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“What is?”
At the Magistrate’s signal, the canvas covering the old truck is pulled back. There are upright posts at either end of the flatbed, with a longer post connecting them. Every few feet along the horizontal post are knotted ropes. I’ve seen some shit, but this makes me blink.
It’s a traveling gallows.
“Which one?” says the Magistrate, pointing to the five losers.
I look at the gallows.
“For that?”
“Of course.”
I point to Daja.
“How about her?”
I point to the Magistrate.
“How about you? Think I can’t make it happen?”
He laughs and turns to the townspeople.
“See? As I said, man of great
violence.”
He walks over to me.
“Do not pretend that you have never done something similar in the past. Decided who in the crowd, even among innocents, should die.”
For a fraction of a second, I flash back to fighting in the arena in Pandemonium. I killed everything they threw at me back then. I never asked who they were or why they were there. But this feels different.
I shake my head to clear it. The Magistrate is spookier and spookier. I don’t want to take a chance he can read something in my face that will give me away.
I say, “What if I don’t want to play?”
“Come come. We both know the answer to that.”
Daja doesn’t go for her gun. She pulls out a tanto and holds it across Traven’s throat.
“It’s all right,” he says. Traven even smiles. “Let them have me. I’m ready.”
“What a brave man. What a great soul,” the Magistrate says. “Such a shame it would be to sacrifice him because of your inaction.”
I stare at the five quaking assholes in front of me. I hate the whole town for being here. For choosing the Tenebrae over Hell. They thought their punishment would be too much and that they could run for it. But punishment doesn’t give up, and it has all eternity to find you down here.
“Mr. Pitts?” says the Magistrate.
“Give me a fucking minute.”
He checks his watch.
“Exactly one minute.”
I glance at Traven. He nods to say it’s all right. The prick is way too eager to go to Tartarus, for my taste. I bet Cherry’s heart is doing backflips watching the Magistrate make me do his monkey dance.
“Thirty seconds, Mr. Pitts,” the Magistrate says.
