The food often reminded Dexter of what lay in the shallow waste-hole, offering little in the way of nourishment, taste, or a desire to eat it. In spite of the conditions Dexter had a light heart and endured it well.
Fights broke out daily. Sometimes a result of overcrowding and tempers but more often they were centered around a blond elven woman. It was unusual to find a lone elf in Federation space, especially a woman. Dexter found it less unusual to see that her attitude was big enough to stretch all the way back to the Elven Empire. Dexter did his best to stay out of the conflicts; he avoided the elf because elves were trouble.
Why else would the elves have their own empire and be at odds more often than not with the Federation? He could only assume she was a spy, tossed in jail either to await a public hanging or simply to rot away. By the time twelve days had passed he had seen enough of the brutal beatings and her valiant attempts at fending off the beasts. Each fight ended with the attacker on the floor, beaten. The elf stood above, her knuckles cracked and bleeding but the glare in her eyes keeping those still conscious from daring to rise.
The twelfth day brought a change to the bizarre ritual. Three thugs were thrown into the cell and everyone knew enough to keep their distance. Left to their own devices, they noticed the elf and whispered among one another with malicious glances in her direction. That night they made their move, attacking her. She broke the nose of one and snapped the wrist of another before they finally succeeded where others had failed. One held her while another beat her to the point of unconscious. The third one, the one with the broken nose, ripped her shirt and displayed her for his amusement, then yanked down her pants and untied his own breeches.
Angry at the unfair treatment of the woman, Dexter intervened. His fist smashed into the back of the broken-nosed man’s neck. The ruffian dropped like a bag of wheat to the stone floor and before he could recover, Dexter drove his foot into the man’s ribs. Dexter winced at the ironic pain in his own unhealed ribs from the force of the assault.
He turned to the other two and stared at them, breathing heavily. “Lots of men tried to have their fun with her, and she’s beat every one of them down. You want her, you can have her, but you go one on one to see what she thinks of you first.”
Fresh life flared into the elf. She struggled anew and smashed her head back into the face of the man holding her, breaking his nose as well. She twisted away from him and punched the other man in the throat, nearly crushing his windpipe. He stumbled backwards against the wall grasping his throat and forcing harsh breaths through his constricted airway. She turned to the man behind her and drew back her fist. Dexter caught it before she threw the punch. “I think he’s found something better to interest him.”
The man nodded, blood gushing over his chin and shirt. He pinched his nose to stem the bleeding and stumbled away. A few of the other prisoners he tripped over cursed at him.
The elven warrior woman stared at him for a long moment and then yanked her hand free of his. She impressed him with her strength and her beauty, even if it was a bit bruised and bloodied at the moment. Dexter turned away from her respectfully when she reached to pull her pants back up and retie them.
Fingers pinched painfully into the back of his neck and he inhaled sharply. The surprise turned quickly to pain as the pressure increased and it took every bit of willpower he had to keep his knees from buckling
“Never turn your back on me,” she said, her common only slightly accented.
“Sorry,” Dexter hissed, holding up his hands.
She let go after a final squeeze and he turned to face her, rubbing the sore spots on his neck. “Just trying to be a gentleman,” he said, scanning her now covered form.
She tied the tattered ends of her shit in a knot under her breast bone, the front open to the plunge, revealing a pleasant curve of cleavage despite her slight chest. “You’re not, so don’t.”
Dexter raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. He nodded. “Fair enough. Dexter Silvercloud’s the name.”
She looked at his offered hand a long moment then at last shook it. Again Dexter was impressed with her grip. Her hands were callused too, the hands of a warrior.
“How long you here?” he asked her, moving back towards a wall. The gasping thug regained his breath enough to scamper away from them. The other thug, remained unconscious on the floor.
“I’m to be tried for espionage,” she said, as if that explained it all.
“Espionage?” Dexter asked, surprised that his fanciful imaginings might have been true.
“It means spying.”
“I know that!” Dexter snapped, then softened his tone. “I was just surprised is all. What did you do to deserve that?”
“Wrong place, wrong time,” she said.
Dexter laughed. “That I can believe.”
“Look, thanks for the help, I owe you one. That don’t mean I’m going to be laying with you though.”
Dexter chuckled and grinned. “I like you.”
“So did he,” she said, nodding towards the unconscious ruffian.
“Not like that!” Dexter said, rolling his eyes. “I meant I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”
“What do you mean? I’m stuck in here until they decide to stage a mock trial and then execute me.”
“What’s your name?” Dexter asked her, speaking a little more quietly.
She eyed him warily for a moment then relented. “Jenna.”
“Just Jenna?”
“For now, yes, just Jenna.”
Dexter nodded. “Alright, Just Jenna, how would you like a job?”
“A job?” Jenna quipped, laughing.
Dexter liked the sound of her laughter, even when it was scornful and directed at him. It was musical. “Aye, a job. I can get you out of here and I’m offering you a job.”
She laughed again. “You can’t even get yourself out of here, what makes you think you can get me out.”
“I used to work for the Federation,” Dexter began.
“Used to? How’s that help?”
“’Used to’ means up until they let me go in two days I’m on their payroll,” Dexter explained. “There was some miscommunication that ended me up in here.”
“Miscommunication?” Jenna asked, pressing for more but talking as softly as he to minimize the eavesdropping.
Dexter shrugged. “Yeah, had they really known what I was doing I’d probably be dead or missing some body parts.”
Jenna looked at him for a long minute then laughed again, this time not at his expense. “Okay, go on.”
“You’re a political prisoner, that means they’ll leave you in here for ages until they need you to act as a lesson, then they’ll parade you around, make up some charges, and publicly execute you.”
Jenna shrugged. “That’s what I said, you’re not impressing me.”
“Know how the execute people here? Disemboweling is a favorite, stretching on the rack is another, or the crowd favorite, drawing and quartering,” Dexter said, trying to drive home his point.
The elven woman just shrugged again, showing no real concern about the means of her potential demise. “So how can you get me out?”
“For someone like you they’ll release you into the custody of a citizen with a clean record as long as he pays bail.”
“You don’t have a clean record, remember?”
He chuckled. “No, not anymore… but my first mate does.”
Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed suspiciously. “Your first mate? That make you a…”
Dexter nodded, looking around meaningfully. She understood, he didn’t want anyone else knowing. “Aye, I’ve got a ship nearby. Once I’m out of here I’ll come back and secure your release, if you’ll sail with me.”
“I’m not a whore to be bought and paid for,” Jenna said, her voice quiet but possessing a dangerous tone.
Dexter held up his hands. “No worry, Just Jenna, I’m not after that. I need some deckhands and an Armsmaster. If you’re half as good with a blade as you are with your fists, you fit the bill.”
Jenna smirked, an expression that looked mysterious and comical at the same time on her delicate cheek. “I’m better,” she stated. “Sounds like you don’t have a full crew yet.”
Dexter waved her concern away. “Just picking up a few more to round us out a little better is all.”
“I’ll think on it,” she said, squatting down and resting her back against the wall.
