The Iron Thorn - Caitlin Kittredge [147]
“I’m in one piece, at least,” he murmured. “It’s going to be all right, Aoife.”
“Cal,” I said, seized with panic again. “Where’s Cal?”
Dean went quiet. I stood up, slowly, feeling my way along the wall. “Dean. Where’s Cal?”
“You can’t get marginal on me, Aoife,” he said. “But they brought us in at the same time. He’s in here.” There was a shuffle and a click, and Dean’s lighter flamed to life.
The light illuminated Cal’s body, and I let out a small cry, which I trapped with my hands. My empty stomach rebelled for the hundredth time that day and I choked, the sight before me grotesque and unbearable.
Dean leaned forward, cupping the flame with his hands. “Looked pretty rough when they brought us in here. He didn’t say anything.”
Cal’s face was a welter of bruises, his right eye swollen shut and his lower lip split. Bruises on his wrists mapped where he’d been tied with something sharp and elastic, and his shirt had blood on it.
“Oh, please no …,” I whispered. “Cal, Cal, Cal.” I shook his shoulder, but he didn’t move except to roll away from me, toward the wall.
“Why would they do that?” I said. I wanted to hit something, and I banged my fists against the cell door, over and over, wishing it were the Proctor who’d beaten my friend. Dean grabbed my hands, pinned them at my side.
“I don’t know why, Aoife, and there doesn’t have to be a reason. The situation is, they beat him bad and he’s going to kick off if we don’t do something.”
Dean had bruises too, when I looked closer. I touched the cut on his cheekbone, twin lines of red. He flinched. “It’s nothing. Just standard heavy work. Letting me know they weren’t fooling around.”
“Cal’s not a criminal,” I said. “They had no reason … Draven just needs me.”
“These people don’t need much of a reason for anything, Aoife,” Dean said. “They need you, sure. Us, they’ll keep here until they need more bodies for the castigator. Then … we’ll be broiled beef.”
“Stop saying that,” I ordered, my last reserve of will close to snapping. I could put on a brave face, but sooner or later my true one would show and I’d be in a heap. “I almost got out of here, and there will be another chance.”
“Not to piss on the parade,” Dean said, “but all the Rustworks knows: you end up in Ravenhouse, you end, full stop.” He held the lighter over me while I felt Cal’s pulse and checked his eyes, the basic first aid all engineers had to know in case of an accident on the job.
I never imagined using it like this.
“You can’t give up on me,” I said to Dean. I was scared, so scared my fingers were vibrating, but more than that I was angry. Angrier than I’d ever been. Draven’s lies were the reason we were down here, not through any fault of ours. “If you give up,” I told Dean, “then I’m going to break into a million pieces.”
Dean frowned as the lighter flickered, flame lowering. “Bad news, kid. We’re going to be in the dark for the rest of this party.” He shut the lid of the lighter. “But I’m here, Aoife. I’ll give you everything I’ve got.”
“Thank you,” I said softly. “I need you, Dean.”
He nodded, squeezing my shoulder in the dimness. “Figure I need you too. You are the brains of the operation, after all.”
I rolled Cal onto his back and felt him over. He groaned when I touched his ribs, his chest. “He might have gotten something crushed internally,” I said. “He needs a doctor.”
“And I need a drink,” Dean said. “I figure Cal and I have the same chance at both. We should wrap his ribs, at least for comfort. I busted one during a pit fight in Jamestown and it hurt like knives.”
“Pit fighting?” I was talking so that my mind wouldn’t run away, chattering like I was at one of Mrs. Fortune’s inane tea parties, to keep from the ugly reality of my situation. “Who would have guessed an upstanding boy like you would enjoy such a pastime?”
“Never tell an Irishman three sheets to the wind that he’s got a pretty sister,” Dean said. “Sound advice.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” I murmured as I ripped open