Liam pumped his arms as he ran after a thief who had stolen a handful of jewels from a table. Despite it being Amonat, it felt as hot as summer, making his chase even more unpleasant. He followed him through each section, never slowing as they approached the fabric market. Liam saw the thief fast approaching a young woman who had her back to them.
“Take care behind you!” Liam yelled, hoping he’d be in time for her to move away.
He was not. She turned in just enough time to be shoved aside, her arm hitting the wooden frame of a vendor’s tent. The thief continued without even pausing. Though he wished to, Liam also did not stop. He could not let the man get away.
“Stop, thief!” Liam yelled. “In the king’s name, I command you to stop!”
As expected, the thief did not stop. Liam doubted he would stop unless someone forced him or he dropped dead of exhaustion. Opportunity presented itself when a carriage pulled into the street, slowing the thief down. Liam threw himself on the criminal, tackling him to the ground. Wind rushed out of both guardsman and criminal as they hit the hard cobblestone. Liam was lucky the thief took the brunt of the fall; only Liam’s shoulder smarted from where it touched the ground.
“With the authority of the King of Anatalia, you are under arrest for thievery and disrupting the peace and will be brought to the royal magistrate to receive your punishment,” Liam recited the official line they were to tell criminals they caught. After three years working in the Third, he could recite almost any edict in his sleep.
“I didna do it!” The thief scrambled under Liam, clawing at the cobblestones to try to get away.
“No one ever does.” He pushed himself up against the thief, receiving a groan in return, and pulled the criminal up by his arm. Liam dug in his pockets, pulling out the stolen ring, raising a brow at the criminal. “This way, if you will.”
The thief spat on the ground in response, only moving when Liam pulled roughly at him. He returned the way they had come, hoping to find the young woman still in the market to apologize for her being shoved, but she was nowhere to be seen when they reached the fabric market. Annoyed, Liam tightened his grip on the thief’s arm and marched him toward the magistrate’s office within the palace grounds.
The magistrate was located at the courtyard entrance to the dungeons, the only door to the left of the entrance. The doors to the right led to the dungeon guards’ barracks and dining area. They had previously petitioned to be allowed residence with the other guardsmen of the city, but the king and his councilmen deemed it necessary they stay close to the dungeons in case there was an escape. They would be the best and first defense against some of the more dangerous criminals residing underneath the palace.
Liam pounded on the door, shaking the flimsy wooden structure. He feared he would break it, but the magistrate was hard of hearing, and only a ruckus would alert him to his duties. The door flew open, revealing the scowling magistrate. His squat form ambled away from the entrance, sitting behind his desk.
“I don’t know why you guards won’t just open the door instead of making all that racket.” He turned another scowl Liam’s way.
Liam shoved the thief into the room. “Because, Mr. Slanic, the last time someone did, you were enjoying your time with a woman of questionable morals.”
Laughter erupted from Mr. Slanic, his rotund belly jiggling with each bark. “I suppose you’d not want to see that either.”
“No, sir.”
Mr. Slanic spoke once he calmed his humor. “Who do we have here?”
“State your name for the magistrate.” Liam pushed the thief into the chair sitting in front of the magistrate’s desk. He kept his hand firmly on the criminal’s shoulder so he wouldn’t be able to bolt. Liam had learned that lesson the hard way the first time he’d caught a thief.
The thief refused to speak.
“As you wish, then. What crime has he committed, Private Fulton?”
Liam placed the stolen ring on Mr. Slanic’s desk. “Thievery, disrupting the peace, and possibly causing harm to a young lady of noble birth. I could not question her, as she was gone by the time I was able to apprehend the criminal.”
Nodding, Mr. Slanic wrote the crimes out on a piece of parchment, the tip of his quill scratching pleasantly against the paper. “Is that all?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good, then.” The quill continued to move for a few moments more. Mr. Slavic pinched sand between three fingers and dusted it over the drying ink. He waited a moment before dumping it off into a bowl filled with darkened sand. “He’ll have a hand removed and two fingers knocked.”
“I canna lose my hand!” The thief tried to rise, but Liam firmly pushed him back into place.
“Where will he be receiving this punishment?”
Mr. Slanic shrugged. “Take him to the surgery so he has a fighting chance of staving off infection, or the butcher—it matters not. He will lose the hand either way.”
Liam’s face twisted. This was the first time he would take someone to a fate other than imprisonment. “Where is the surgery?”
“You’ll find one on the other side of the dungeons, past the interior entrance. Be off with you, then.”
“A good day to you.” Liam pulled the thief, white in color and devoid of complaint, from his seat. It must have been shock, as he had not been an easy man to handle to begin with. Liam led him through the upper level of the dungeon toward the surgery, his stomach souring the closer they got.
Halfway there, the thief finally spoke. “Please, sir, ye canna let them take my hand! I promise I’ll return to my home and be a law abidin’ citizen for the rest of me days if ye just let me go.”
“I can’t do that. I’m sorry. You’ve committed a crime, and now you have to deal with the consequences of that.”
The thief began to struggle once more. “No, please! Let me go!”
