The Miscreant by Brock Deskins Page B

men.”
    As with most stupid people, the man’s anger overruled his sense, and he hurled his plate at the camp commander. “If you like it, then you can eat it!”
    Cyril calmly plucked the solitary chunk of beef caught in the neck of his shirt and dropped it onto Garran’s plate. “It looks like you have four pieces now, Mr. Holt.” He turned back to the gap-toothed convict. “As for you, your little tantrum just cost you your breakfast as well. Perhaps your empty belly will prove to be a better decision-maker than that ugly gob on your neck.”
    The man looked ready to strike him, but Cyril waggled his blade and he thought better of it.
    “You best watch your back, boy. You both best watch your backs.”
    “Is that a threat, Mr. Mercier? Threats to me or my men will get you whipped. If you’re foolish enough to try and make good on it, I’ll stretch your neck from one of these trees and feed you to my dogs. Do I make myself clear?”
    Dominic scowled, spun around, shoved through some onlookers, and stalked off. The commander casually flicked chunks of vegetables from his leather jerkin. The man’s cool demeanor impressed Garran. Most people he knew would be enraged and use their authority to severely punish such an affront.
    “Mr. Holt,” Cyril said, “you are holding up my line. Take your food and go, or join Mr. Mercier in hunger.”
    Garran looked at the serving girl, who gave him an apologetic smile, and walked in the opposite direction of Dominic. He had no doubt the man would make good on his threat, at least to him, if given the chance. Colin hastened beside him.
    “I thought that man was going to kill you.”
    “The day’s not over.”
    “Do you think he’ll try something?”
    Garran shrugged. “I would, and I’m not a criminal. Not a real one.”
    Colin looked around, eyes wide and searching as if Dominic might spring from the bushes at any moment. “What are you going to do?”
    “Not much to do until it happens.”
    “You don’t seem afraid. I would be crapping my pants if that monster wanted to kill me.”
    “I’ve seen people waste a lot of time and energy on fear, and not once did I see it do any good or change the outcome. My mother always said there was something wrong with me. Maybe she was right.”
    Colin stared into his half-eaten plate of food. “I still can’t believe our parents sold us into bondage. Do you think they knew how dangerous it was, that bandits are attacking the work camps and killing everyone?”
    “I don’t know, but I doubt it mattered to them. I for one am not going to wait around for death to come. Not from Dominic and not from bandits.”
    “What are you going to do?”
    “I’m going to get the hell out of here, what you think I’m going to do?”
    “There are like fifty soldiers on horseback, and they have dogs!”
    “Yeah, I’ll probably need your help.”
    “The commander said he whips anyone who tries to run off!”
    “Would you rather some bandit cuts you down? I don’t know about you, but I’ll take a whipping over death any day. Then again, I’ve probably received a lot more whippings than you and am used to them by now.” Garran saw the shadow of doubt hanging over Colin. “Look, it’s not going to be today or even tomorrow. I need to watch them, see how they move and react, before I can even begin to form a plan. It’s all about the three shuns.”
    “The three shuns?”
    “Inspiration, information, and preparation. With them, a man can do almost anything or anyone. There’s a fourth one, fornication, but I don’t think it will be necessary. If it does, that’s where you become a key component in our escape.”
    Colin’s mouth twitched. “W-what? How does that involve me?”
    “If I’m unable to come up with another way to distract the guards, it may become necessary to find out which ones are partial to fancy boys and take advantage of it. See, information...and possibly fornication.”
    “And I’m supposed to play