Free Firehurler (Twinborn Trilogy) by J.S. Morin

steel door with a small, closeable door set into it at
eye level. There were six bunks, three hanging from each of two opposing walls
and with little space between them in any direction. Once the door was locked,
the guard handed through the eye-level portal a key ring that would let them
unlock their manacles and unchain themselves. Failing to hand both the key and
chains back to the guard promptly, through the little door, was always cause
for a good punishment, and so the crews each learned to perform the nightly
ritual with admirable efficiency.
    With their chains removed and the guard having left
them locked in and to their own devices, the exhausted men relaxed. Each of
them climbed into their bunks, as there was little enough room elsewhere in the
cell, and collapsed gratefully onto the not-so-soft wooden planks. The room’s
stench told of years of sweat and blood soaked into the wood of those bunks and
to a lesser degree into the walls and floor, mixed with an entirely different
smell from a large bucket shoved back into the far corner of the room. It had
become home to them, welcoming only in comparison to the rest of the barren
rocky wasteland of New Hope. But in their cell at least, there was no one to
whip them for talking and no rocks to break. To the beleaguered prisoners, that
was enough.
    “Cap’n, how much longer we gots to wait?” asked one of
the men.
    The men of Denrik’s crew had taken to calling him
“Captain” as a sign of respect, for they found it seemed to improve his mood.
    “Not so much longer, Jimony, not long for this place
anyway. Just two more days. I have been counting them, and I do not lose track
… unlike some of you.”
    The last bit was a rare show of humor from their
taciturn leader, and it was met with a chorus of chuckles from his crew, except
for Tawmund, who was the butt of that particular jibe.
    “I can’t wait to sees the mainland again,” muttered
Jimony dreamily.
    Their captain had promised that he had a plan to get
them off the island and make them all free men again. He had told them few
details of it, though, except that it involved them getting as many of their
own crew members assigned to help unload the next supply ship as they were
able. Bribery was difficult, as the prisoners were allowed few personal
effects, but Denrik had managed something along those lines. Getting himself
appointed to a loading detail was out of the question, however; for while the
guards were careful to keep him away from sharp objects and anything that might
conceivably be made into a weapon, the warden had promised to personally hang
any guard “who lets Denrik Zayne within sight of any boat.”
    “Just keep playing their game, by their rules, until
their rules do not matter to us anymore,” Denrik said.
    He realized that he seemed unusually talkative this
night and in better spirits than normal. Thus his men took that to be his
well-concealed excitement over their impending escape.
    “Um, pardon me asking, Cap’n, but when we gettin’ to
find out the rest o’ yer plan? Um, I’m not meaning no dis-ree-spect or nothing,
but it’s just that we ain’t as smart like yerself, see. I mean, what if we’s taking
some time to learnin’ it all?” asked the largest of the group.
    “It is alright, Andur; you will do fine. You are all
well suited to the parts you will play. The difficult part will be my own, and
if I fail, all you need to do is nothing. You will never be suspected should
things go awry—um, wrong.”
    Denrik had to have a care how he spoke among his men.
There had been hard feelings and some ticklish situations that had come about
from them misinterpreting words they were unfamiliar with. Andur in particular
had become nearly frantic when he first heard that Denrik planned to see all of
them “emancipated.” He had promised to kill any man who tried “emancipating”
him.
    “Now enough about the plan,” Denrik said. “We do not
want to risk one of the guards