Breaking Out
Gunthor Hands was not as regular as many other members of the Jordian National Army, so he rarely went out on missions, but he was definitely a Red ally. A tall blond in his mid-thirties, Gunthor was a teacher and house father at the Forest Valley Academy, a boarding school in Llylowmar Valley, not far from the Rebels’ hidden headquarters. He came from a line of woodworkers. His father and grandfather had chopped trees in Llylowmar for a living. One of his brothers did the same, building furniture in a shop in town. Gunthor applied his skills teaching woodshop and math classes.
Being an educator was just his day-job, though. Right now, he was on a mission for the Rebels, posing as a House customer. Gunthor Hands came up to David one night after the patrons had left the showroom and the other man was wiping down tables.
“I’m having a party for my cousin’s wedding,” Gunthor announced rather loudly. “I need to rent a room and hire out some girls.”
“Yessir. My name’s Orth,” David responded, standing up from the table he’d been mopping off. He had handled similar requests before. “I’ll take you to the office of Rupert Dane, the House manager.”
When they were out of earshot of the other employees down the hallway towards Dane’s office, Gunthor stopped David by touching his arm.
“Although your hair is a lot different that Shaw described you, David Orth, your eyes give you away. You are to be our Rebel contact on an escape mission we have,” Gunthor said in a near whisper. “Do you accept the task?”
“Reds? I’m not really one, but—”
“Yes or no?”
“Of course, anything.”
“Okay, we shouldn’t tarry long. My name’s Gunthor Hands.” He produced a padded envelope from inside his cloak. “In this envelope are the names of several Jordian Rebels and close allies who are here in the House. We plan on breaking them out. The party is just a cover for the extraction. Try to get these people as well as any you trust to the party room that night.
“Now, show me to Dane’s office so I can schedule this party before anyone suspects anything.”
David was grateful that there were physical descriptions in the envelope and not just a list of names because he only recognized a few of those names.
One of the names he recognized was the drub with the human name of Walter. He contacted Waltsavik Saar-Saar early the next morning because he knew that the drub worked in Dane’s office and could obtain the specifics of the party’s schedule. Saar-Saar knew the time and place of the party as well as the number of people working it and attending it. He went a step further, though, and insured that over half the workers going to the party were on the list Gunthor Hands had supplied.
One name that surprised David was that of his bunk-mate Andrew Howser.
“Fifteen years ago, I was a regular Rebel soldier,” Andrew and David were sitting at the dining room table across from each other. David had just told him that he was on the list of escapee Rebels. They had each eaten ham sandwiches and were sharing a bowl of fried potatoes for lunch, heads close, whispering. “As regular as you can get in an irregular army. Eight years ago I came into the Caverns undercover. I’ve been here ever since, kind of a double agent. I have contact with the Reds and watch out for the people they have on the inside. It hasn’t been regular contact, but I’ve been able to work with the Rebels from the inside several times. And since my name’s on the list, I guess they’re calling me back into active service.”
“You want in?”
“Whether I do or not, I’m all in already. I owe Rex my life and more.” Andrew gave a sly smile. “Besides, I’d really love some action.”
“Any idea why they want you now?” David asked a minute later.
“I suppose it’s because of my knowledge of the tunnels under the Caverns,” Andrew shrugged. He sat back. “In any case, I’ve been assigned to be at this party, Walter saw to getting me scheduled as one of the bouncers. So, I’ll be there.”
It was a Midweek night when Clys was assigned to her first private “party.” She’d been requested before, but until tonight, Reggle had not thought the Sister had the confidence to be by herself. As the bedroom door closed behind the patron, she didn’t know exactly what to expect. He could have just been there for an individual dance. Maybe he wanted to see Clys up closer. Maybe— all Clys was certain of was that she had two hours until the Rebel extraction, she’d seen the time on the patron’s wristwatch.
Her bedroom had changed only slightly since getting to the House. Clys had left the gray carpets padding the walls, but had acquired a red checkered bedspread and a thick floor rug with a floral design on it.
“Do you want a dance or something?” Clys asked, not turning around as she walked across the room.
“We ain’t got no music, so not a dance,” the man said. He was middle-aged, probably near fifty. He wore freshly laundered (yet still stained) clothes of a farmer: flannel shirt and bib overalls. “Somethin’ different.”
