The Mark of Thorn: Book of Scars

Chapter Four

"If you do manage to pick the lock, there are three of us and only one of him," Hendrik pointed out. His words seemed familiar to the other prisoners, and they nearly brought a smile to Gabriel's scarred lips—nearly.

"Certainly, you and my friend Gabriel share the same logic," Diego said with mild disapproval, "but if the guard catches wind that we are trying to escape, he could run out to alert others, or far worse, shoot us on the spot. Therefore we must somehow dispatch the guard, for how are you to bend the bars enough to let the two of us into your side of the cell?"

It was odd how the notion did not occur to the other two until then, and Hendrik appeared perturbed that it had been the demi-human who'd thought of it. With all three of them in the same cell, there would be only one lock to pick.

"Could you possibly move the bars that much?" Gabriel asked. There seemed to be a tinge of hope in his voice that hadn't been there before.

"I don't think it would be much trouble," Hendrik said.

"Still, the guard cannot be allowed to hear any disturbance," Diego said, trailing off into his own thought.

The two prisoners with eyes examined their captor, sizing him up. He was a man of average height and frame, and wasn't especially young. He appeared primitive, unskilled, and wouldn't have made a difficult opponent for any of them—save for the exception of the bars and also the weapons in the guard's possession.

"Let's get him over here," Hendrik said, a wicked smile emerging on his lips.

Diego once again gave him a daring look of disapproval.

"I could knock him out as easily as kill him," the tall man explained.

"I don't know that I trust you."

Clear, untainted anger arose in Hendrik's strange eyes. "Disobeying your own point, filth? You have to trust me."

He was hardly aware that his voice had sprung up louder than a whisper, but it was only a moment after that that the warden had turned his head, seeing them all standing dangerously close to the bars.

"Ey! Wot's this then?"

Tucking the pistol he had procured into the front of his pants, the jailer took up a club from the tabletop and advanced toward the cells deliberately. When the prisoners showed no effort to move back, he slammed the club forcefully into the bars. They were good enough to back up a few steps then, and the man gave another nice jolt to Hendrik's side of the holding, just for the fact that the prisoner was bigger than he was.

"Havin' some secret murderers' conference, are ye?"

At that, there was not much action on the part of anyone, and it was just as the guard took a step backward that a voice rose up among them. It was Gabriel's.

"As frightening as you are on that side of the bars, I think you should sit your pompous, inadequate self back down before I feel obliged to let you in on a secret."

The guard's eyes narrowed menacingly at this one who'd dared to speak.

"An' what's that?"

"You say we killed that girl? We're going to kill you next."

The words were like strange magic. They ensnared the guard, making him focus solely on Gabriel, and while the scarred man stepped closer to the bars, the other two prisoners backed slowly out of the direct line of sight. Taking his turn, the jailer stepped up to meet Gabriel face to face.

"Kill me? Oh yes; after ye escape, I imagine?"

"You assume we're amateurs? That we haven't pulled these stunts elsewhere? It was all a trick from the beginning. You see, sir, I'm not even blind. Have a look."