Volume Nine
Chapter Fourteen
Back
on Track
In which Dodger plays the Traitor
Dodger
opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Not the sky, or a canopy of green,
or even a layer of fog or utter darkness. No, it was a proper ceiling, though it
was dark and dingy and leaking some kind of liquid from more than one spot. He
sat up, holding his groan to himself since he wasn’t sure if he was alone.
Dodger glanced around the dim room, his sorrowful eyes landing on a row of bars
that made up most of the wall to his left. No windows. No doors. A pair of
pitiful, sputtering torches lit the place as best they could. It wasn’t much
light, but it was enough to illuminate a depressing fact.
A
room with no windows and no doors with a wall made of bars equaled only one
thing.
“A
cell,” he whispered. “I’m in a damned cell?”
“Might
as well shout it,” someone to his right said. “No one’s gonna hear you either
way. Save me, of course.”
Dodger
sat up and brushed down his clothes—still all black, though the gun belt was
gone. As was his hat. “And who is me?”
The
speaker giggled. “Boy, you’re in pretty poor shape if you don’t know who you
are.” He giggled again.
There
was an undeniable madness in that giggle. Dodger had heard that kind of laugh
before. It was the crazy kind of giggle from a man who had seen, and probably
done, far too much. A special kind of crazy that made Dodger wish there was
another wall of bars between them. Dodger was also forced to ask himself who or
what the crazy old coot represented in Sarah’s troubled mind.
“Yeah,”
Dodger said as he got to his feet. “Must’ve hit my head when they threw me in
here.”
“I
bet you’re surprised they locked you up,” the giggler said. “I bet you thought
they would’ve thrown you a party, considering who you are.”
“Why?
Who am I?”
That
set the stranger to guffawing like there was no tomorrow. Dodger leaned against
the bars, crossed his arms and waited patiently for the man to stop laughing.
The giggler in the shadows eventually settled down once more, his laughter
dimming to a soft chuckle.
“Let’s
try this again,” Dodger said. “Who do you think I am?”
“Better,”
the man said. “Much better. You learn fast.”
“Then
educate me a bit more, if you please.”
Another
giggle. “Woowee, and so polite. Maybe you ain’t who they say you is.”
“Which
is?”
“The
traitor.”
Dodger
pushed away from the wall, the man’s words taking him by surprise. “A traitor?
Are you certain?”
“Not
just a traitor,” the laughing man said. “The Traitor. You’re the one who told
King Rex where the Princess was hiding. Ain’tcha?”
“King
Rex?” Dodger asked, unable to hide the mounting surprise in his voice.
“I
know. He says we best as well get used to calling him that. Now that he has the
Prince and Princess under his control, all hope for the kingdom is gone.
Especially since Sir Rodger is behind bars, too.”
“I
didn’t tell anyone where to find the princess. She wasn’t hiding anywhere. In
fact, we were on our way back to rescue the prince.”
“Yup.
That’s the same story you told King Rex. Or so they say. I understand he
promised to pay you handsomely. And now here you are with me. Locked away for
all eternity.”
“This
doesn’t make any sense. If I helped Rex, why-”
“King
Rex,” the man corrected Dodger.
Dodger
sighed. “Fine. If I helped King Rex, then why would he toss me in a cell like
this? I thought he’d want a man like that at his right hand. Or at the very
least, left.”
The
stranger shifted in the shadows, coming closer to Dodger. “Are you kidding? You
sold out a little girl. That is pretty low, even by the new King’s standards. How
can anyone trust you now? As they say, once a traitor, always a traitor.”
As
the man started up with the laughing again, Dodger pondered his precarious
situation. Could he have betrayed his friends? The old Dodger sure would have,
and Tyler Crank? Heck, you’d have to pay him not to betray someone, because
he’d double cross his own mother just to see the look on the woman’s face. It
was in that man’s blood to turn on his brother. And now here sat Dodger, playing
the role of that man he had grown to hate. Perhaps Sarah’s subconscious sensed
Dodger’s guilt for living such a foul life for so many years, and wrote that
guilt into her imaginary play. Or maybe Rex had set this up all along, so the
waking Sarah would never trust the real Dodger.
Either
way, it was up to Dodger to break both of those chains, as well as a cell door.
Dodger
grabbed the cell bars and shook them as hard has he could.
“Won’t
do no good,” the stranger said. “I’ve tried everything. We are never getting
out of here.”
“Yes,
we are,” Dodger said.
He
shook the bars again, focusing on the bottom set of hinges, and the way they
shifted with each shake. Dodger backed away from the bars and eyed the cell
around him. A rusted pair of ancient shackles lay in one corner, bolted to the
wall. Dodger snatched up the shackles and yanked on them. They pulled away with
ease.
“Come
up here and hold the door still,” Dodger said as he returned to the cell bars.
“What
was that?” the man asked.
“Come
and hold the door. I can knock the pins out, but I need both hands.”
“What?
