Riddik's Story: Escape

Though Equine Construct Thirty-Two did not expect to see Twenty-Eight tonight, while he rested in the Couriers Wayhouse in the capitol city from his latest delivery, he did hope that the clever cat would show up. It had been nearly three weeks-- twenty-six dull, unhappy days, to be exact-- since he'd been off duty for more than a day, and twice that since he'd spent that time of rest in a place where Twenty-Eight could find him. He knew, though, that Twenty-Eight was in the capitol city tonight, because he knew that the wen Aranou delegation wanted to see their rare-- unique, even-- Winged Construct One.

Or, as Twenty-Eight called him, Riddik. Who had simply appeared out of the wen Bushau mage labs one day, six years ago, with so little pre-advertising that he took the warlords and nobility entirely by surprise when the mages started trotting him out to rent out to the highest bidder. It had been even bigger news to discover that the usual geases didn't work on him, making him both more dangerous and more valuable, and positively scandalous when he killed a mage and his wen Delanau Binder in an attempt to escape. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but Thirty-Two was glad that whole mess had happened-- well, really, it was selfish of him; he shouldn't be glad that anyone had died, even a mage-- because for whatever reason, One-- Riddik-- helped Twenty-Eight to see him whenever he could.

That didn't mean he had to like the winged construct, though. He was grateful for him, but he made Thirty-Two decidedly nervous. Of course, as Twenty-Eight would say, everything made him nervous. Nervous or angry. Everything except Twenty-Eight, himself-- and not just because of his powers, either. He didn't really know why he was so attached to Twenty-Eight; the cat wasn't exactly a pleasant individual, prone to mocking others-- including Thirty-Two-- and manipulation-- also including Thirty-Two, though he liked to think it for the better, in his case. Worse, he possessed a lack of empathy so profound it bordered on being sociopathic, even more so because he could sense emotions, he just couldn't seem to connect with them in others. Even so, the days when he visited and spent the night in the private stall were the best in Thirty-Two's generally unhappy life.

So, he rather hoped he'd see Twenty-Eight before he was assigned a new message to carry or a new route to run, in a few days. He'd have to try hard not be disappointed if the cat was too busy to make it, though he probably wouldn't bother trying not to be angry at the mages who kept him away. If only he could kick something....

It made things better all around, then, when he caught the soft shuffle of feline paws on herb-strewn wood. He recognized the stealthy sound, and perked his long ears hopefully.

::You look so expectant,:: the familiar, slithery voice said in his mind, and he smiled, a few of his gems lighting up faintly. Before he could do more than open his mouth to answer, Twenty-Eight spoke again, oddly sharply, ::Don't speak. Turn those off. Quickly, now!::

Surprised, he shut his mouth again and let the light die down, not even considering disobeying. He could see Twenty-Eight's golden eyes in the dim light, reflecting with the dim fire in the far end of the room. The only other construct in their segregated portion of the Wayhouse was sound asleep, worn out entirely from a hard run that afternoon-- and even if she hadn't been, Twenty-Eight would have made her so bored and indifferent that she probably would have nodded off. Thirty-Two, at least, had slept already, in anticipation for a visitor once the sun went down.

::Don't be alarmed,:: Twenty-Eight continued more gently, ::but I have someone with me.::

Throwing his head up in surprise, Thirty-Two caught sight of another pair of reflective eyes in the darkness-- at slightly higher than person-height. Someone who, his eyes only for Twenty-Eight, he hadn't seen. Who, he realized as his gems brightened instinctively again, he knew-- he feared--

"You didn't--" he whispered, strangled, feeling inexplicably betrayed that Twenty-Eight would bring him, into the Wayhouse, when they hadn't seen each other in weeks, months-- feeling suddenly terrified of them both, unsure of what they were doing, what was going on-- what if he decided to be violent, what if he slipped his bonds--

No... no, he was being silly, he realized slowly. If Twenty-Eight had brought someone, even the winged construct, he surely had a reason. It wasn't anything to get upset over.

::Keep quiet, it's all right,:: Twenty-Eight soothed as the winged construct knelt in front of the stall door and began fiddling with the latch. One tentacle snaked over his back to brush the flexible fingers at the end over his muzzle, and he shut his eyes with a sigh, nuzzling against the soft touch. ::That's good, that's better. Just keep quiet.::

"What... what's happening?" he asked slowly, tiredly.

::Hush. We have a plan. It's important for you to not draw attention to yourself, to us.::

"A... plan?" What would he need a plan for? He would come, he would stay the night and purr and cuddle up next to him, he would slip out in the morning before the stall-boys woke to find him there. As always. Why would that need a plan?

The flicker of confusion died again, and though he finally recognized Twenty-Eight's aura, he couldn't care enough to be upset with him. ::Didn't I tell you to hush? A plan to get us out of here. Someplace else-- someplace safe.::

That stirred his interest again, just a little, to fight the soporific aura. "Safe?"

::No mages,:: Twenty-Eight's voice purred in his mind. ::No warlords. No battles. Somewhere we'll be free.::

Free. Free sounded nice. No mages sounded better. No warlords and no battles sounded best of all. He shut his eyes again, letting Twenty-Eight stroke his face with his tentacles and waiting, thinking drowsily about freedom.