“You have been given your punishment. You’ll have to accept your fate.” Liam swallowed the sick feeling in his throat. He didn’t want to be part of this punishment any more than the thief wanted to receive it. But he had a sworn duty to uphold the law, and uphold the law he would.
Upon entering the surgery, Liam shut the door behind him and blocked it. The thief looked for any other exit, drooping in on himself when he could not. Surgical instruments lined the walls, saws in one section and blades in another. For a healer, it was rather well organized.
“Can I help you?” the only healer in the room asked.
“Yes, Healer…”
“Woolsey.”
“We’ve just come from the magistrate’s, Healer Woolsey.” Liam lifted the sentencing paper in his hand. “He’s to have a hand removed and two fingers knocked.”
Nodding, the physician started to remove the tools he’d need from the wall. “It’s a shame you missed Healer Orion. He’s truly the more skilled at removal.”
Liam shifted, unsure of how to respond.
“Did Mr. Slanic say which hand?”
“N— His non-dominant hand is to be removed.”
A smirk lifted the corner of Woolsey’s mouth while he let out a soft snort. “Mr. Slanic must have been feeling generous today.”
Liam, not wanting to let him think otherwise, quickly agreed. “Indeed he was.”
The last item taken off the wall was a long iron bar that was in the shape of a spade, though more pointed at the end. There were several sizes from the width of Liam’s finger to the width of his thigh. He thought it unlikely any patient would survive the need of one so large.
Healer Woolsey shoved the instrument into the fire to heat. “Sit him down over here, and pour him a drink from the pitcher.”
Liam pulled over the criminal, putting him in the seat before lifting the pitcher. Taking a whiff, it reeked of cheap alcohol. He poured it into the only cup, sliding it in front of the thief. “I would strongly suggest drinking it.”
The thief put it to his lips without argument, letting out a choking cough when the alcohol hit his tongue. He took another drink, pouring the rest of the cup’s contents down the back of his throat. After two cups full of alcohol had passed the criminal’s lips, he leaned back in the chair and let out a belch.
“Which is your dominant hand?” Healer Woolsey asked.
The thief lazily threw up his right hand, leaning his head against the back of the chair.
“Very good, thank you.” Healer Woolsey grabbed his left hand and started to examine it. He prodded certain areas and pulled at the hand while the thief watched.
“What was in that?” Liam had never seen someone affected so quickly by spirits.
Healer Woolsey shrugged. “A little Poppy’s Milk mixed in. It will help keep him calm, and there will be less pain for him.”
Liam supposed that made sense. “Shall I leave you, then?” He was already edging toward the door. Liam had no interest in staying for the removal.
“Oh, no. Without Healer Orion, you’ll have to stay here to help me—don’t give me that look—all you have to do is hold him down.”
The healer glared at Liam when he unconsciously backed up. Liam’s stomach sank with the thought of having to witness such a punishment. “Are you sure I can’t go find Healer Orion for you?”
“No, now come over here.” The glare persisted while Woolsey put a wooden rest stained with blood under the thief’s hand. “I want you to hold his arm steady, no matter how much he moves. One wrong cut, and he could bleed out.”
Liam gulped but firmly grasped the thief’s arm without protest. He hooked a leg between the thief’s spread ones, trying to do the work of two men at once. “Ready.”
“You’re going to lose your balance like that, Private.” Woolsey scolded.
Liam shot him an annoyed look. “I’ll be fine. Please proceed, Healer Woolsey.”
With a shrug, Woolsey pulled on the thief’s hand before he began cutting with a sharp blade. The thief screamed into Liam’s ear, his whole body bucking against him with the onslaught of pain. Liam felt jarred and wished he’d have listened to the Healer about his position. Liam leaned heavily against the criminal to try to make him stay still, but it was no use. The only thing Liam could do was try to keep the arm still so the only person who lost anything was the thief. And not lose his stomach on the thief.
“Hold a moment more!”
Blood poured over the table as the saw moved. Liam dared not look, but he could feel the hot blood running down his fingers and down his arm, cooling by the time it soaked into the fabric at his elbow. The criminal was starting to weaken, his convulsions not nearly as strong as when the blade first licked his skin.
The healer grabbed the smaller of the two blades he’d put in the fire and put it to the flesh he’d cut to staunch the bleeding before he grabbed the saw. “You’ll really have to hold him now, Private.”
Liam switched positions to get a better hold on the arm, his back blessedly to the gory scene. It didn’t help much when the healer began to saw the bone—Liam could feel the vibration up the thief’s arm. He was glad the thief only groaned; maybe he would faint soon, and they could finish in peace.
“Private, I’m going to need your help,” the healer said. “I’m going to need you to hold the flaps closed while I put a stitch in.”
“Don’t you just cauterize the wound?” Liam asked, feeling queasy. He did not want to touch the separated skin.
“The stitch will burn up with the heat, but I want as small a wound as possible.”
Liam groaned. It just had to be him to spot the thief first. He turned around and gagged at the bloody stump. The healer was already putting the stitch together, making Liam shiver. Next time, he’d wait for Healer Orion to return.
“Just hold it together here—that’s it—and I’ll put in the stitch.”
