The Story of Samo: Chapter Three, Part Seven
Back at the guardhouse, Tarat stepped into the room where Samo was being held and leaned back against the door, barring it with his frame. He looked at Samo, still sitting on the stool where he was before he left. He didn’t seem much different. Tarat wondered how he would react when he told him what had happened. He hadn’t received orders to be down there. In fact, he hadn’t even received permission. Forget permission. He had been attacked on account of this guy. Samo looked at him dumbly, expecting him to say something, but Tarat remained silent. Instead, he simply crossed his arms and glared at him.
Samo was the first to speak. “What’s up Snake? Shedding season?”
“No,” Tarat answered, ignoring the hated nickname. He said, “No, it’s not shedding season. Who’s back?”
“Tarat, I ca-”
Tarat marched on him and shouted, “Tell me! Do you want to be shipped off to the mental home?”
Samo shrunk back. Turning his head, he hissed, “You wouldn’t.”
“You’re right about that,” Tarat answered. “But I wouldn’t be the one doing it. There are some who want it. Now, Professor Lasci is in the hospital right now-”
“What happened?” Samo asked, interrupted.
Tarat ignored him and continued. “-with multiple injuries and I got a metal bar across my shoulders, the same bar that was used to beat Lasci to a pulp! You want to know what happened to that guy? I killed him!”
“It must have been horrible,” Samo said. “To have to kill someone, especially when he wants to kill you. It must have been horrible.”
“It was.” Tarat backed away and said, “I need to know. Whomever you’re trying to protect Lasci from got to him before I could, if it was more than just a simple house robbery. I need to know.”
Before Samo could answer, the captain walked into the room and cleared his throat. Tarat whirled around to face him. The man looked agitated and angry. He said, “You’re not supposed to be down here. No matter, though. We’re letting him go.”
Samo let out a whoop and slipped out of the cords around his wrists. He stood and walked to the door, saying, “See y’all later.” When he was gone, Tarat turned to the captain and waited for the rebuke he thought imminent.
Instead, the captain groaned and said, “What were you doing down here?”
Tarat straightened his back as he came to full attention. “I was trying to find out information. I wanted to know who the “he” in the message was.”
“I see,” the captain replied. He said, “So I guess you were trying to beat it out of him?”
“No!” Tarat stepped forward menacingly—at least, he tried to be menacing. When the captain backed away and reached for his sword, he stepped back and said, “Excuse me, captain. Samo is a friend of mine. Or rather, he used to be, anyway. I don’t really know how to describe it now, but if anyone tried to beat anything out of Samo, that person would be next on my list, even if it were you, sir.”
He had expected the captain to glare at the threat, fire him from the force, or even lock him in the cell as a prisoner himself. Instead, the man smiled. He said, “I see. I have a few friends like that. I understand. I want you to do something, though. Take your own advice.” When Tarat looked at him confused, he said, “Don’t underestimate him. He’s very dangerous.”
“I understand that, sir,” Tarat said. “Is there any more?”
“Yes.” The captain folded his arms. “Take a while off to relax. Take care of that shoulder. I was hit like that once. I don’t want to see you in a uniform for two weeks. Don’t worry,” he said, as Tarat began to protest. “You’ll still be paid, but I want you to rest. That’s an order.”
Tarat nodded. “Yes sir. I understand.”
“And I understand,” the captain added. “How rookies tend to have a problem obeying orders.”
Tales of the Inventor's War 