Death Cultivator by eden Hudson (knowledgeable books to read .txt) 📗

sort of stock barn with a pair of big open doors. The sign overhead said Stables.

Muta’i led me inside.

Yellow electric bulbs stuck out of posts linked by long strings of that cracked black insulated wiring that’s in every old house on Earth. They kind of half-lit the place so that everything looked dirtier and dimmer than it would have in daylight. But maybe not by much. The stables didn’t look like they’d seen much regular cleaning since the days livestock had lived there.

Being from a farm town in Missouri, I was used to seeing cow barns, with feed troughs and big stock pens all over the place. But this was set up more like the horse barns I’d seen in movies, where the center aisle had stalls lining either side.

I saw people inside some of the stalls, either stretched out on cots or sitting in wooden chairs. A couple watched us pass. Most of them had plates and were eating something brown and sloppy, pinching it up with pieces of flatbread. It didn’t smell gourmet, but it looked like food, and that was enough to make my mouth water.

Muta’i took me to a stall on the far end of the stable and shoved open the half-door. I followed him inside.

Some of the yellow light from the aisle bulbs shined over the low walls, illuminating a bare cot crammed in next to a rough wood table. The chair had been broken into pieces and set on fire in the corner. Charred pieces of leg and back were still poking out of the cold ashes.

“This’s yours until your indenture’s over or you die, whichever comes first,” he said. “Outhouse out back, water pump out front, power goes off for the night in an hour and turns back on at blue sunup.”

He didn’t stick around to help me get acquainted, which I was especially thankful for. I was at that point of exhaustion and anger where you just want to be alone so you can hate everything in peace.

When I was little and hungry, the best thing to do was go to sleep and hope Dad would remember about eating tomorrow, so as soon as the stall door shut, I dropped onto the cot. The canvas creaked underneath me like it was about to rip in half, but thankfully it held. I made a mental note to ease myself down next time.

It took some twisting and turning to find the least uncomfortable way to lay with the Transferogate on my shoulder. I was just about to nod off when the Winchester buzzed with a message.

It was from Kest.

Rali wants to know what you’re eating for your quota reward supper.

My stomach growled and tried to strangle itself. She and Rali were probably eating something amazing that he’d cooked, with those sweet mochi balls he’d been talking about for dessert. I had no idea what mochi was, but I pictured them like homemade donut holes. Mom had made a batch of them once when I was little-little. They’d just been those biscuits you get out of a can, cut into dots with a cookie cutter and deep fried, and she’d probably only made them because she and Dad had the munchies, but they had been so good, hot and greasy and crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, and she’d let me pour sugar and cinnamon all over them. I would’ve killed for one of those right then.

I scrubbed my hands across my face and blew out a long breath.

They gave us some kind of brown goop and bread, I sent back to Kest. It looks weird, but it tastes like victory.

Training

I WOKE UP TO MY HUD buzzing again. I assumed it was Kest since I’d been texting with her for a while the night before, but when I checked the message, it was from the Bailiff.

Wakie wakie, Smart Boy. Time for the training dummy to come to the fight cage.

I groaned and tried to get up. The Transferogate got in the way, so I had to lean back against the fabric, then throw the momentum into rocking forward. That time it worked.

When I came out of my stall, a pair of saloon gals were sitting at a card table across the way, drinking from mismatched teacups. One looked like a frilly flower and the other was a plump cat lady. The cat smiled at me with sharp-looking cat fangs and waved a furry hand. The flower lady turned up her bump of a nose.

I gave them an awkward smile and headed for the big open doors.

The tail end of the black sun was still in the western sky when I got outside, and the normally pale blue sun was a deep midnight color at the very edge of the eastern horizon. I needed to find some kind of clock app on my Winchester so I could get my brain oriented as to what time those things meant. All anybody around here ever said was approximate, like dark thirty and blue sunup.

There was a line at the outhouse and the pump—servants from the stables going through their morning routine—so I found a place off by the distillery’s back fence to take a leak. Washing up and getting a drink were going to have to wait. I’d just have to get up earlier tomorrow so I could get a good place in line.

When I got to the fight cage behind the saloon, the Bailiff and a few other guys were waiting. Warcry was one of them. It made me a little bit happy to see that his eyes were all puffy and he looked dead on his feet. Hope he enjoyed that celebration beer and whatever he’d eaten for supper.

The Bailiff grinned at me, showing his yellowed brush of whale teeth.

“How nice of you to join us. If you’re not here before first light tomorrow...” He chuckled. “Well, I’ll just get the script remote back from Muta’i, then you won’t be late,