Niklas furrowed his brow in contemplation. He had seen Wilbur’s thug Arth speaking to that man behind the counter when he first met Wilbur, but he had also seen him more recently.
It dawned on him like a sentry dog catching a scent. The man was at the fight last night. He had taken care of Sorn after he went down. Why would Wilbur have a man at Niklas’ fight?
Niklas blinked in realization.
Sorn wasn’t Tim’s friend. He was Wilbur’s. Somehow, Wilbur and Tim knew each other.
“Where is he going?” Niklas asked, though he had a growing idea of what was in store for him.
“That’s the factory manager's office.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The man made eye contact with Niklas across the yard and smiled before entering.
“Frag!” Niklas grabbed a post to lean against as he felt everything he had built melting away. No one else who went would report him, or they would get in trouble themselves. Unless, of course, they weren’t a yard employee.
What would Edgar do? What would Edgar do?
Niklas panicked as he started to breathe quickly. Edgar had a gang and a reputation; he would have ruined Wilbur by now and would probably have total control of the yard.
“Niklas?” Robin said. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to go,” Niklas said.
Robin looked back from the manager's office to Niklas, and understanding dawned on him. “Niklas, running will make you look guilty.”
Niklas nodded and desperately looked around for some work to do. Maybe he could bluff his way out of this.
Niklas got to work hauling logs with a whole new intensity. He couldn’t make it look natural with his damaged knee. A tiny, futile part of him thought that if the yard manager saw how hard he worked, it would justify his use of the yard last night.
“Niklas Loga!” someone barked from behind him.
Niklas found the speaker to be a man wearing a clean suit and a tall hat. He was flanked by a pair of yellow-mained Leomen and accompanied by Wilbur’s man and a pair of peacekeeping officers.
Niklas felt the dumb numbness of guilt take hold. “Yes?” he croaked weakly.
One of the officers took the lead. “You’re under arrest for trespassing and illegally using the yard's facility to host an illegal gambling pit.”
“What?” Niklas stammered. “It’s not true!”
“Bring him to my office for an interview, Officer Yelsing,” the manager said.
Niklas looked helplessly at Robin, who shrunk, his face flushed pale.
The two officers grabbed Niklas roughly and applied a cold set of shackles to his wrist.
Niklas didn’t resist but grew stiff, earning a sharp prod from the officers.
Niklas glanced around earnestly. He had no idea how severe the Relrin disciplinary system was. If these officers were anything like the Zealots, he had no intention of going without a fight.
The officers hadn’t searched him for weapons. Niklas still had his reaper's blade concealed in his pocket.
The officers escorted Niklas to the manager's office. Niklas struggled with his bad leg, and they must have assumed he was faking the injury because they led him more aggressively when he struggled to keep up.
The manager waited with Wilbur’s man in a plain but considerably roomy office.
“I know you,” Niklas said to the latter. “You work for Teaman.”
He smiled, shrugging and splaying his hands in a guilty gesture.
“So,” the manager cut in. “Word is that you have manipulated my foreman and positioned yourself over my other workers.”
“No,” Niklas denied. “It’s not true. Who told you?”
“This gentleman tells me he’s been in contact with some of the workers in my yard.” The manager indicated the tea clerk. “Workers, I am told, who can hardly stand from injuries they won’t talk about.”
“What proof does he have? He doesn’t even work here!”
A sharp blow to Niklas’ side dropped him with a gasp. His back stung and smarted, and the officer in charge leaned over him.
“You corpse!” the officer snapped. “I’d take half a testimony over a legion of Sharderin witnesses.”
Niklas found his voice and cried out in delay.
“Officer Yelsing!” the manager cut in. “Let’s focus, please.”
The officer nodded but tapped Niklas roughly on the shoulder with a thin, whip-like cudgel that he had formerly worn on his belt. “You could go away for a long time,” he growled. You could get charged with a fine. You could become an incarcerated debtbond.”
“Listen,” Niklas grunted. “You don’t want to do that. I’m just a guy trying to help the yard out!”
Officer Yelsing frowned, unimpressed. “How does beating workers help with the yard? No, I think you’ll be locked away for quite a while… unless you give us a good reason not to.”
They all looked at Niklas expectantly.
Niklas looked around frantically as though somewhere in the confines of the office would lay escape, but he found nothing.
“I have benefitted this yard,” Niklas said. “Everything I have done has spurred the yard forward. I have made the strong efficient and weeded out the weak… you need me.”
They all looked at Niklas in annoyance. They didn’t care. Not even the manager cared. Wilbur's man – the tea clerk – helped Niklas realize what they really wanted with the twinkle of greed in his eyes.
“You want me to buy you!” Niklas said. “You want a bribe!”
“He’s not as dumb as he looks,” the manager chuckled. “Word is that you won, and you won big! We want your coffers.”
“No,” Niklas shook his head. “I need those coffers to get home!”
“Home?” the manager asked. “That’s funny. Do you know what people are calling you? They’re calling you the Pit Boy. Is it true you’re from Hell’s Woods, Pit Forest?”
