2Chapter Two:
They've taken me back to their camp, frog-marching me down some secret path, two of their horses dragging the motorcar behind. The leader, still holding the loose wheel in one hand, stops at the bottom of a low hill, watching as his men unhook the motorcar from their horses and push it into a large cavern. He turns to me, held at his side by one of his men.
"Tell me, why is a young woman traveling through the forest alone in a motorcar at this time of night?
I don't answer right away, terrified of the repercussions of any answer I might give. They haven't hurt me yet, but they haven't exactly been gentle with me either. If they knew who I am, would they try to ransom me back to my family? Or would they…use me?
"Hey, boss! Take a look at this!" One of the bandits emerges from the cave, lifting my bag of valuables. The belongings I stole from my own family. They scatter on the ground as the man upends the bag.
"Huh," the head bandit's eyes fix on the spoils. He beckons to his friend, the one who has me by the arms, and approaches. I stumble forward.
The boss crouches, absently picking through my things. "What's this? You a thief too?"
One man picks up the silver frame, his eyes glossing over the photo to examine the frame itself. "Looks like solid silver, boss."
"Looks like our little thief picked up quite a few valuables." He stands and turns to me again. "What's your name, girl?"
There's no point in lying, I suppose. "Orielle."
"Mm." He traces the smooth curve of his mustache as he regards me. "Well, Orielle, you've a few options now. We'll be relieving you of your loot, sorry to say, but we can take you to the nearest village in the morning and let you send for someone to take you home. Or we can leave you on the road with enough food and supplies to get you anywhere you wish to go, within reason. But the valuables stay with us. Won't do you much good anyway, except to weigh you down, and you seem like you're in a bit of a hurry."
"And the motorcar?"
"She stays with us. You don't want to be caught roaming around in somebody else's motorcar anyway, do you?"
"She stays, I stay."
The men stop rummaging through my loot and stare at their boss.
He laughs incredulously. "Stay? You? With us?"
"Why not? I can steal, obviously. And the motorcar won't be a damn good to you if you don't know how to run it and maintain it."
"Then we sell it," the man responds with a shrug.
"No!"
The man holding me pulls me back with a painful jerk, but the boss raises his hand. "Let her go, Gerard."
"You sure?"
"Do it, please."
Gerard releases me reluctantly.
"You know how to run that vehicle?" the bandit leader asks.
"Yes. I can even fix her up with proper tools."
"And you wouldn't mind roughing it out here in the woods? No special treatment, mind you. You'd be hunting and foraging and robbing with the rest of us. Sleeping on the ground, taking turns with meals and washing up, keeping watch."
"I'll do it," I assure him. "You won't regret it, I promise. I know how to work." I hold out my hand.
The man regards me for a minute. A moment later, he takes my hand and shakes it firmly. "We have a deal then."
He looks at the others, some still rummaging, some starting coffee over a fire nearby. Dawn has already begun to illuminate the trees in a foggy blue light.
"You hear that, men? We have a new recruit. I trust you'll show her the ropes, and in return—" he turns back to me "—no backtalk, no troublemaking. My men and I won't hurt you or threaten you, but we expect respect."
"Yes, sir."
He smiles. "Pike'll do just fine."
Pike. A strange name for a strange man. The other bandits are grizzled and weather-beaten, missing teeth and eyes and limbs, ground down by years of struggle. Pike dresses just like them in well-worn and mismatched clothes, his complexion just as rough and ruddy as theirs, but he moves differently, tall and erect, light on his feet. He's clean-cut and coiffed—his thick dark hair might be a touch unruly, but it's combed, and his moustache has been groomed into two neat, symmetrical curls.
He's older than I first thought, too. His face is youthful, cheerful even, but there's a dusting of gray at his temples, and lines in the corners of his eyes and mouth. His eyes are a striking blue, sharp and quick to observe.
Gerard is his second in command, if I'm to guess by the authority he takes with the others. He's young and fair, but much more serious, frowning as he trails Pike around the camp.
I notice all this as I sip at a cup of coffee, crouched by the fire. It's the only thing to keep me from focusing on the stares I receive from bandits that come and go. The camp bustles with activity around me, while I simply sit and try to ground myself in this new situation.
"Slow morning?" a gruff voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
I look up at a large, grizzled old bandit, most of his face obscured behind a hoary tangle of hair.
"Was told you'd need a job today. You ever been hunting?"
"Ah…sort of?"
He holds up a crossbow, a mean-looking weapon of heavy wood and steel, strung with a cord almost as thick as my little finger. "Ever use one of these?"
I shake my head.
"Didn't think so." He pulls a knife from his belt and tosses it into the ground at my feet. "Then you'll need this." He turns and stalks away without looking back to see if I'm following.
