The Horlock Chronicles

We ended up spending most of the walk in relative silence. I think Tom assumed I was brooding, but in truth, I was busy scheming. I wasn't dwelling on hopelessness because I was plotting. I couldn't rely on making a name for myself through craftsmanship. That seemed like a long shot, considering my complete lack of experience. No, if there was a way out of this place, it was hidden in the lower levels.

Mistress Maggie had made it clear that going down there was no small thing, and from the way the guards reacted, she wasn't exaggerating. But if I could find a way in, I was willing to bet I'd find more than just horrors I'd find allies. Powerful ones. Mages. Beaten, maybe, but hopefully not broken. And if I could rally them… well, they wouldn't exactly need arming, would they?

The hard part would be getting down there in the first place. There was no rush on that front though. If there's one thing I had lots of, it was time.

The canteen was exactly how I imagined it: a massive, echoing hall with long wooden tables running in neat rows, each one shadowed by a few bored-looking guards standing at intervals. On one side of the room was a serving line, where prisoners queued up while kitchen workers dished out steaming food from heavy iron pots. I could smell it from the entrance. The meaty, rich, savoury scents made my stomach growl like it was ready to lunge from my body.

Tom must've heard it, because he chuckled. "Come on, kid. Let's get ya fed."

He limped toward a stand of trays and handed one to me before grabbing his own. "They'll give ya a plate or bowl depending on what you want, along with cutlery. Word of advice though, don't go nicking the spoons or knives. The kitchen staff do inventory after every meal, and if anything's missing, they get blamed. And if they get in trouble, so do we. Got it?"

"Understood," I said, my focus already drifting toward the food line. I spotted a thick, bubbling stew and immediately decided that was the only acceptable option.

Tom grinned. "We'll grab a table once we're sorted. If you want a recommendation, go for the chilli. Spicy enough to burn your tongue off, but it'll warm ya right up."

We joined the queue, which moved quickly despite being about forty prisoners deep. We were maybe fifteen away from the front when a group of three big guys swaggered over and pushed in front of a small man about six places ahead of us.

My mood immediately soured. Just like that, I was now eighteenth in line. Apparently, I wasn't doing a good job hiding my irritation because Tom leaned in and gave my arm a quick tug.

"That's Grian One-Eye, Bobby Jr., and Meat," he whispered urgently. "Trust me ya don't want to tangle with them."

"They just—"

"I know. I saw. But trust me, it's not worth it," he said, shooting me a hard look before facing forward again, clearly deciding to pretend it hadn't happened.

I took a deep breath. The hunger was making me reckless. I needed to stay focused. Besides, I'd get my chance eventually. People like that didn't rise to power without making enemies. I'd just have to be patient.

Still, I made a mental note to ask Tom about them later. I wanted to know which one was Grian, considering all three had two eyes. And seriously, who went around calling themselves "Meat"? What a dreadful nickname.

Fortunately, there weren't any more interruptions, and eventually I made it to the front. I was right about the stew—today's was rabbit, and just hearing the word made me salivate. One of the cooks ladled it into a deep bowl, slapped a slice of thick bread on the side, and handed me a spoon. I was sorely tempted to start eating right then and there, but even I had enough self-control to wait until we sat down.

Tom, true to his word, went for the chilli and added some bread to his tray too. He nodded toward a table near the back, and we made our way over. I didn't wait for him to get comfortable before I dropped onto the bench, immediately digging in.

The first spoonful was bliss. Hot, hearty, and full of flavour. The rabbit was tender, the broth rich with spices and root vegetables. My mouth was practically humming with delight.

"Enjoying that, are ya?" Tom chuckled as he sat down and started on his chilli, eating at a much slower pace than me. I was borderline inhaling mine.

"Hmhmm," I mumbled through a mouthful. "So hungry. Hits the spot."

He laughed again. "I'll let ya eat. Reckon the others'll be along soon."

He looked around the canteen like he expected them to be walking in any second.

"Normally, we all come down together," he added. "But I got let out a little early to fetch you. Not that I'm complaining." He chuckled to himself. "Always take the extra time when you can get it. That's another thing you learn in here. Gotta make every minute count."

I nodded, too busy devouring my stew to respond properly.

I was saved from further conversation when a group of prisoners came over and began dropping trays onto the table beside us.

