“This is a Mondarian penal facility, and knowing how they function, I hope to work hard and earn my freedom sooner than later.”
The three men spat food as they burst into genuine peals of laughter.
“What?” Bodok asked. “What did I say?”
It took a moment for their laughter to subside enough to speak.
“Oh, you’re in for a rude surprise,” Azros said, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes. “You think you can just earn your freedom?”
“It is how it works.”
“How it’ssupposedto work. But trust me, any credit toward yer freedom will be offset by some new penalty. It’s what they do here. No one’s gettin’ out.”
“How can they do that? It’s not legal.”
“Legal? Thassa laugh. They don’t care ’bout legal. And let me tell ya another thing,” Azros said, his demeanor sliding from amused to more serious. “The one way you canactuallyearn your freedom? Believe me, you don’t want it.”
Bodok mulled over the intimidatingly large man’s words a long moment as the reality of his situation sank in. If he wanted no part of it, then it must be worse than he thought.
“The tournaments?” Bodok asked.
“The tournaments.”
“They’re that bad?”
Azros’s grin faltered. “Let’s just say the crowd loves a bloodbath, and the magistrate knows fer damn sure it’ll keep ’em happy.”
“A spectacle to distract them,” Bodok said. “But regardless of the motives, the fights are public. The magistrate would have to honor the terms.”
“Oh, he’ll honor them, but good luck earning your freedom. The champions have it good. Best food. Good women. Plenty o’ rest ’n relaxation between bouts. The challengers don’t stand a chance.”
“But people still try?”
“Of course. Everyone in here considers it at one time or ’nother. I mean, it’s freedom we’re talkin’ about, and there’s always some fool what thinks he can actually win and don’t know any better. And if a tournament comes and nobody volunteers, the guards just find a way tomakesomeone volunteer, though other cities send their dregs to us for disposal.”
“The magistrate accepts outside participants?”
“Them what he can get, sure. Anything to give the crowd what they want. Just do yer job and keep yer head down and you’ll do fine here. Better alive than the alternative.”
Bodok nodded his agreement, slowly chewing his food as he mulled over what he’d just learned. There would be no release. No buying his freedom. And that meant Maureen would be left to fend for herself.
He felt a pang in his chest at the thought. He was a prisoner, but somehow he had to free her. But for the life of him, he had no idea how.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Bodok followed the advice of his new acquaintance over the first few days of work. He didn’t make waves, kept his mouth shut, and ensured his deliveries arrived right on time—though he could have delivered them much faster than he had been tasked with.
It was something he informally called the Azros principle as he put it into practice.
“Let ’em think yer only barely making their deadlines no matter how easy the job may be. Never change their expectations. You’ll see. It’s the best way to steal a little time to yerself that way,” the man had said.
“Do the minimum while appearing to be working at top speed. It seems wasteful, but I understand the idea behind it. But what about what the overseer said? That we earn longer rest breaks if we outperform.”
Azros laughed and slapped his shoulder with a meaty hand. “Oh, you’ll get a longer rest break, all right. Only it won’t be nearly as much as you can shave off for yerself. Believe me, Bodok, plenny’ve found that out the hard way.”
“The hard way?”
“They listened at first. Most do. But then they decided to play it by the Mondarian book. But once they sped up their pace, the overseer simply adjusted his expectations for them. Moved up the deadlines.”