I feel compelled to follow.
"And don't even think of trying to shiv me," he calls back. "I'll break your arm."
"Got it."
The man turns, frowning at me for a moment. "The name's Dorian. Don't wear it out."
"Yep."
"You don't talk much," he notes, making his way swiftly through the trees.
"Do you want me to talk more?" I puff behind him.
"Nah. Quiet's good."
I spend a good part of the morning following him through the damp woods, crouching and stumbling, but mostly just trying to keep up. I'm in my most practical outfit—riding boots and driving trousers, loose around the thighs and fitted at the knee, sheepskin coat for warmth—but I still struggle to follow Dorian. Just as I'm wondering how long he'll keep this pace up, he stops suddenly, and I nearly crash into him.
"Down," he whispers so quietly I can barely hear him.
I crouch as he takes a knee and aims.
I don't even see the rabbit until it squeals and leaps into the air, twisting in agony, pierced by one of Dorian's black arrows.
He looks at me expectantly. "Well? Finish it."
I glance down at the knife in my hand. The rabbit writhes on the ground, blood foaming from its mouth, eyes wide with fright. A moan shudders its way from my throat. "Sorry." The blade is sharp, at least, cutting smoothly through the creature's throat.
I carry it back to Dorian, who lashes it to his belt.
Three more rabbits and a wild turkey, and slowly morning turns to afternoon.
Dorian squints up at the sky, then glances at me. I sway a little, thirsty and exhausted.
"Here." He tosses a canteen at me.
I barely manage to catch it. While I twist it open and take a long draw of lukewarm, leathery water, Dorian leans against a tree and picks the dirt from under his fingernails.
"This'll do," he tells me. "We'll head back now." My excitement wanes when he adds, "Camp should only be about an hour back."
It's a long hour, but there's food at the fire when we return, a thick venison stew that I eat off the pot lid, my fingers dripping with gravy. What it lacks in flavor is made up for by the full feeling in my belly.
"Got you supplies." I look up and catch a glimpse of Gerard before a blanket hits me in the face. A bedroll lands in my lap. Both items have a vague, pungent odor. "Boss says we'll find you a mess kit soon. Till then you'll have to make do."
"Thanks."
"Yep." He nods and leaves.
I notice some of the other bandits reclining, playing dice, or humming softly, or just closing their eyes. My head is fuzzy, eyes stinging from lack of sleep. I'm still not sure what to make of this new situation, but a good night of sleep sounds like a good start.
Carrying my blanket and bedroll, I make my way toward the cave. A small group of men sits around a fire near the back, laughing about something. I turn to my motorcar, quietly tucked into a corner of the cavern.
I stroke her dusty exterior as I climb into the back seat and lie across it, tucking the bedroll behind my head. The seat isn't long enough for me to stretch out, but I could probably sleep standing up at this point. Bent knees won't kill me.
I barely manage to close my eyes when somebody slaps the side of the motorcar.
"Busy day?"
My eyes crack open. Pike leans against the motorcar, chin resting on the door.
"Yep," I answer, closing my eyes again.
"You thinking of running yet?"
"Can't. You hid the wheel."
"You know you could leave without the motorcar."
"No."
He chuckles softly. "You certainly are attached to this thing."
The motorcar creaks and dips, and I open my eyes just as Pike hops in the front seat. He turns. "All right, tell me the truth, girl. Where'd you come from, and what were you doing out in the forest last night?"
I sit up reluctantly. It doesn't seem like he's going to leave without answers. "Can I trust you?"
Pike shrugs. "Probably."
"That's very reassuring."
"Let me guess, you're a runaway."
I frown at him. "What gives you that idea?"
"Your loot? Not all of it's valuable. Costume jewelry, and such. So you have an amateur eye. And you seem to be fairly familiar with this motorcar, which leads me to believe that you didn't just steal it. Your hands are soft, your clothes are nondescript enough, but the material is fine, and you speak like you're well-bred."
"Alright, yes, I left home."
"Why?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"That's fine. We've all got pasts we don't share here. Just make sure it doesn't get in the way of your work. You're welcome to stay, you're welcome to leave, but if you stay, you contribute."
"I know."
Pike sighs. I meet his gaze.
"What?"
"You're a strange girl, just up and joining a band of thieves," he notes.
"I don't have anywhere else to go. You took my things and hid the wheel to my motorcar. So."
The ends of Pike's mustache rise, his mouth curling in a smile. "So," he echoes.
My eyes close without permission. The motorcar creaks and shifts, Pike's feet hitting the ground.
"Sleep well, Orielle. Tomorrow's another day."
I barely hear him leave.