Will

Even wearing what Will would most charitably describe as a pair of empty potato sacks with holes cut into them, her boy-short hair sticking out in crazy directions, Sam still looked more beautiful than anything even his idyllic memories of her could compare to.

She was taller than he remembered. Wider, too. More solid. Never the traditionally girly type, it was clear that she’d kept up her psychotic dedication to exercise based on what he could make out of her long limbs, which were etched with lean muscle definition. Flat-chested and devoid of any excess fat, she didn’t exactly fill out her potato sacks in any particular way, but he still found his eyes utterly glued to her.

The steely determination in her eyes was the same as it always had been—not cruel or cynical, but simply an unshakable self-confidence. Despite being unable to look away, Will found that he wasn’t quite able to meet her gaze, either. He had done so many things in this place to let her down; and even before, on Earth. If she knew how much blood stained his hands, maybe…

Not now. Later.

Sam gave the chain another firm tug. “Well?”

Will shrugged. “Give it a try yourself. You might be surprised.” If he knew her right, she would have put a healthy number of points in Strength. Getting down on one knee, he opened his Inventory and caught his medicine bag as it was spat out of the small black void. He took out a small flask of brandy, then replaced the bag.

As he stood, he raised the flask in Sam’s direction. “Something to soothe your nerves?” he asked, knowing she would refuse.

“You know I don’t… drink,” Sam grunted, looping the chain around her left arm as she reeled in the slack, pulling hard with little result except an unholy rattling and a dusting of brown rust flakes displaced from the metal links. “Not that much has changed in five years, you know.”

“I thought my death might have driven you to the bottle,” Will joked.

“Har-dee-har. You wish, dude.” Reeling herself in all the way to the base of the chain, she hopped up to put her feet on either side of the metal bracket on the wall, pulling with her legs.

After taking a sip of liquor himself, Will offered the bottle up to the two remaining people in the room, gauging interest. Seeing them both licking their lips for some liquid courage, he contemplated murder.

If he Repelled weakly against the bottom of the bottle, it would break the seal placed there, allowing a small amount of poison to mix with the liquor. Certainly enough to kill two grown men, but it would be several minutes before it began to take effect, giving him and Sam more than enough time to be on their way before she noticed anything was amiss. He would have to shatter her innocence eventually, but that time wasn't now.

These men needed to die. He couldn’t allow news of his involvement here to travel back to Brimstone. If the lord of Sheerhome found out about Sam and took an interest, or found reason to suspect Will’s loyalties… Needless to say, their charred corpses would be adorning his walls before long.

With his left arm covered by his coat sleeve, they would not be able to see the AP he spent on the Repel. The poison was practically tasteless, especially when mixed with strong alcohol. The death it induced was painless, just drowsiness followed by eternal sleep. A more merciful fate than most in the Frontier got.

But for some reason, when the slaver reached for the flask, Will hesitated. When he allowed the man to take it from his hand, he still had not cracked the poison seal, and he found himself blinking in confusion as he watched the man take a long pull of brandy, a trickle of reddish liquid escaping the corner of his mouth, then handing it to the bruised slave huddled in the corner, who glared suspiciously at Will before sipping at it himself.

Stupid, Will admonished himself. How do I get rid of them quietly now? I could try to smear some contact poison on a glove and find a reason to touch them under the pretense of helping them get on their way, but the setup needed would almost certainly look suspicious. They saw me drink from the brandy, so they didn’t suspect it, but I don’t know if they would accept any ‘medicine’ I gave them. I suppose I could find an excuse to double back later and kill them when Sam isn’t here to wag her finger at me, but they might have had time to be debriefed by then. Maybe even enough time for a runner to be sent to the city.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Of course, there’s no way I could actually let them live. It’s a shame. The slave hasn’t done anything wrong, but he’s seen just as much as his captor. I don’t trust a promise of selective amnesia from these bastards past me turning my back to them, and the slave hasn’t even given that much.

It can’t be helped. Fuck, why’d I have to hesitate with the flask?

Will was broken out of his deliberation by a groan of metal, the repeated plinking of bolts snapping, and a loud squawk as Sam flew clear of the wall, dragging chain, bracket, and a shower of splintered wood with her. She landed on her back, mouth wide in mute shock, staring at the loose chain wrapped around her arm.

“I’m so strong!” Sam exclaimed. She looked up at Will. “Did you see that?”

“I saw it,” Will replied indulgently, a smirk tugging on the corners of his mouth. “How many points did you put in Strength?”

“Uh… I don’t remember.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“I think it was six. No, eight! It was definitely eight.”

“No wonder you tore through that thing, then. Your noodle arm days are officially over—enjoy.”

Sam jumped easily to her feet. “I never had noodle arms! Take that back!” The heavy metal bracket trailed on the floor, still attached to her. She frowned at it, then began tugging on her slave collar.

“Sir?” an uncertain voice called out, drawing Will’s eye back onto the large, ponderous slaver, who was wringing his hands and keeping his gaze firmly directed at his own boot-tips. “Master One-Eye, I mean. My name is Artie.”

“Great to meet you, Artie,” Will said with no small amount of sarcasm. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I…” The man swallowed. “What happens now? Are you letting me live?”

“He is,” Sam replied confidently.

Will sighed. Despite the general exhaustion weighing him down until he felt like a couple hundred pounds of spoiled bread dough, he was also developing a fun little migraine.

Despite there being a hundred valid reasons why they could not be allowed to live, he just didn't have the energy to grapple with the guilt of murdering someone at the moment.

“Whatever,” he said. "You can keep your neck. Now, needless to say, the rest of your squad are unlikely to be in a particularly forgiving mood when they find out that you've let a Laborer slip through your fingers. So for your own sake, I suggest you get out of here. Find another place to live. Never so much as think about Sheerhome again.”

“Sheerhome? Why, I’ve never even been to Sheerhome!” Artie chuckled nervously.

“Attaboy.” Will gave the man a few good-natured claps on the shoulder, making him flinch with each one. “Keep up that attitude. Because if I see you again, or discover that you've been making trouble for me, I will fucking cut you in half.”

Sam laughed at the funny joke Will had made.

Artie laughed hysterically in fear of his life.

Will laughed without feeling any trace of amusement at all.

After working at breaking her collar for a while without success, unable to find good purchase, Sam elbowed Will to get his attention. “Get this open for me.”

“I’ll sort it out once we get someplace safer. You’re stuck with it for now.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Ugh.”

“Stop whining.”

“Master One-Eye?” Artie cut in. He pointed to the slave sitting on the floor, who had barely moved a muscle throughout the entire exchange. “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but… What about him?”

“He’s your responsibility now,” Will said with a shrug.

“But he hates me.”

“Can you blame him?”

“No, but…”

“I’m sure you will overcome your difficulties and find yourselves the best of friends in no time.”

“O-Of course.” Artie cleared his throat. “Master One-Eye…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh. Okay. What do I call you?”

“Anything but that and ‘Misfortune’ is fine.”

“Then… sir?”

Will rolled his single eye, and directed Sam to help break the other slave out of his confinement. “Yeees, Artie?”

“Forgive me for saying so, but… You’re not doing this on behalf of the lord, are you?”

“Whatever made you think that? The fact that I’ve damaged one of his watchtowers? The fact that I’m freeing two of his slaves? Great detective work Artie, a truly inspired deduction.”

“You know…” Sam grunted, arms flexed and quivering with strain as she pulled on the second bracket, having already burst two out of four bolts. “You’d make more friends if you weren’t so sarcastic with people all the time. It’s not charming.”

“He doesn’t mind,” Will replied dryly.

“I really don’t,” Artie agreed, a little too quickly to sound sincere.

“You don’t need to worry about him, Artie. He’s a big softie once you get to know him.”

The slaver eyed Will doubtfully, prodding his fresh wound. “I… see.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he added: “Miss.” He seemed unable to properly classify Sam's position, given that she was interacting on seemingly equal ground with Will.

“I prefer Sam.”

“It doesn’t matter what he calls you,” Will said, “because the two of them were just leaving. As are we.” He turned to Sam as she got the second bracket clear of the wall, stripped bolts bent at awkward angles coming off the square piece of metal. “Right?”

Sam gathered up the chain and bracket and awkwardly handed them over for to the slave to carry in his arms. “I guess so,” she said. “But why can’t they come with us?”

Will was done letting Sam talk him into nonsense. Without another word, he dragged her out of the room by the ragged collar of her sack shirt, soon had her stumbling down the steps of the rickety staircase that led down to the beachfront.

“Oh, uh, bye Artie!” she called up, getting a muffled, indistinguishable reply from above.

Confirming that there were no other people within eyeshot with a quick pulse of Detect [Life], Will adjusted his hold on Sam so that he had a firm grip on her wrist instead. He took her north across the sands, then the grassy turf beyond, then under tree cover. The afternoon was starting to drag on, sun dropping. He hoped they would reach the farm before nightfall.