The wagons arrived. The guards out pulled one person after another. Lined up. Clothes dirty, some faces battered. Armed man, guard, steps ahead. ‘Speaker’, as usual.

“Henceforth, you are property of Lord Henselt the Second by Section 16-72 of the Punishments Accord. You are to serve him any way he, thus by extension we, desires. You have no rights for -”

“Sirs, who should I talk to about an appeal for an unfair trial?”

Interrupter - bearded. Thirty to sixty, hard to tell. As always. Confident, a mistake. Silence. ‘Nail’, now holding his spiked blackjack. Struck. Second swing, man falls. Guard kneels, slowly. Resumes. Seven swings for blood to touch snow. Twenty fifth was last, as usual. Needed less to send message. New ones learn, but caution is wise.

“Continuing. You have no rights, for you relinquished them with your inhumanly acts. You will die either on the cold ground of this land from your weakness, or on the crosses if you refuse to accept your punishment and flee. You are dispensable, therefore insubordinance or attempts at escape will be punished with no quarter.”

‘Speaker’ rolled up the parchment, placed it in his rucksack.

“Formality be over. Look to yer mates for help, meet quotas. All I’ve to say.”

Guard on each limb, body hauled away. Calmly. Long time since guards tripped.

“Joakim. My name is …Amelia and I need an introduction to this place and the job.”

Calm voice, feminine and soothing. She doesn’t belong here. Would die today. Joakim looked at her. Beard swayed in the wind. A nod.

“Let us set off. I require your assistance with a certain task as well, I will tell you as we go.”, she continued.

“What.”

“You’ll find out. Fourth layer of clothing, I offer you in return. This place is cold, and the ones we were provided are barely enough.”

“Guards strip bodies. Cloth put on wagon, sent back.”

“I did see the pit of bodies. I promise, the clothes you will be getting will be as fresh and clean as yours or mine. Regardless of any circumstances, I will give you a fourth layer in exchange for information. I offer this to you once, only during the labour training you are to provide me.”

Silence.

“If you refuse, someone else will not. I need this, Joakim.”

Silence.

Few small nods from Joakim. Stands up.

“Now. While walking.”

Joakim instructed.

“Collapsed dwarf city, underground. Clear it out, our task. To clear, we mine. Guards tell where and how. Sleep in tent now; in city when cold. Guards in house up here. Food once a day. Soup. Thick soup is good, thin not.“

“I need some information on the guards. To avoid unnecessary beatings, of course.”

“’Short’s cruel. All you should know. ‘Speaker’ follows orders, from above, mellow man. Break rules? Not mellow. ‘Nail’? Twitchy. Spikes in club, uses it often. ‘High’ sniffs powder. Good on high, not on low. ‘Flay’, he…”

Amelia, attentive. Most who come new aren’t. Panic, cry. Scared. Never determined.

“…claims was Royal Interrogator. Lies. Another one, drinks spirit. Passed out or sleeps. Never see him, no names we call him. That’s all.”

“Perfect. I assume you would also be familiar with the guards' rotations, sleep times and other schedules?”

Breathing quickened. Dread.

“Why.”

Raspier than usual. Mistake. Anticipation of suffering. Memories of it. Overwhelmed.

“Joakim?”

Heavy breathing, attempts to calm it.

“I see.”

Eyes. Dirty green, dark yellow - rare. Looking right into his.

”Standing in the line, I saw you drop your pickaxe; there was nothing unusual about that. However, your hand froze, as if it were still holding something invisible… Take off your gloves.”

Green and yellow eyes hardened. His breath, controlled now. Hard to stutter if breathing is slow.

“Too cold.”

No stutter. Genuine confusion, acting convincing.

“Your gloves, Joakim. They come off now, or I walk and another person to ask.”

Didn’t matter. Leverage. Too tired to object, new clothes enticed.

The gloves came off. Two hands. Wrinkled. Large scar in the centre of each.

“Damage, from sharp, thin objects – nails, for example. No immediate medical attention and long-term motor damage as a result. This leaves but one explanation and as was explained at my arrival, the cross is only for escapees. You tried to escape. How did you survive the cross?”

Voice, hard and demanding. Silence. Pain.

“This is the last thing I need to know before I am satisfied, Joakim.”

The yearning of warmth, clothes. Pain. Deep breaths, slower now.

“Twin. Stole food. Lied, blamed me. Watched my screams. Broke. Confessed. Guards lowered me. Bashed him. Quick, painful.”

Attempts, unsuccessful, to lose emotions in voice. Broke voice, middle of sentence. Breaths.

“Joakim, right now I can see your attempts at calming your breath - it's easy to see you're lying. However, unfortunately for you, lies can still be quite revealing.”

Fear. Voice no longer soothing; hard, yet still calm. Quick breaths. Woman’s eyes didn’t relent. Body shaking. Feet heavy, drag across ground.

“Yes, Joakim, you are exactly the one I’m looking for. I know precisely how the thief wanted to steal enough rations to flee across the border. In fact, the brilliance of the plan is that not a single person in this camp would even be searched for such an obvious theft.”

Knees weak. Tripped, fell. Amelia stopped. Undid her third layer, dropped it. Same with second. Left on the ground, put third on. Picked it up, held it toward the man.

“You’ve told me all I wanted to know. Your reward.”

Clothes. Two layers for her – suicide.

“Joakim, I have a quote to meet and I assume you do as well.”

Clothes. Struggled, leaned on pickaxe, stood up.

“Before you leave - I have another proposition for you.”

Walked past woman, looked straight forward. Silence.

“Your ‘payment’ for it? It will be freedom. Meet me the next time they assign us to the same section, or I will find some other help.”

Feet pounded snow. No tears, all cried long ago. Little to lose. She'll die today, or tomorrow.

He paused.

Clothes in his hand. They were cold.