Chapter 22: Captured

Tybalt spent several minutes simply observing life leave Unity’s body. He felt transfixed in his position in the room. His mind went blank with the overload of emotions. Now, having achieved a portion of what he desired, he only felt numb. He had no sensation in his body. He could not feel his hands, nor did he hear when he dropped his gun onto the floor. There was nothing save nothingness.

Tybalt only snapped out of his stupor when he felt a number of hands grab him and push him over the desk. He felt his arms pulled behind his back and rope bound over his wrists. Even then, he did not have a full state of mind. He could not fathom what was happening in his total shock.

“Take him and bring him to the main square.”

“But the penitentiary?”

“Are you disagreeing with my statement?”

“No, sir.”

When Tybalt was turned from his position, he saw Vassilos staring down at him. His personal bodyguards had come into the building with Tybalt had been lost his trance. They had seized him and arrested him for breaking and entering as well as double-murder. Everyone in the outer ring would bear witness to his punishment.

The bodyguards pushed Tybalt out of the Mercury building. He stumbled and fell on the street, propped up only by the strong arms of the men on either side of him. The bodyguards simply dragged him by his arms. Tybalt’s feet dragged lifelessly after him. They passed the queue of people waiting to get into the building, an entrance that would no longer be possible today. The misfortunes of Mercury Transport simply continued to occur.

Tybalt, still half-caught in his haze, tumbled through streets, looking glaze-eyed at those witnessing his humiliation. Faces sped pass him, none of them registering in his mind.

As requested, he was brought into the main piazza of the outer ring. There, waiting, in the middle had been a post. Tybalt was jostled into the square and bound to the post. The guards tied him with heavy ropes, fixing him firmly to his punishment.

“All of you will witness what happens when Vassilos has been wronged. Who shall come save this man? Who shall take his place?”

A crowd of people approached the central square. They wanted to see the cause of the commotion. Whispers reverberated through the crowd, sending people flying to find others to bring to the spectacle.

“This man shall die before this day is through. I assure you! I assure all of you!”

“Wait!” A voice sounded above the others. The sound caused those nearest the speaker to move out of the way. A wave cut through the crowd and allowed the speaker to move forward. Tybalt saw that it was Lukasz.

“Vassilos, you overstep your rights.”

“I overstep! Look at how the guilty commend others for their own crimes.”

“Everyone knows the law. There are not executions during the election season.”

“I caught this man in my own enterprise. He broke in and killed two of my employees.”

“Maybe so,” said Lukasz stepping closer to the center of the circle, “but the laws grant us order. Order that applies to all of us.” A murmur of agreement could be heard in the masses that gathered around the men.

“It is my right to seek restitution, retribution.”

“Not at this very hour.”

“At the hour I choose! I could have gunned him down, but I brought him according to our customs. Do you defy our customs? Do you think a man has a right to attack his enemy in surprise? In an ambush?”

Members of the crowd got the hint. These words reformed the rumours in their mind. It was Lukasz, Zoltan’s lieutenant who had attacked Mercury Transport last night.

“It is our law. If you wish to have this man killed, then bring him into the outskirts. The dogs would be glad to administer their justice for you.”

“Finally, a good idea by the idiots of the Republic!” Vassilos allowed others to laugh at his jibe. “Fine, I’ll bring him to the outskirts and we shall this man’s head roll before the night falls!”

Lukasz had nothing more to say. Instead, he turned upon his heels and marched out of the square. No doubt, he would bring his petition to Zoltan. Tybalt had brought much problem to their operations, but he had proved himself incredibly valuable over the last few days. If the mercenary possessed a fault, it was his unrelenting hate against their own enemy.

Tybalt, lost in the numbness of his reality, kept quiet. He allowed himself to be carried by the currents of destiny.

* * *

Within the hour, Tybalt had been harried out of Carrion Hill. He would be handed over to the local authorities and dealt with according to their own forms of justice. Tybalt had slowly regained consciousness of his abilities to the point where gleaned bits of information from the world around him. The outskirts, unlike the citizens of Carrion Hill, preferred the spectacle of execution, a decapitation by an axeman. Inside Carrion, criminals were hung at the penitentiary.

Stolen novel; please report.

He had been forced into an enclosed cart and escorted into the outskirts of Carrion Hill. He watched through the iron bars at the back of his cart the great walls that he had tried so hard to breached. Based the gates, he had been brought to a wooden platform that had been assembled for the masses to witness the execution. Pulled from the cart, he was forced onto the platform and put into a pillory. His head and hands were locked into position by a heavy plank. His escort locked him into the humiliation device a left him to others.

As Tybalt lost hope of his situation, he managed to turn his head enough to see the next man being brought onto the platform.

“Let me go! I’ll kill all of you! Let go!”

Tybalt recognized the booming voice of the man who he had fought in the charity kitchen. The brute had clearly continued to be a nuisance to the citizens of the outskirt. Tybalt saw the big man struggle in his ropes and push the men around him with the recklessness of survival. The guards pounced upon him and started to beat him with their clubs. Only by the barrage of blows was he subdued and beaten to the edge of his consciousness.

