Summer 8: pace

Beloved Zann,

I didn’t want to think too long. First, the longer I stayed in there, the hungrier I was going to get. Second, nothing would be easier than for me to think and think and think and lose my chance of doing anything. I liked an easy pace, but Srix had literally beaten into me the lesson that the best pace was always the fastest one that I could control.

My main problem was that I had nothing. Not just no money, no weapon, no tools, but also, no reason why anybody should do anything I wanted. No influence, no leverage, no power.

But if I did, what would I do with it?

I didn’t quite have a plan, but I’d never have more of one, and if I hesitated I’d lose my nerve. I got up, squeezed past my fellow prisoners in the dark, stepping on a couple of feet, and slapped my hand on the door twice. “Hoy!” I called.

“Don’t do that!” some man said. “Are you crazy?” said some woman.

I heard muttering outside. One of the Half Sun Squares opened the door, reached in and grabbed me, and held a knife to my throat. “Don’t waste my time,” he said.

I didn’t resist. “Tell Ladal that I’m not talking to him,” I said. “I know why he’s locking me up, and I don’t care how long he keeps me in here. I’m not telling him anything.”

“What the piss are you talking about?” There were a couple of other Half Sun Squares there watching. Too many to start a fight with.

“Just tell him,” I said, broke his hold, and stepped back into the shadows of the kegroom.

The door closed, and I spent the next couple of hours telling myself that I was an idiot and that this couldn’t possibly work.

Turned out I was right and wrong about that.

Love,

Ybel