Page 46 of Steel & Thunder
“We are in the process of converting all the locks in the ranger headquarters and the tribal hall to use them.” He begins taking off the “key” strap. “Which I am very much looking forward to having completed, because then I can stop carrying these around.” He deposits the wrist strap back into the drawer and pulls out an almost comically large ring of keys.
I can see how that might be annoying and impractical. I can only imagine the number of doors and locks you’d have to keep track of, all the offices and equipment rooms and cells. Like the outdoor cells we were kept in. That orc guard used a key when he let me out. I guess those haven’t been converted yet.
“Would you mind watching the soup while I use the restroom?” He starts down the hall to the bathroom.
“On it.” I nod. I can watch soup.
I stand by the stove, stirring the pot slowly while my mind wanders. I know I should just let it go, but I now can’t stop thinking about those keys. The key to our cell is on that ring. It might take some time to figure out which one, but it could be done, right? I sigh. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about this. Even if I could do that, how exactly would I manage to steal the keys and sneak out without Ironstorm noticing I’m gone?
I shake the thoughts of a jailbreak from my mind. I’m here to watch soup. I pull the wooden spoon from the pot and bring it to my lips for a small taste. Not bad. Other than the veggies and the “turkey,” I didn’t really pay attention to what else he added. I look down and see two jars of spices that haven’t been put back yet. I open the lids to see that one is pepper, and the other is... Shit, I know this one. We had it in the kitchen at the academy. It looks like short dried blades of grass. Maybe I should just ask.
I pick up the jars to return them to their shelf, trying to remember which side was spices and which side was potion ingredients. He really does need to organize this. I end up sticking them wherever they fit for now, and as I do, a familiar looking jar catches my eye. The potion ingredients. Specifically, the one I know contains hypnograss. I look over at the door and the table holding the ring of keys. Could I...?
No, I mean, how would I even give it to him? I look at the pot of soup. We’re going to share that, possibly down to the same spoon and bowl. That wouldn’t work.
Stop it, David. Let it go.
But I can’t.
Quickly and without thinking about it too hard, I open the jar and grab a few leaves. Putting it back, I look around quickly for some place to hide them. My eyes settle on one of the bookcases, and I quickly sprint over. I pull out the book I read yesterday on sword technique and drop the flat leaves between two pages, closing it before returning it to the shelf. I then move quickly back to my station in front of the stove, stirring the soup like I didn’t just do any of that.
Why did I do that, exactly? I still don’t even know how I’d give it to him. Don’t even know how much it would take to knock him out. But there’s this voice in the back of my head, telling me that if I don’t do something, my friends are in trouble. Ironstorm rejoins me a minute later, taking over soup duty for me. I don’t really have anything else on my mind, at least not that I’m going to ask him about.
It only takes a few more minutes until lunch is ready. To my surprise, I actually get my own bowl and spoon. I even get to sit in a chair at the table. I want to ask why, but I’m worried he’ll take it back. I think I might know, though. He feels bad. He knows I’m still thinking about my friends and is doing what he said and keeping my mind occupied.
Which he continues to do after lunch when we go for a run an hour later, and then when he insists I take a long, hot bath afterward. He’s really going out of his way to make me feel better, which just makes me feel all the worse about what I’ve been thinking about. I’m a little glad I don’t have the opportunity to do it.
At least until dinner.
“Do you like beer?” The question catches me off guard, and I look up from the book in my lap. I’ve been reading the same paragraph over and over for nearly half an hour, my mind constantly pulled to other things. I’m not even sure what this book is about, something about people living in the mountains.
“I like it.” I mean, I never really drank it for the taste, but who doesn’t like beer?
“A friend gifted me a batch he brewed himself. I have been looking for a reason to try it.” He smiles. “Perhaps we can have it with dinner.”
“This the kind of thing orcs usually toast to?” I make sure my tone sounds more playful than my words.
He rolls his eyes and stands, walking down the hall. I hear a door open, some rustling, and a door closing, then he’s back with a small barrel in hand. It’s like a mini keg, complete with a small spout. He places it on the counter before retrieving two mugs from a shelf. And there it is: my opportunity. My eyes drift from the mugs to the bookcase and back. I might actually be able to pull this off.
Maybe.
If I wanted to, that is.
Dinner is steak again. This is the second time we’ve had it since I got here, and I still haven’t seen or heard a single cow in the area, or any other farm animals for that matter. He made it to cheer me up. And it works—food is a very easy way to get on my good side. And yet, I still feel like shit.
We both drink our beer with dinner, though I’m slower to down mine than he is. He refills both mugs after we finish eating, bringing them into the living room with us where he lights a fire. Really pulling out all the stops. He settles me on the couch, handing me my beer and putting his on the small table next to us before stepping over to the bookcase. The hairs on my neck stand up when I see his hand drift to the book I stashed the hypnograss in, but he passes over it, pulling a red book from the same shelf.
“I thought I might read aloud tonight,” he announces as he walks back over to the couch. “Would you like that?”
“Sure.” That does sound kinda nice.
It’s the story of an old orc hero named Steelrun. The tale takes place four hundred years ago, though I’m not really clear if the story is real or made up. During that time, there were many different orcs tribes all fighting for dominance. Except Steelrun. He was a warrior, but he fought only to defend, not seeing the point in the senseless violence around him. A little cliché if you ask me, but I can get into it. The story begins in the camp Steelrun called home as they were preparing for another tribe to attack.
The two of us drink our beers as he reads. I sip mine slowly, not wanting even a small buzz. Just in case. Ironstorm, however, finishes his second glass just as the story is getting to the big battle scene. He gets up for another refill, and I let him top off my mug again. If things were just a little bit different, this could be really nice.
Before he gets back to reading, the two glasses of beer catch up with him, and he needs to use the bathroom again. And I have a split-second decision to make. If I go through with this, I’m not sure he’ll be able to forgive me for it, and if I get caught, I sure as hell am gonna have a lot more than just a spanking to worry about. But if I don’t do this and something happens to Adam, or Liss, or Corrine, I won’t be able to forgive myself.
My glass is down, and I’m out of my seat as soon as I hear the door close, eyes already on the book. I tear it open, dropping the contents into my hand before quickly shoving it back in place. Then I’m back at the couch, crushing the dried leaves in my hand while standing over his mug. It crumbles easily enough with my fingers, but I really should’ve used a mortar to grind this down. No time, though. I take a breath. This is it. No turning back if I do this.