"He'll be good?" the Winged Construct's deep voice asked.

"He won't care enough to be bad," Twenty-Eight promised.

"And you'll keep that under control?" Suspicion.

"I'm not jeopardizing our chances at getting out of here by putting your mind to sleep. I have more than enough control to keep it contained."

"Good." The latch clicked. "Get him out."

Thirty-Two followed the pressure on his chin and nose obediently as the door swung open for him. His head drooped against long, soft fur, breath tasting of the familiar scent of cat, and he didn't care about the heavy weight settling on his back, the legs on either side of his shoulders or the tail brushing across his haunches. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, not even leaving the Wayhouse and its comfort and warmth. Not even being asked to run again. Twenty-Eight was there; everything would be fine.

Though it was odd that Twenty-Eight and his rider kept him from running on the paved streets, and instead drove him across lawns and through gardens. He didn't care, really, but in a vague, disinterested way, he knew it was odd.

Then when they let him rest and his rider vanished, leaving him alone with Twenty-Eight, that wasn't odd or even disinteresting, at all. He nuzzled into the cat's tentacle-shoulders and down his back, nipping idly at his long mane. Twenty-Eight even purred a little, though he did comment dryly, "You're supposed to be indifferent, not affectionate."

"I don't see you complaining," Thirty-Two replied absently, because Twenty-Eight was purring, and even arching his back in an invitation to keep nibbling along his spine.

Twenty-Eight coughed and pointedly silenced his purr, though that didn't stop him from answering. ::Yes, well. It was just an observation. You probably should get a hold of yourself. Riddik will be back any minute, and then what will you do?::

"Kick him," Thirty-Two suggested. Twenty-Eight snorted his disbelief, but leaned against his legs, anyway and coiled a tail over his back. The cat seemed rather more affectionate than usual, himself, especially for being outside and possibly-- though not likely-- findable. His purr was strangely tight, wild, strained, and the tentacle coiled around his leg was tight. It was almost as if he were afraid--

Oh, no, he was not going to think that. That wasn't even Twenty-Eight's power siphoning away worrisome thoughts. He simply refused to believe that the smaller construct could be susceptible to something like fear. That would be like thinking the ground would no longer hold him, or the air would no longer work in his lungs.

When Winged Construct One got back, he had other things to worry about than whether Twenty-Eight felt things like fear. The ambassador's building-- Twenty-Eight's indifference had slipped enough, distracted as he was, that Thirty-Two recognized the place; he didn't care, still, but for different reasons at the time-- had just given a tremendous rumble, like the sound of an earthquake, or an airship taking off, and both of them stared at it in surprise. Thirty-Two's surprise was more afraid, but Twenty-Eight's tail stroking his back was a little soothing. He didn't bolt, anyway.

"What was that?" he whispered, ears flat back with nerves.

"Riddik," Twenty-Eight answered briefly, eyes narrowed on the massive building. There was another terrible rumbling and a cloud of dust rose from the other side, obscuring the stars. Twenty-Eight's voice was unusually hushed as he said, "He must have succeeded...."

"Succeeded?" Thirty-Two asked quaveringly. "Succeeded at what?"

Twenty-Eight leaned against his legs again, purring. "Our distraction. Get ready."

"Ready?"

"To go."

"Go??"

Twenty-Eight made an exasperated noise, but he did stretch up to lick the end of his nose. ::Hush.::

He only had time for a brief, mingled happiness and fond irritation before Twenty-Eight's heavy, unshakable apathy enveloped him again, and he stopped caring. This time, there were no thoughts about oddness, and he didn't really even pay attention to where they were going. Twenty-Eight's familiar tail led him, and he hardly noticed his heavy, smelly rider, or the sound of the Ursine Construct packs running through the city. If they were baying at them, perhaps he might have cared, but since they weren't, he didn't.

Nothing was worth worrying or caring about except following the Feline Construct until his hooves hit something strange and metal-sounding, his rider launched himself off his back, and Twenty-Eight skidded to a stop. Then he shook himself, free of the emotional blinkering, looking around with wide eyes. "What-- what is this?"

"Airship," Twenty-Eight said abruptly, tails lashing in uncharacteristic emotion. Winged Construct One was leaping up some rickety-looking metal stairs towards a seat and a window.

There was a dead body falling in his wake. And another just two outside the airship, on the ground. Thirty-Two shied violently away from both, crowding Twenty-Eight against the wall and whimpering. He still felt heavy, still felt confused, but now he also felt utterly terrified.

"Hold on to something!" One's voice drifted back at them.

"Hold on to what?" Twenty-Eight called back, but his tentacles snaked out to grab onto anything he could get a hold of, including Thirty-Two, who could do nothing but back himself into a corner and shudder. Dead people. There were dead people-- mages, nobles, simple peasants, he didn't know-- dead people on this airship with them.

And, he realized belatedly, there was also a little girl still astride him, clinging to his neck.

This night just kept getting worse.