Niklas bit back his reply as he looked at Officer Yelsing’s stick.
“No matter. You will give us your coffers, or Officer Yelsing will take you away. It’s hard to say if they’ll put you into state servitude, bond you, or just lock you up.”
“Please!” Niklas stammered. “There must be something else.”
The manager scowled darkly. “Officer, this is a waste of time. Take him away!”
Officer Yelsing grabbed Niklas roughly.
“No! I’ll give it to you!” Niklas cried.
Yelsing pushed Niklas back down.
Niklas looked up at the Manager and recognized the trickery in his eyes. “I want a written pardon signed by all present,” Niklas demanded.
“You are in no position to-”
“I know you think I’m an idiot, but I didn’t make things easy for you!” Niklas snapped. “I hid my coffer so no one could find it but me. I will have a written pardon that you will not pursue the matter forward, or I go with the officer, and you don’t see a single cesh!”
Officer Yelsing sighed. “We’re not putting anything on paper, you fool. Those winnings are the only proof we have. If you don’t have them, there’s nothing linking you to the crime.”
Niklas scowled at the officer, “That’s a weak argument.”
“Well, it goes against our interest to have someone investigating you, now, doesn’t it?”
Niklas clenched his teeth. “Fine.” With a final sigh of surrender, Niklas held his shackled hands for Yelsing to unlock.
“Not so fast,” he said. “Money first.”
The other four men marched Niklas out of the yard in restraints. Almost everyone watched, some with surprised looks, others with grave concern. Most of them had participated in the pit, and someone had sold Niklas out. What stopped the snitch from reporting all the others, too?
Niklas knew they wouldn’t hear about this again. It was only Niklas they wanted: him and his financial reserve.
As they passed Osred, the foreman cried out in surprise. Once he registered what was happening, he seemed to put the pieces together, and his face fell.
Niklas’ gut lurched. Osred had been his friend, and now he couldn’t look him in the eye.
Niklas noticed Robin watching him but didn’t even look up. Everyone watched him marched out. Niklas limp-hopped to keep up with his accusers. Everything Niklas worked so hard for, sweated, bled, and hurt for was all slipping away. Returning to Prime Paramount Alred’s cattle compound was a two-mile-long trip. To Niklas’ horror, when the officers pushed the gate open, he saw Esher and Wilbur sitting together in the courtyard.
Wilbur smiled at Niklas. Escorted by guards and in shackles, his smile was a cruel confession—a confession that, as Niklas had humiliated and embarrassed him, he would do the same in turn.
Esther gasped as she jumped to her feet. Her hand went to her lips in shock. There was no strange stirring or mesmerizing trace as Niklas saw her—only a raw and hot embarrassment. Niklas couldn’t look at her. He looked away with shame-ridden eyes.
Yelsing prodded Niklas with his stick, and he walked to the Sommerfeld's house. Never leaving Niklas’ side, he stamped in after him.
“Are you home so early, Ni-” Lill froze as she saw Niklas wasn’t alone. The officer’s uniform and the shackles on Niklas’ wrist told the whole story.
Niklas pushed into the boys' room and reached under his cot.
“Under your bed? Seriously?” Yelsing sneered. “What was all that talk about how impossibly hidden it was?”
“A bluff,” Niklas sniffed. He pulled out his jacket. With the sleeves and corners tied, it made a makeshift bundle, a heavy bundle containing every last one of his four hundred and thirty-seven cesh made up of a mixture of cesh raskers and odifs.
“I need my jacket,” Niklas muttered.
“You need to shut up,” Yelsing snapped as he snatched it away. He threw it over his shoulder and walked out into the courtyard.
“Wait!” Niklas cried as he ran after him. “That jacket is mine!”
Yelsing ignored Niklas’ plea and signaled his companion, who released the shackles.
“Let’s not meet again,” he grunted.
“Oh, by the way, Mr. Loga,” the manager said.
Niklas’ looked at him crestfallen.
“You’re fired.”
Niklas looked down numbly. He had figured as much, but the words were the salt packed into the wound.
A handful of coins dropped from the jacket bundle, and Yelsing cursed.
Niklas heard a light gasp and turned to see Esther still watching wide-eyed. And now she knew what was in the bag. A small fortune for sure, especially in the eyes of a debt-bonded. Niklas didn’t understand why, but Esther’s presence was the blow that ached the most.
“Well!” Wilbur laughed as he sat by her. “Looks like someone has dirty secrets.”
Niklas looked at him, his fists and jaw clenched tightly.
A lump formed in his throat, but he forced it away.
He felt like a child caught stealing rations from the barracks but with a mother watching the whole thing.
Wilbur shrugged unapologetically.
Niklas wanted to attack the unguarded tea merchant, but his eyes itched and grew hot.
Not daring to let Esther see more than she already had, Niklas abandoned all valor and returned to the house. He was only glad she hadn’t seen his eyes as they blurred.