Broken Veil (Harbinger #5)(55)

As she began to tremble, her muscles coming back to her again, she thought she heard a whisper in her mind. A fleeting whisper, so faint it could hardly be discerned over the clanking chains in the other room.

With ordinary folk like you and me, if our pleas to the Medium are sometimes granted, beyond all hope or expectation, we had best not draw conclusions that we have earned such treatment. If we were stronger, we might be less caringly handled. If we only had more courage, we might be sent with far less help to defend even more desperate posts in the thickest battles of life and death.

She’d read those words in a tome years ago, while studying at Muirwood Abbey. The sentiment hadn’t made much sense to her at the time, but something about the passage had lodged in her mind.

She was comforted by the words, strangely enough, and felt as if they were the answer to her silent plea. Her experiences were for a purpose in a greater cause. The certainty of this thought gave her strength. Warmth unfurled inside her, and she lifted herself up, dragging the heavy chain a few inches across the floor. She leaned against the stone wall of the lockroom, conviction burning inside her.

If we only had more courage . . .

Sera’s mind lunged at the thought, grasping onto it. Send me, she thought. Send me into battle.

A key fit into the lock, and then the iron door groaned and opened. She saw Mr. Trimble smack a boy on the back of his head and bark at him to get in. The children were all assembled outside the lockroom. One by one, they entered and took their places along the wall. There were fifteen . . . no, eighteen children in all. The big beast of the man struck some of them as they entered the room. The punishments seemed arbitrary, and she saw each child cringe in anticipation of being chosen.

“Get in, get in, you little blighters,” Trimble sneered.

Each child was in chains, she saw, and several of them were bound together. A ritual then unfolded before her light-stabbed eyes. Under the overseer’s watchful eyes, the children fastened themselves to the manacles fixed to the wall. None of them could run away, she saw. They were bound to each other, then to the wall. And Mr. Trimble held the keys.

The ritual complete, the children sat shoulder to shoulder in the cramped room, some of them within reach of Sera. Those nearest her were looking at her in curiosity. She was bigger than most of them, but a few of the youths were teens. They all had a starved, wasted look that put her in mind of the stories Cettie had told her about growing up in the Fells.

“I’ll be checking each one,” Trimble said. “No mistakes, or I’ll cuff you with my key ring. Ya hear me?” He staggered into the room and gave an exaggerated yawn. “It’s morning, my little pups. Time to sleep. All snuggled and warm, heh heh. A litter of pups. Litter, that’s all you are.”

Trimble went from one end of the room to the other, testing each of the manacles. He’d even tested Sera’s connection to the wall. Once he was through, he removed the chains attaching the children to one another. He was precise and methodical. There was no hope of escape.

Sera’s heart throbbed with pity as she looked at the children’s grimy faces. These were nothing more than slaves. Nothing her government did had touched their ruined lives. How could it? They lived below the streets, away from the seeing eyes of the Leerings in the fountains above. And she had a feeling Mr. Trimble wasn’t the only one engaged in such a trade.

Her attention was roused when Mr. Trimble suddenly smacked one of the children. “I saw that look! Don’t you sass me! I won’t stand for it! I won’t!” He smacked the child again, the noise making all the rest of the children flinch. The boy was weeping, shoulders hunched, trembling.

She clenched her fists, trembling with rage, wishing she could command a dragoon to beat him.

“And you!” he said, lurching toward another boy. He struck him too. “I saw you slacking at the end. Hardly pushing your rake at all. You think I’m jesting? That I won’t fix a millstone to your ankles and throw you into the river outside town? If you’re not going to work, I’d just as soon drown ya! What good are you to me?”

“I’m sorry!” the boy wailed. “I’m-I’m sorry, Mr. Trimble!”

“You’d better be sorry! I won’t abide laziness. None of it. You want to eat, you must work. You work harder tonight, and you’ll get your bread tomorrow morning. Mind that, lad. You better mind that.”

The boy looked devastated at the thought of missing a meal. But he didn’t complain. None of them did. They were terrified.

He finished unlocking the extra chains and left them all in a heap on the floor. Trimble looked from face to face, rubbing his scraggly beard, his eyes wells of menace. He was looking for something. No one met his eyes, all heads were bowed low.

“You,” he said at last, pointing to a little girl. The feeling of misery and despair in the dark, fetid room increased, making Sera’s stomach ill. “It’s your turn. Up. Stand up!”

The little girl rose, her chain dragging against the stone. Everyone looked away from her, their expressions both guilty and grateful. They were thankful they had not been chosen.

The awfulness of the moment seared Sera’s heart. She found herself standing, pushing herself up against the wall before she could even think.

Mr. Trimble turned at the noise, spotting her. “What are you doing?”

“Go,” Sera told him, her voice trembling.