Gemworld Read Online Free PDF Page A

one of the studs. There was the matching livery of the guards—not a color nor design that he would imagine, let alone choose for himself even in his wildest imaginations. Then there was the agonizing slowness with which the day progressed! My God, if this is a dream, I should at least be able to skip forward a few hours! He even continued to try out the insanity plea, but every examination of his situation would reveal scattered details and nuances that made too much sense for this to be a world of his own imagination.
    Finally, fatalistically, he gave up his quest. As unimaginable as the situation was, Sal had to admit that it was really happening. He was really here... wherever ‘here’ was. But realization and acceptance were worlds apart, and Sal continued to wrestle with the two for quite a while.
    Jaren returned a short while later. “Ready to brave the evils of this world?” he quipped, making as if to help Sal up. Looking around, Sal noticed that the other prisoners had started lining up at the cell door before guards laden down with large wooden buckets. Chow call , he realized. Wonder how the food is here in Wonderland?
    He waved off Jaren’s proffered hand and struggled to his feet, fending off unconsciousness and his benefactor’s repeated attempts to help him. He knew how weakness would be looked upon by the more enterprising inmates. They weren’t in jail for nothing, and some truths were just universal. However he’d managed to survive that doomed raid on Merrick’s lab, he wouldn’t survive this jail very long if he came across as a complete invalid.
    Sal tottered off toward the line. Jaren bent to scoop up two well-used bowls, then followed close at hand, doggedly ready to assist.
    The line moved slowly forward, as each moldering prisoner received their pitiful portion and wandered off into some dark corner to dine, mindful of hungry eyes. