The Unwitting Thief

Chapter 4c - The Cells

Thomas sat dejectedly in his cell, cursing his friends.

They'd left him alone with his father, and then they'd left him alone again with the guards.

It didn't matter that there were rules when it came to managing exposure to the guards. After all, it wouldn't do any of them any good to be connected in such a public manner by the guards, even if it were in a mere bar brawl. Martin would be furious as it was with Thomas being thrown in a cell, let alone if he had found three of his men behind bars.

It didn't matter. At that point in time, he seethed with anger. He ranted at them in his head, running over all the times he had stuck by them, saved their sorry hides, and for what?

Thomas was so wrapped up in his inner torment that he barely even registered when another man was thrown in the next cell. He had noticed when the guard had sneered at him on his way out.

However, eventually, the cold hard floor left him feeling frozen to the bone, and the chill didn't take long before it spread to his flaming temper and suffocated it.

He felt his shoulders fall and let his head fall forward into his waiting palms. Running his fingers through his hair he clenched his fists and tugged, relishing the sensation of almost pain.

How could he have been so stupid as to raise a hand against his father? What good had it done? The man was a terrible father, but he had no power over Thomas now, and the outburst would only serve to ignite the gossips, giving his name more fame than any thief wanted.

Martin would be furious.

It was the second time he'd thought it, but now it struck a blow. He felt his breathing speed up as his heart began to race.

What would be his punishment?

Would it be against him or someone he cared about?

He felt a heat build behind his eyes despite the cold had numbed the tips of his fingers and he couldn't feel his toes.

He started to mutter to himself, a collection of words all strung together and barely legible.

"Stupid... Shouldn't have... Why did I... Idiot..."

Thomas gritted his teeth and threw his head back against the wall again. It was a vain attempt to shake the fears and doubts from his head, and a realistic attempt to send himself to sleep.

"Careful there son, you'll do some serious damage if you keep that up, and you need your wits about you."

The other inmate hadn't said a word since he'd arrived, so Thomas jumped at the sudden noise. He squinted into the darkness, and managed to make out a faint outline of a man in the corner.

"Plus, if the guards see you doing that whilst talking away to yourself like that, well, they're likely to ship you off to the Cursed Keep, what use are you to anyone up there?"

"Who are you?"

The outline shook as the voice chuckled. "No one you know."

Thomas shuffled across the cold floor, until he was at the bars separating the two cells. "That's not what I asked. Who are you?"

The outline was still and silent.

Thomas felt his exhaustion weighing down on him, finally distracted enough from his dilemma to notice.

He sighed and rested his forehead against the bar, "Look, if you're not going to talk to me or tell me who you are, just leave me alone."

Thomas could see the man in shadows tilt his head to one side, as if appraising him, and deciding whether or not to continue with their conversation.