Being on the overseer's business gave Prig a measure of respect no other inmate could earn, and he made certain to flaunt it every time my appointment was due. I never felt as vulnerable as I did when I was marched through the main cavern. So many eyes watching me, it made my skin itch, although that could have been the lice. It made me glad that Josef thought to hack off my hair. At a distance, covered in grime and sweat, I might have passed for a boy, though closer up there was no mistaking my breasts. Still, when Prig marched me to my interrogation, I was untouchable. No one would dare make me late for my appointment.
Prig led me right through the centre of the main chamber, through the Trough where us scabs were fed, and through the Hill where all Deko's captains and foremen gathered about and congratulated each other on being cunts. It was not truly a hill and not raised in any way, but those in charge named it thus. No scab was allowed to climb to the Hill without permission. I saw the very worst humanity had to offer every time Prig dragged me through the Hill. Deko did not pick his captains based on good nature but on their ability to brutalise and instil terror into his subjects. I learned a lot from Deko even before I had the pleasure of meeting him.
There were six wooden lifts around the main cavern and Prig always used the same one. He knew the operator and they chatted and laughed together as I stood meekly by, waiting for my parade to continue. I hated the way Prig's friend looked at me. I was still a girl and he was long since grey, but he stared at me with such lust I felt myself redden, heat making me ashamed. It wasn't lust or desire that brought such heat on in me, but disgust. Disgust that such a loathsome man might be thinking of my body. A thousand painful deaths would never be enough for that arsehole.
"She clearly wants me," Prig's friend said, licking his lips, his nostrils flaring.
There was very little I wanted less, but voicing that opinion wouldn't have earned me anything but a beating, and my arms were still bruised from holding the marker for the fourth day in a row. They felt almost boneless and I was fairly certain the bandages Hardt had given me were the only things holding me together.
"Fuck you!" I spat in defiance of my own decision to say nothing. Prig raised a hand and I scurried back a couple of steps out of reach. I hated myself for showing fear.
"That'd be the point," Prig's friend said, staring at me with a greedy intensity. Arsehole!
"Don't think the overseer wants her soiled." Prig liked to mention the overseer whenever he had the chance, and that was often. "Maybe he wants her all for himself." Prig punctuated the statement by grabbing his crotch and both men laughed. I have noticed men often like to touch their cocks for little reason, or draw them on any surface they can find. We lived in a prison, deep underground where the only light was from lanterns, and yet there wasn't a single stretch of tunnel that didn't have at least one crude drawing of a penis scrawled upon it like a signature.
"Lucky bastard," said Prig's friend, still eyeing me in a way that sent a crawling sensation over my skin. There is a way some men can look at a woman such that it makes them feel dirty even when they are clean, uncomfortable in their own skin. Back then I had no choice but to suffer the indignity. I am pleased to admit I no longer suffer such stares.
"Did you see Yorin's fight?" Prig asked.
His friend laughed. "Saw him push in Arst's fucking eyeballs. Never thought I'd hear a man scream like that."
They both had a laugh at that. Two men laughing over the brutal killing of another. I have often wondered if the Pit made them cruel, or simply allowed them to stop hiding their true natures. Are we all just monsters waiting for the opportunity to show it?
"I should go. Don't want to make the overseer's fun late," Prig said
His friend grunted. "You coming back for some cards later?"
"You better save me a chair," Prig said even as his friend started working the wheel. The mechanisms began to turn and the lift started rising into the air. It wobbled at first and I almost fell. There were no railings to hold onto and more than one inmate had plummeted to their death since I had been in the Pit. By the end of my time in there I even saw a man thrown from high up on one of the rickety devices, and I also saw the pile of mushy flesh and bone he was reduced to. "I still have to nail that cheating slug, Rekka, to the wall," Prig shouted over the sounds of the mechanism thunking as it lifted us into the air.
We were going a long way up, to the third level of the Pit. It was the closest to the surface I would get, though still not close enough to see any sunlight. I didn't even know if it was day or night outside. Inmates functioned on Pit time. I sometimes think part of the point was to make us forget what real light looked like. Perhaps it was about making us forget how to be terran, reduce us to little more than beasts. The lift was not fast and I had plenty of time to watch the great cavern sink below us.
"Ahh!" Prig shouted, stamping a foot towards me. I jumped, startled by the outburst. Prig laughed then, snorting and chuckling to himself as he turned and ignored me once more. I felt my cheeks redden again, ashamed that I had let him scare me so. Shit-gobbling arse-stain! I definitely hated Prig most of all.
With his back turned, Prig could no longer see me. He was staring out at the cavern, hacking up some phlegm to spit down onto anyone passing below, making sport of others' misery. I crept closer to him on silent feet, stilling my breath and keeping my eyes fixed on his back. In just a few steps I was right behind him, close enough to reach out and push. We were a good distance up and the fall would be enough to kill a man. Prig would scream as he plummeted to his death, and I would watch. But I didn't do it.
It was not that I had never killed before. True, the battle of Orran was my first real taste of war, the only time I ever fought for my kingdom, and it was true that the battle had been cut short by Orran's surrender. But I had killed. I summoned hellions to swarm units of soldiers. I rained down fiery death on advancing cavalry. Up on the highest tower of Fort Vernan I froze a woman, a fellow Sourcerer, solid and then shattered her into so many pieces a master puzzologist would need to spend three lifetimes putting her back together.
I had killed before, but this time felt different. It was more personal. The times before, I had not known those I killed. Not their names nor their faces, nor anything about them other than they were fighting for the Terrelans. I knew Prig. I hated Prig, but I knew him. The realisation made me hesitate. Perhaps if I had had longer to come to terms with it, I would have pushed him, sent him screaming to his death. I know for certain that I wouldn't have hesitated even a moment these days. Age has made me more callous in many ways.
I can be quite intense sometimes. I have seen enemies pale from my gaze, friends rally, and I've seen lovers fluster. Never underestimate the power of eye contact.
Prig glanced over his shoulder at me. I was just an arm's reach away and staring so intently. He jumped, fear and shock mingling in his shit-coloured eyes. I saw that fear for just a moment before the back of his hand caught my face. Pain erupted and blood filled my mouth. I found myself on the floor of the lift. Prig was pacing back and forth shouting, though what he said is lost to me. There's little like a good backhand to scatter the senses. He was furious, lashing his leather whip and screaming at me, his face red even beneath the grime. He was still shouting when the lift bumped to a stop at the third level. Prig stormed towards me then, hauling me to my feet and pushing me along in front of him. I had a bruised cheek and bloody lip, but Prig had learned not to turn his back on me. Prig had learned to fear me. I counted it a worthwhile exchange.