Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“This occurs daily?” Shock must have addled my brain, because I couldn’t align what I heard and what I’d witnessed with an ingrained sense of justice. “We are payment for crimes committed by Mr. West?”
“O’ course. If someone don’t die, the storms come,” Patch explained.
“But that’s preposterous! And barbaric!”
Another shrug. “That’s the way of things.”
Well, it shouldn’t be. Not here, not anywhere. How were those like Mr. West getting away with it? “Beheading innocents is the worst crime of all. And how did everyone know I’d stolen the elixir?” No one had protested when I’d done it, which meant no one had seen it happen.
“That’s easy.” Patch used her index finger to draw a circle above her head. “The crimen appears after a crime is committed, then disappears once the offender or a substitute has been punished for the deed and harmony restored.”
Oooh. So I had seen a shadowy halo above West’s head. Obviously, he’d broken a law. And the same ring had appeared over my head, as well. But how was a crimen even possible? Something like that shouldn’t happen outside of books and movies.
When the cart hit another bump, I tensed, expecting a fresh burst of pain. Except, I felt good. Oddly good. Eyes going wide, I lifted my broken wrist. No way! The bones and tendons appeared perfectly restored. I wiggled my fingers, experiencing not even a flicker of pain. Wagged my hand back and forth. Nope. Nothing.
The bone had healed in a matter of minutes. Completely. An impossibility. Modern medicine did not—could not—work such a miracle.
I froze. Could one of those grains heal my father?
Abuzz with hope, I pointed to Patch’s vial. “What are those? Where did you get them? Where can I get some?”
“They’re called serpens-rosa, and I bought them. Paid a high price for them, too.” She lifted her chin, going on the defensive, silently daring me to make a play for the prize. “The first dose is free. The next will cost ya’.”
Serpens-rosa was what Elixir Man had compared his product to. ‘Almost as good,’ he’d said. “How much? What do you want for a second dose?” Not that it mattered. I had nothing to give.
“I’ll let you know.” My companion waved to encompass the world outside the cart. “If you can survive the Governor’s Guild.”
“Oh, I’ll survive all right, but I won’t be sticking around. I’m going home.” Wait. Back up. “The man in the green suit. Mr. West. He’s a government official?”
“He surely is.”
Meaning he had security measures galore. Maybe I’d have a better chance escaping the cart?
I scrambled to press my face between the bars, peering out at a fading marketplace and an endless expanse of lime-colored flowers stretching for miles in the middle of nowhere.
Trepidation caught me up in a whirlwind of supposition. Let’s say I escaped the cart. Where would I even go? Not back to town, where a heartless executioner killed without remorse. I’d done some hunting and fishing with my dad as a kid, but I saw no trees, no animals. Besides that, I had no weapons. My stomach flip-flopped. Maybe I should visit the Governor’s Guild, after all. There, I could find a phone and call for help. And acquire serpens-rosa for Dad.
Except. The crimen. Daily decapitations. Titleholders. Provinces named after gemstones. I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.
CHAPTER 4
A ROAD TO SOMEWHERE
The cart stopped abruptly. Patch and the boys stiffened as footsteps drew closer. I remained still, not even daring to breathe, rendered immobile by indecision. What should I do, what should I do? Snatch Patch’s vial and run at the first opportunity, possibly earning another crimen? Or wait and learn my new surroundings, risking execution on Mr. West’s behalf while attempting to earn the serpens-rosa legitimately?
Metal clinked, the lock disengaging. My heart pounded. Hinges creaked as the door opened. Sunlight spilled into the musty, dusty enclosure, shining a brighter spotlight on my dilemma. Decision time.
Baldman unlocked my chain, grabbed my waist, and yanked me out. He plopped me on a green cobblestone pathway near Mr. West, who remained preoccupied with a missing button on his jacket.
As the titleholder patted and examined the velvet, he reminded me of a cartoon villain. Wildly unconcerned, wholly ridiculous and overly confident. That he’d traveled to a market with a handful of death-proxies, and had used two of them, disgusted me on so many levels. He’d been prepared—probably even expected—to break laws, unconcerned by the innocent lives forfeited on his behalf. And mine.
Guilt pricked me, boring holes in my outrage, making room for distress. Though instinct demanded I bolt now, now, now, I bit my tongue and remained docile. Decision made. I must acquire more of Patch’s serpens-rosa and learn the best route for escape. Food, a canteen of water, a map of the land, and weapons wouldn’t be amiss, either.