"That's what I'm saying though. You'd obviously choose to spend time with three ladies of the night over two." A balding man dropped his tray beside Tom, settling in with an air of certainty.

"What would I even do with three women?" asked the ginger-haired man who sat down next to me.

"You wouldn't know what to do with one of them!" a third voice chimed in, and the whole group burst into laughter.

Tom let the noise carry on for a moment before interrupting to introduce me. "This here's the new kid. Brandon Warlock."

"Horlock," I corrected, though with a mouthful of bread, it didn't exactly come out clearly.

"Oh, a little wizard, is it?" the bald one joked, grinning. "Bet you'll be out of here in no time, yeah? Got a spell ready to break us all out?"

I could feel the heat rise to my face. It was a stupid joke, sure but given that I did actually have magic, it hit a little too close to home.

"No. Horlock," I repeated, a bit more urgently, still half-chewing.

"Gonna need you to magic that food down before we can understand a word," the third man said, smirking. "Name's William, by the way, but everyone calls me H."

I glanced at him, confused. "Why do they call you H?"

"Because he's the king!" the bald one shouted, laughing like he'd just delivered the punchline of the century.

H rolled his eyes and explained. "It's 'cause I've got the same name as the king. William. Started as a joke. Everyone would call me 'His Highness.' Eventually it got shortened to H. Been that way ever since."

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"Thinks he's royalty too," the bald man added, nudging him with a bony elbow.

"That one's Carl but some call him Baldy, for… obvious reasons. And the lump next to you is Gerry Ginge."

"Named that way 'cause I like the taste of ginger, not 'cause of my hair," the redhead said, locking eyes with me.

I started to nod, half-believing him, until the whole group erupted into laughter again.

"I had you!" Ginge shouted, pointing at me. "Look at that face! Took it down like fine wine."

"Leave Warlock alone, he's about six," H chuckled. "Look at him. You could tell him his arse is his elbow and he'd start walking on his hands."

"Oi! I'm sixteen, not six," I told them, glowering.

"Same thing," Carl joked, spooning food into his mouth like it was the last meal he'd ever get.

"Lads, you want to watch yourselves. Warlock here's a scrapper," Tom cut in, leaning back in his seat with a knowing grin.

"Oh aye, I heard about that. A warm welcome, that one," H chuckled.

"Bet you won't be eager to do that again," Ginge said, giving me a friendly nudge.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Tom said loud enough for everyone to hear.

I looked over at him and caught the faintest smirk before he leaned in closer and whispered, "This fool nearly started something with One Eye and his crew in the lunch line."

The table went quiet.

Everyone turned to look at me like I'd grown a second head. Tom still had that smirk on his face, like he might actually enjoy the idea of chaos. Maybe he did. Who didn't like watching a fight now and again?

"Oh, so you've got a death wish," Carl said, nodding sagely like he'd just solved some mystery. "Always a risk with the fresh meat. Some of you are just plain crazy."

"I don't have a death wish," I said defensively. "He pushed in front of me in the queue."

H let out a barking laugh. "So you do have a death wish."

He must've seen me about to argue, because he held up his hands. "Look, Warlock. One Eye's not someone you get into it with over queue positions."

"One Eye... mmph... isn't someone you fight at all," Carl added through a mouthful of stew.

H winced. "Wish he'd say it and not spray it, but yeah, he's right. One Eye runs this place. He's the head honcho. You know what that means?"

I frowned, not answering right away. They were clearly intimidated by this guy, but I didn't see what made him so special. Sure, he was big and scarred, but that didn't exactly set him apart in here. Still, I wasn't in the mood to argue. I wasn't looking for trouble.

"It means he's got the power," I said carefully.

Ginge threw an arm around my shoulders. "Maybe he's not as dumb as he looks," he said with a grin, earning another round of laughter. I tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't help cracking a smile too.

"Seriously though, kid," Tom said, pointing his spoon at me. "You don't want to be getting in any more fights. It's not good for you."

I raised my hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm not a troublemaker. If you're all telling me One Eye's not to be messed with, then I'll keep my head down. No arguments."

H nodded approvingly. "Smart lad. Make that a habit, and you might just survive this place."

That seemed to satisfy him, and he went back to eating his food.

"What's with his name anyway? I saw two eyes."

"Ha!" Carl barked, nearly choking on a chunk of bread. "Knew that was coming!"