The guards dragged him into the pillory post beside Tybalt and locked him in a similar fashion. Tybalt saw the welts upon the mans face blossom. The man’s mouth hung open almost lifelessly, letting the blood and salvia from his lips leak out onto the wooden platform. Once again, the two of them had been brought to a heel by the authorities. The two of them would meet the same fate. Both men forged by the heat of anger and resentment at the world at large.

In the intervening hours, spectators visited the two criminals locked in the pillory.

“How are you holding up?”

Tybalt blinked his eyes open and looked into the face of Lukasz. He didn’t manage to respond to the question.

“We’re working with the authorities here to try to free you. Zoltan appreciates your service, but he’s not willing to pull any big favours to free you. As it stands, you’re too connect with the battle last night to be freed without incurring scandal and attention. I think he’s going to let you die in order to save himself and keep his name in the election.”

Tybalt tried to respond, but his voice got caught in his throat.

“Take some water.” Lukasz lifted a plastic water bottle to Tybalt’s lips, pouring a little into this mouth. Tybalt tried to drink, but it got caught in his windpipe. He began to cough, shaking his body and pressing the wooden pillory against the back of his head. He wanted to cover his mouth in the cough, but his hands had been fixed in place. The fit reminded him of his humiliation, the level of desperation he now suffered.

Lukasz repeated his own act of charity, by bringing the bottle back to Tybalt’s lips. He poured a little slower.

“Enough.” The word was the only thing Tybalt managed to say. Lukasz stopped, capped the plastic bottle, and looked at his soldier pilloried. With nothing more to say, he left Tybalt. He needed to try to get him free.

A minute later the seven-year-old girl appeared by him.

“Woah! They really got you! What are you in for?”

“Leave me.”

“You said you would tell me a story. There isn’t much time for you, is there?”

“Go!”

“It’s okay.” The seven-year-old girl reached in her little pouch at her side. She pulled out a little oat cake. “You’re just a little hungry.”

“Look, thank you, but everything is fine. Leave me. I’m a bad man who has done bad things. Whatever happens to me, I deserve.”

The girl broke a little piece of the oat cake and brought it closer to his face. Tybalt could smell the honey mixed into the baked good.

“Hey, kid. Don’t waste it on me. Give it to one of them.” Tybalt twisted his head, as if to point with his nose at the group of ragged beggars not too far from him.

“But I brought this for you.”

Tybalt’s eyes welled up.

“It’s okay. Give it to them. It’ll do them more good. I’m a man set to die.”

The little girl frowned.

“I don’t believe what you say. I think you’re a good man.” She walked away to the group of beggars. Tybalt watched her as she gave one of the beggars the oat cake. The beggar broke it into quarters and distributed amongst themselves.

As the hour of his execution approached Tybalt reflected on his last few days. He reminded himself of his own wickedness, his theft of the homestead, his murder of Odvar, his assault on the caravan, his abandonment of Corvus, the purse he stole from the money changer, his robbery of the storage locker, the men he killed in combat, and his murder of Unity and the man she was speaking with. All of these crimes had occurred within a span of week. So much more had happened in his life. He thought back to all of his petty thefts and all of the people he killed in his line of work. He never differentiated between man, woman, or child, if the mission paid the right price for it. He had done so much harm in his brief life. Now, at least, his crime would come to an end. He would be dead and would be unable to bring more death and suffering to this fallen and broken planet.

“Oh dear. Oh dear. I can’t bear it.”

Tybalt saw Desdemona gripping the arms of Stanimir. She pressed herself to his body, refusing to look at Tybalt in his situation.

“Hey.” Stanimir said.

“Hey.”

“Things are looking pretty grim.”

“It’s okay, man. I deserve this and much worse.”

“Ah, I don’t think so. I take back what I said. You’re not in my top ten.”

“You think I’m a good person?”

“Nah, you’re in the top twenty-five now.”

The two men gave a light chuckle despite the looming death that approached at a quickening pace.

“I don’t think Lukasz will be able to get you out of here.” Stanimir said.

“Don’t worry about me. Just take care of Desdemona. And let everyone know that I’m thinking about them. Gerwin and Ludolf. Erik and Njal and Sten. Even Zoltan. Tell him that as I approached my death, I said he was a good man and I absolved of any responsibilities of my death.”

“Yeah, I’m not going to say that.”

The two men laughed once more.

“At least you are going out with dignity.” Stanimir looked to the other man at the pillory, who, having woken from his beating, struggled futilely with his confines. He tried yanking his hands, his head. He kicked against the post that held him fast to the platform. His effort almost seemed to woke. The crowd could have sworn they saw the fixtures at the base give to his struggles. If had a little more power or a little more time, he probably could have broken out of his confines. The man yelled with every yank and pull.

“Just make sure they bury me properly.”

“I will.”

“And sit with me after I’ve been buried. Drink with me. Pour some whiskey over my grave.”

“I promise.”

Stanimir left Desdemona for a moment, and reached out to touch Tybalt’s hand. Their fingers interlaced.

“Do not touch the prisoners!” One of the guards shouted at Stanimir, who immediately let go.

“It’s time,” Stanimir said, looking over Tybalt’s shoulder.

Councilman Jurand walked onto the platform, and cleared his throat.