“Oh this’ll be something different all right.” Clys turned. She had a false smile on her face. She struck a provocative pose that Reggle would have been proud of. The room was small, but she was standing as far to one side away from the man as she could. His breath could have peeled paint.
“Youse as old as my youngest daughter, I think,” said the man as he sat down on the bed and started unlacing his boots. “But I done her already. If’n she was here I’d make her join.”
“Really?” Clys faced away from the man again to hide her disgust.
“Youse new, though, so this’ll be fun,” he dropped his bib and started unbuttoning his shirt. Clys’ anger grew, but she still smiled as sweetly as she could. “You going ta get ready now or make me wait?” Clys glanced over her shoulder. He ‘was ready.’ He had dropped his pants and shirt in a pile on top of his boots, revealing legs and chest that were pale, pasty, and covered with gray curly hair. Clys noticed the bulge in his off-white underpants. “It’s my birf-day, y’know.”
“Then let’s play a game,” Clys smiled broadly as an idea came to mind. She threw off her gauzy jacket. She knew that it was not what the man had in mind but that it would pass the time. “How about a game of chase?”
After only twenty minutes of playfully circling the room, the man started to get angry. “This ain’t what I paid for. You better give me something or I’ll complain to your boss, and—”
“Gotcha, you’re it!” Clys said, slapping his arm and jumping out of his way again. She jumped onto the bed and onto the other side. Her smile was very coy. He was out of breath from their little dance; she was not. “I thought you wanted something ‘different.’”
“This is too different. I’ll tell and you’ll get in trubble.”
“What are they going to do? I can’t get fired.”
“They’ll beat you when I tell! They’ll pound you when I tell!”
Clys turned to face the man. She was still behind his reach, on the other side of the room again. Reggle had always said to make the man ‘want it.’ She slowly started lowering the shoulder strap on her thin top. “Who are you going to tell?” she still smiled sweetly. The fingers on her right hand were curling into a fist; a fist that he didn’t notice because he wouldn’t take his eyes off her chest.
“That’s more like it,” he said, never taking notice of the drawing back of the fist. He came closer. Clys smelled his breath again and winced. “Take it all off.”
He reached his hand towards her bodice and her fist swung forward. The punch landed hard against the man’s jaw; so hard that the man’s feet left the floor and he flew back against the wall. The thud was masked by the thumping of bedposts in nearby rooms and the carpets hung for that reason.
“If you broke my jaw, I’ll—”
“Tell, I suppose.” Clys’ teeth were still clenched. No longer were they clenched in a sarcastic smile. Her nostrils flared. Had it been possible, flames would have been leaping from her eyes. She tore off her own bodice, completely revealing her breasts. “You want me now!?”
She stepped towards him and he stumbled towards his clothes.
“You ain’t natural. A witch or sumthin. You stay away,” he grabbed an armload of his clothes and backed towards the door. “Don’t get closer.”
“What would your wife say if she saw you standing in your socks and underwear in a cheap whore’s room?!”
She stared at the man. He slammed open the door and started running down the hall.
David had seen some odd things in the month he’d been watching the women’s hall. One time a few young men who were not paying customers had tried (unsuccessfully) to get down the hallway. He’d seen a man in some kind of furry costume come out of one of the bedrooms, satisfied smile on his face. He’d even seen a couple women come out together from the prostitutes’ rooms, but he had never seen a man run half-naked out of one of the rooms screaming about witches the way that this man did.
David smiled and chuckled to himself. He had an idea what had happened, especially after the door closed and he saw the number seventeen on it.
“Clys is one for making a scene, isn’t she?” whispered a raspy female voice from the shadow in the corner no more than a foot behind him. He hadn’t seen the woman show up. Only her voice gave her away. That, and the overwhelming scent of mint. “Nod if you are David Orth or I’ll slit your throat where you stand.”
David gulped and nodded quickly. He had no doubt that this was not a mere bluff.
“Good, I did not feel like killing you. I am a Rebel general. Go to the party room. I’ll collect Clys and the other women who are in their rooms.”
All five of the men attending the party with Gunthor were Rebel soldiers involved in the slave extraction as it turned out. Three of the six women and both of the male bouncers assigned to work the party were to be escapees from the original list that David had seen.
By the time David had entered the room, the tables had turned on Rupert Dane. The House manager was unconscious, tied, with a bag over his head and a gag on his mouth. The slaves were removing their deactivated armbands and the five Rebels had strapped on holstered handguns.
