8. The other side of the bars
Dedicated to "Astro Latte" and the members of "Team Conli". I didn't quite start this in your honour, but you all inspired me to finish it during a period of writer's block.
David Conli should never have been a guard. He knew it, his colleagues knew it and his neighbours knew it. The only ones who didn't know it were his family.
"It's a tradition!" his mother had barked at him. "Your father was a guard, your brother's a guard... every man in this family has been in the service! Besides, you need a proper job! How are you gonna support me in my old age?"
As he walked towards the dungeons that day, David found himself thinking about that family tradition. His mother was right; every man in his family hadenlisted. There was not one generation of guards without at least one "Conli" in it. The fact that none of these men had ever achieved much in his career wasn't important; they still flocked to enlist, and provided they were in good health, they always made it into the Royal Guard. It was a testament to how few people actually signed up, for none of the Conlis were really that good at soldiering. David, in his own opinion, was the worst of the lot. He was constantly sick, he was painfully shy and he was scared of everything. He was particularly scared of large men, mostly because they always kicked his ass. Conli wasn't a fighter by nature. That was another reason he shouldn't have been a guard.
This was the thing he hated about "dungeon duty"; all those large men. Sometimes they escaped, and when they did, they were angry. None had ever escaped on Conli's watch, but what if they did? He'd be first in line!
He gulped, picked up his spear and made his way along the dingy corridor. None of the other guards acknowledged him. Good. He didn't feel like talking, anyway. As he walked, he glanced at the prisoners. Some sat on the ground; the ones fortunate enough to have a window in their cell gazed longingly out of it. Conli stayed as far away from them as possible. They may not look like they cared, but he'd heard stories of guards getting grabbed through the bars. He didn't like the thought of that, so he stayed straight in the middle of the corridor, as far out of their reach as possible. There were cells on either side. It wasn't an easy task.
Had he not looked in the bars on his way there, his life might've gone on as normal. He might've gone onto his post, afraid of the men he was supposed to be guarding. He might've been that way for the rest of his life, had he not glanced absent-mindedly at one of the cells and seen the two huge, red-haired men crouching within.
Conli shuddered. He remembered these two; oh, yes, he remembered them reallywell. The Stabbington Brothers were exactly the type of man Conli feared; large, mean and severely lacking in the negotiation department. His head still ached from the last time he'd met them, when he'd been on the recovery team and the Captain had asked him to watch them. Conli hadn't had a choice in the matter, of course. He'd been left alone with these brutes and, predictably, they kicked his ass. That was why he avoided situations like that. That was why he tried to lay low, to blend in with the other guards so the odds of him being called out weren't so high.
"What're you doing?"
Conli jumped at the sound of the voice. He spun around, almost dropping his spear – and relaxed. It was only Sergeant Gordon, and hewasn't going to lay into him-
"Aren't you supposed to be at your post, Conli?"
Oops; maybe he was.
"S-sorry, Sir!" Conli stammered, saluting him quickly. "I was – I was just –"
"Looking at the prisoners?"
"Y-yes, Sir." Well, he was. No need to make the situation worse by lying.
Gordon glanced over the younger man's shoulder. "Funny you should choose them," he said to Conli. "Are you aware they're being hanged today?"
Conli shook his head.
"Well, they are; couple of hours from now. Not worth wasting your time on them."
As if to prove his point, Gordon walked away, leaving Conli to stare at the Stabbingtons. One of them glanced up at him, and the guard flinched – but all the man did was sigh, before turning his attention to the floor again. He looked defeated. They both did. They certainly didn't look like the brutes who'd knocked him out.
Butwhyshouldthey?Conli realised. They'regoingtodie.Itdoesn'tmatterhowtoughtheyare;they'llbeswingingfromthenoosebeforethedayisout.
Another thought immediately popped into his mind, a thought he'd never even considered before.
I'm not. I'll still be alive. I've won.
What had he won? Life, perhaps? All those large men who'd terrified him over the years, all the ruffians who'd knocked him out or broken his arm; where'd they end up? Dead, or imprisoned, or on the run. Meanwhile, he was still breathing. He'd never be as tough as these men, but he had a job, and a family. He had a proper life.
He didn't pity those men – he wasn't ready to feel sorry for them yet – but, as he finally set off for his post, he didn't feel quite so afraid of them.