"Because it's the first thing everyone asks," H said, shaking his head like he couldn't believe how predictable I was. "But nah, it's not about what he has. It's what he takes."

Carl covered his left eye with one hand and rolled his right up into his skull in a dramatic impression of a corpse. "If you get on the wrong side of the scary bastard, he takes your left eye."

"And before you ask—no, we don't know why it's always the left," H added with a wry smile.

"We do know that he eats them," Ginge chimed in, giving me a serious side-eye.

I stared at him, unimpressed. He held the look for a few seconds before I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

"Behave… Everyone knows it's the right eye that's tastier."

I tried to keep a straight face, but my composure cracked almost instantly.

"Ah! He's got a sense of humour!" Ginge said, pulling me in for a rough half-hug. "If he manages to keep both eyes, I reckon he'll fit right in."

That earned another round of laughter, and I found myself genuinely smiling. Between the warm food and the easy camaraderie, it was dangerously easy to forget, even for a few minutes, that I was locked away in a prison cell with thirty years left to serve. I was just about to let myself enjoy that feeling when the sound of five sets of footsteps approaching made the air feel heavier.

The expressions of the three lads sitting opposite me dropped instantly, and I felt the tension crawl back up my spine.

I turned around slowly, more to appear unfazed than out of bravery. I already knew who it was before I even saw their faces. Mike. Topper. Rowlands. And the other two guys who'd jumped me in the workshop on my first day. The beating still echoed in my bones when I saw them, but I kept my posture relaxed. I wasn't in the mood for another trip to the infirmary. Thankfully, Mike didn't look like he was either.

"Fair play, kid," he said, eyes flicking from me to the people I was sitting with. "You know how to take a beating."

There was no sneer, no smug grin, just a tired kind of recognition.

"You and me both," I replied evenly. "Couple more kicks and you might've done the job."

He winced at the word kicks, and for a second, I saw something like guilt cross his face. "Yeah, look. I didn't want it to go that far. We were just supposed to rough you up a little. But the guards... well, they've got a way of pushing things further than anyone wants."

"I get it. Mundo's kid used to bully people back at school. Guess he learned that from his old man."

Mike let out a short laugh. "Yeah, Mundo's a proper piece of work. Always trying to get in cheap shots when he 'breaks up' fights. Glad someone gave his brat a proper thumping."

The tension was beginning to drain out of my shoulders, and I allowed myself a small breath. A quick glance at Ginge confirmed he was easing up too. Not that I expected backup from him or the others if things had gone sideways. They didn't know me well enough for that. Still, maybe I was being unfair. Maybe they would've jumped in. It was hard to tell in that place.

"Shame I can't give Mundo the same," I muttered, tone polite but flat.

Mike nodded slowly, as if understanding the sentiment but not wanting to say anything out loud that might get him in trouble. "Anyway, just wanted to say that there was no hard feelings." He held out a large, calloused hand. "Let's call it done."

I looked at the hand for a second, then glanced at his crew. None of them looked like they were itching for a fight. If anything, they seemed a little awkward, like they weren't quite sure what they were supposed to be doing. So I took Mike's hand and gave it a firm shake. There was no extra squeeze, no trick, it was just a nod of respect and a moment of understanding. Two people who fought and now put it behind them. The best way to resolve an incident in my view.

They turned and left without another word. Sleeveless even gave me a small, almost apologetic smile as he went. That was unexpected. He struck me as the sort of brute who wouldn't show respect to anyone that didn't dominate him.

"Well, that was something," Tom said, breaking the silence.

"Didn't expect that at all," Carl added, blinking like he was still trying to catch up.

"You've got off lucky there, Warlock," H said, leaning across the table slightly. "Mike's a tough bastard. I've seen him give people a permanent release, if you get what I mean."

He tapped the side of his nose as he said it, and the implication wasn't lost on me. Mike had killed before. And based on what H was saying, he'd done it more than once.

The idea that I'd been a few punches away from being just another body was unsettling. But I shoved it aside. That was just the reality of this place. I wasn't in detention or serving a week in a cell for stealing snacks. I was in a place filled with murderers, gang enforcers, and broken souls with nothing to lose.

If I wanted to make it out, I couldn't afford to forget that.

"At least it's settled now," I said, managing a smile.

"Let's hope that's the last of it," Tom said as he stood up and stretched. "Lunch is about wrapped up anyway. Why don't we head over to the workshop and show you what's what?"