The Rebel watching the door was alerted when the door opened behind David a few minutes after he entered. A woman with spiky pink hair and wearing a military uniform entered the room followed by Clys and three scantily clad women. The Rebel backed down when he saw the woman leading the group. Clys ran forward to hug on one of the bewildered young women who were standing in the room.
The militaristic woman walked up to David and offered a hand to shake. He smelt the fragrance of mint as she neared him and knew her identity before she said her name. “I am Vex Moralito,” she said with a smile. “Sorry about how we met before, David Orth. When leading an operation as big as this, you cannot be too careful.” She was wearing what David found out was a slightly modified Jordian Rebellion Army uniform: dark green pants with red line down the outside, green shirt with black stripes down the left sleeve, yellow shoulder pads, red bandana around her neck and brass pins surrounding her collar. The two revolver belts she has crisscrossing her hips, knives strapped to each boot, and large caliber rifle she hefted when she entered were far from standard issue. The three brass stars on either side of her collar designated her high rank. “No time for pleasantries, though. We need to get down to business.”
David quickly learned that Andrew had been correct about his involvement. He had, unbeknownst to David at the time, helped in several other escapes in the past. None of the escape operation had been this large before; tonight the Rebels were liberating over a quarter of the slaves held in the Caverns. The people from the House were actually a small portion of the actual numbers.
Greetings between Andrew and Vex were few, though they obviously had worked together many times before; after shaking hands with the man, she gave him almost total control of the operation.
“The entrance to the tunnel is here…” Andrew started, drawing a map onto a sheet of paper taken from the utility rucksack Vex had stashed under a table in the party room.
“I didn’t know your name was on the list,” Clys said to Laura as the older woman pulled a gray dress over the flimsy “uniform” she was wearing. Laura was wearing a short party dress. She had been preparing to make up to one of the men who turned out to be a Rebel soldier.
“I don’t think it is on the list. I was just assigned to work the party.” The two women came together on one of the rooms’ four couches while Andrew and the other Rebels plotted at the party room’s round wooden table.
“Well, surely you can come with us, then.”
“Why would I want to?”
Clys was shocked. To her, the idea of having any kind of sexual relations was awful. It was worse, but only slightly, than exposing nakedness in the provocative dances. She had heard Laura’s take on prostitution but thought that surely her feelings would be different when it came time to make choices. “You are better than this, Laura.”
“I choose this life, Clys.”
“You are so smart, though—”
“And you think I’m acting stupid for wanting to stay, don’t you?!” Laura snapped at Clys, stood, crossed her arms and turned her back against the Sister. “This is not your life, Clys. It is not your decision to make.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, okay?” Clys reached her hand up to the younger woman. “You’ve made up your mind. I respect you for that. C’mon now, I just don’t want you mad at me for what may be the last time we talk.”
“You know you’ll have to beat me like that,” as Laura hugged the other woman again she waved a hand towards Dane. “Otherwise they’ll know I let you escape.”
“We will tie you up before we leave.” Vex stepped up. She handed Clys a length of rope she’d pulled from her bag as soon as her meeting with Andrew ended. “And we are about to leave.”
“The knots won’t be painfully tight,” said Clys as she looped the rope around Laura’s wrists, behind her back. “I won’t hit you. Just pretend that I did.”
The plan was to meet another squad of Rebels and the rest of the escapees in the basement of a building adjacent to the House. Over forty humans and drubs followed Andrew into the service tunnel off the basement. A dozen small oil lamps were produced and lit.
The tunnels they entered were access tunnels that were used for service workers to reach the network of sewage and water pipes below the Caverns. They criss-crossed each other below the Caverns buildings and reached out in every direction.
Andrew led the procession through the gloom for close to an hour before David started a conversation with the young man walking beside him.
“My name’s David Orth. What’s your name, kid?”
“First off, I’m ugly, but not a goat.”
“Sorry,” David replied. He mentally kicked himself, remembering that some language-usage could really cause offense. “Where I grew up, that was just slang for ‘young person.’ ‘Youth.’”
“Aegeon,” he said, shaking the proffered hand. He had a motley mane of dark hair and wore long sideburns. His shirt and pants were so sweat-stained and dirty that it was noticeable even in the low light. David estimated him to be seventeen years old. By the light of the lamp he’d been given to carry, his black eyes and sharp teeth flashed as he talked. “I’m not a Rebel. You?”