Stomach roiling, Liam closed his eyes while he held the stump. Luckily, the thief made no more noise while the healer worked.
“Bring his arm up,” Healer Woolsey commanded as he retrieved the iron, now glowing with its own heat.
Liam did as he was told, making sure to keep his hands away from the iron. “Hurry!” He could feel the bile in his throat and wanted to let go of the thief as soon as humanly possible.
The healer laid the hot iron atop of the stump. The criminal loosed a scream Liam would never forget before slipping back into unconsciousness. His flesh sizzled as it cauterized, filling the room with the smell of burnt skin.
Liam released the arm, putting a wrist to his mouth to hold back the vomit crawling up his throat. “Will you require me any further?”
“No, you may return to your duties, Private. He won’t wake up again after that.” Healer Woolsey laid the criminal’s hand flat on to the table. “Someone else will escort this gentleman to his cell for recuperation when he comes around.”
Almost tripping on his feet in an effort to retreat from the room, Liam made it to the fresh air outside the entrance of the dungeon in record time. He was sure his face was as white as the criminal’s had been once the iron was laid against him.
“Private Fulton, you’re to report to Sergeant Edwin at oh nine hundred.”
Liam pulled the pillow from his face. “What for? It’s my day off.”
“You don’t ask questions, Fulton. Show up in uniform.”
Sighing, Liam pulled himself out of bed. It was just like his higher-ups to give him only an hour’s notice. He shaved and dressed as quickly as he could, making it to Sergeant Edwin’s office ten minutes before his appointed time. “You wished to see me, sir?” Liam asked, standing at attention once he entered the office.
“Yes, Private Fulton, have a seat.”
He sat stiffly in front of his superior and waited for him to speak.
“You’re being promoted today, Fulton. From Private Class One to Private Class Two.”
“Aren’t those essentially the same rank, sir?”
“They are, but you have to reach all three classes before you can be promoted to Lance Corporal,” Sergeant Edwin told him.
“Is there something I’ve done to be rewarded with this?” Liam asked.
“Your exemplary work capturing the thief in the market the other day. Borodin recommended you.”
Surprise lit Liam’s face, his eyebrows raising. He wasn’t aware that Borodin liked him enough to recommend him for a promotion. “Thank you, sir.”
Sergeant Edwin handed him a new pin for his uniform and a medal to put on his rack. “Put these on your uniform before you report for duty in the morning.”
Liam put the new decorations in pocket. “Yes sir.”
“That will be all, Fulton. You may go.”
“Thank you, sir.” He stood and saluted before returning to his barracks. Liam replaced his rank insignias before he put away his uniform and put the medal on his dress uniform. He climbed back into bed, intending on sleeping the morning away. Liam grinned. It would be a good day.
Liam walked his way through the streets with his unit. The days were once again monotonous as he patrolled the streets for wrongdoers. The people of the city were hardworking and liked to go about their business as usual. They saw the same people every day, doing the same thing day in and day out. It would stay boring until there was another thief or Liam was moved to another division.
Pulling his hood over his head as it began to rain, Liam trudged forward. He was ready for the day to be over already. He nearly ran into Borodin when his leader paused. “What’s going on?”
“Aren’t those the ladies from the other day, Peale?” Borodin asked.
Peale squinted, looking at the group of women pointed out. “I believe so, sir.”
“What ladies?”
“We had to escort them home while you chased that thief.” Borodin rolled his eyes. “The one I had was an absolute snake.”
Liam let out a surprised laugh. “Oh?”
“All she wanted was to make her suitors jealous by making them think even a lowborn was preferred over them, the viper.”
“What of the one who was hurt? Was she all right?”
Peale shrugged. “She was pleasant enough—very unlike Borodin’s young noble. She kept apologizing for keeping me from my work and tried to send me away, saying she could escort herself home.”
“Are they all like the viper here?” Liam asked, still watching the young women. They had pestered a soldier of the Third from another unit into carrying them over the muddy river that formed in front of them.
“Mostly.” Borodin scoffed while he watched the man from Unit One struggle. “Poor Ragle. Should we help?”
Peale laughed. “If he was fool enough to offer, let him do it on his own.”
“Which one is the viper?” asked Liam.
“The one being carried now.”
Peale pointed to the one hiking her skirts to her shins. “That is the one who was hurt.”
“Lady Margaret, you will scandalize us all!” the Viper yelled at Lady Margaret as she skipped over the rivulet. “You put your skirts down!”
Liam could feel the eye roll from Lady Margaret where he stood. Once she was over the offending water, she dropped her skirts and waved a limp hand in the Viper’s direction.
“I pity the husband who tries to control her,” Liam said. A lady who would raise her skirts in public was certainly not one who would care what a husband had to say.
“If she can ever find a husband; she seems far from demure,” Peale countered.
Snapping his fingers, Borodin brought their attention back to him. “We have work to do. We need to stop standing around and gossiping like women.”
Standing up straighter, Peale said, “Yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” Liam echoed.
“Come along, then.” Borodin walked away.
Liam followed behind, glancing over his shoulder at the group of women. They were surrounding Lady Margaret, giving her some what for. He was tempted to turn around and help her, but she looked as though she could handle herself.