I didn’t quite catch that command.”
Dodger
let out a soft sigh. “Please come and hold the door?”
“That’s
more like it. Young folks can be so rude these days.”
When
the giggler moved into the torchlight, Dodger lost his ire and felt doubly
sorry for the stranger. The poor man was older than the hills, with long gray
hair and a matching long beard. He had almost wasted away, his belly so gaunt
it drew concave with each breath under his thin, filthy clothes. The fellow
stooped in his shuffle, taking each step with measured care. Eventually, the
old man made it to the bars, where he grabbed the door with his gnarled hands
and held on.
Using
the cuff as a hammer, Dodger easily knocked the bottom pin out of the hinge,
then set to working on the top hinge. “What are you in here for?”
“You
know,” the man said, letting out a soft giggle, “I’ve been down here so long, I
don’t really remember.”
“Must’ve
been pretty bad.”
“You
mean like betraying my comrades?”
Dodger
grumbled under his breath, “Or your conscience.”
“What
was that?”
“Nothing.”
After
Dodger knocked out the top pin, he shifted the weight of the bars onto his own
shoulders. It was heavy, but nothing he couldn’t handle for a few feet. He
staggered with the thing to the back wall, where he placed it on the floor as
quietly as he could. When he turned about again, the older man was already
standing outside of the cell, stretching his arms and cracking his back.
“Feels
good to be outside of that thing at last,” the man said.
“I’ll
bet,” Dodger said. “Do you know anything about this place?”
The
geezer held his hand up and wiggled it back and forth. “A bit. I used to know
it like the back of my hand.” He glanced down at his hand with a grunt.
“Another age spot? When did that get there?”
“Not
to worry. I’m sure the others aren’t very far.”
“Others?
You mean your fellow ruffians and neredowells?”
“If
by ruffians you mean Sir Rodger, then yes.” Dodger didn’t give the man a chance
to argue the point. He just tucked the shackle into his shirt and took off down
the hallway.
“Hang
on now,” the man yelled after him. “Give an old man a chance to catch up.”
Dodger
slowed in his steps, but only a little. If the old fart wanted to travel with
the likes of Dodger then he would just have to keep up of his own accord.
Dodger didn’t have time to wait around for an old timer to make his way along.
The
hallway turned out to be a twisting maze of empty cells and dead ends. Dodger
raced back and forth, this way and that, doubling back past the old man several
times. All the while, the stranger shuffled along, aimlessly, as if he didn’t
have a care in the world or a better place to be at that moment in time. This
lackadaisical attitude infuriated Dodger. He didn’t have the benefit of apathy
or insanity. He needed to find the others and get this whole thing back on
track before the real Rex destroyed everything. Dodger crisscrossed the
labyrinth for another half hour or so before he came close to admitting defeat.
“I
don’t think we are ever going to find our way out of here,” Dodger said.
“Sure
we are,” the man said. He shuffled past Dodger and pulled on a sputtering
torch.
With
a soft grind, the torch slid forward and an opening appeared beside Dodger.
Dodger
leaned over and stared into the hole. “When were you planning on telling me
that was there?”
“When
you stopped running around like a fool chicken missing your head. There is only
one way to solve any problem.”
“Stop
and think,” Dodger and the older man said at the same time.
It
was then that Dodger finally recognized the aged and tired face of his own
mentor. He wanted to shout out with joy, to dance and sing, to hug the old
geezer and this time never let the man go. But he knew such actions were
useless. The man was nothing more than a phantom. Here stood the ghost of
Aloysius Jackson. Regardless of what he looked like, or acted like, this man
wasn’t the real Al, no more than Dodger was the real Tyler Crank.
“What’s
gotten into you, son?” Al asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Nothing,”
Dodger said as he realized he was staring at the old man. “I’m just more tired
than I thought.”
“I
would guess so, with all that crazy running around. Come on then, let’s get
back to your friends.”
“Yes,
sir.”
Dodger
followed Al into the opening. The pair of men scurried along the tunnel for a
few thousand feet, feeling along in the utter darkness until a pinpoint of
light faded in from the other end.
“There,”
Al said as he stopped to catch his breath. “That light up ahead. If I remember
correctly, that’s the main cell where they hold the regular prisoners.”
“Regular?”
Dodger asked. “What did that make us?”
Al
winked. “Special.”
“I
don’t know if I like the sound of that.”
“I
thought you might, considering the best thing about being special is that no
one ever comes to check on ya. So no one will miss us.”
“You’re
right. In that case, I’m pleased to be considered special.”
In
a soft voice, Al asked, “Is your conscience pleased as well?”
Dodger
almost did a double take in the darkness. “What did you just say?”
“Me?”
Al asked in a louder voice. “I didn’t say nothing. You must be hearin’ things.
Let’s go and find those friends of yours before you start talking to yourself.”
Dodger
fell in behind Al once more, wondering if there was more to this phantom of a
memory than met the imaginary eye.
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