Standing amid the carnage, Jak stared as the arena quickly emptied of people. In minutes he was alone with the boars. Dragging his bad leg, Jak grabbed the dead sow by her front legs and hauled the body to the base of the wall. The boars moved out of his way as the teenager gathered the chilled pirates, placing their bodies on the sow. Awkwardly climbing on top of the pile, Jak found the top of the pit was still beyond his reach. Stabbing his knife into the concrete between the bricks, he tried pulling himself higher, his fingertips brushing along the rough rim when a pair of different colored hands grabbed his wrist and hoisted the young man over the top.
“You okay?” Mildred asked, crouching alongside the panting teen, checking for wounds. But thankfully, none of the caked blood covering the filthy clothes seemed to be his.
“Been better,” Jak admitted, stiffly standing and limping to a nearby table full of toasted sweetmeats and sliced fruit and other delicacies. Grabbing a fresh bottle of shine, the teen pulled the cork with his teeth and liberally poured the alcohol over his face and clothes, washing away most of the crud.
“Know where the others are?” Krysty added, watching the empty grandstands, a flintlock held in each hand.
Somewhere in the background, the warning bell never stopped ringing, and now the sounds of long-blasters and cannons were added to the shouting of the pirates.
“Not seen,” he muttered, smoothing back his wet hair. “What’s happening ville?”
“We’re not sure,” Mildred answered, “But from the amount of cannons firing, I’d say a war just started.”
“Good,” he grunted. “Need blaster.”
Krysty handed over one of the handcannons taken from the dead guards in the alleyway. Jak checked the weapon, then grunted in satisfaction as he tucked it into his damp belt.
“Stink,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose, “Need bath bad.”
“So do we all, my friend,” Krysty stated,
“Can you walk?” Mildred asked, observing how he stood.
The youth tried a few steps, then frowned deeply. “No,” he answered honestly.
“Sit,” the physician commanded, gently shoving him into a chair. Untying the laces of his boot, she spread on the last drops of analgesic cream from her med kit, then rewrapped the bandage tight. He winced, but said nothing.
Mildred knew the ankle had to be agony. The flesh was swollen, with new bruises compounding the sprain, but none of those were life threatening. A tight bandage would hurt a lot but support the weakened ankle, allowing him to walk, and fight. That was enough for now. Later, if there was a later, she’d do more.
Washing off the reeking boot with more shine, she slid it gently on his foot and he did the laces. Good enough. Mildred knew about the material hidden inside the boots of the men, but there was no present need for the wads of C-4 plastique.
“Okay, let’s get going,” Krysty said, putting her shoulder under the arm of the teen and helping him to stand.
“Where first?” Jak said, testing his weight on the foot. The pain was much less, and he nodded at the physician.
“Slave quarters,” Mildred replied. “Then the baron’s fortress. They’ll be at one or the other.”
“This way,” Jak said, heading along the rows of seats and finally into the dark tunnel. “Don’t touch walls!”
“No problem,” Krysty answered, staring at the deadly yellow flowers growing in such abundance. Did the pirates not know, or not care about the fungi thriving in their ville?
Proceeding to the end of the tunnel, they found an iron gate blocking the exit, the door held in place with a chain and heavy padlock. Waiting for the sounds of battle to peak, Krysty blew off the lock with her muzzle loader and cast away the chain.
Stepping into the street, the three crouched low as a squad of armed men ran by the arena, closely followed by a horse-drawn cart packed with straw and carrying a ship’s cannon. As the wag rattled around a corner, a lone man scurried into view, his arms full of smoked joints of meat. Leaning against the iron grille, Jak flipped his arm and the man across the street cried out, clutching the knife sticking out of his thigh.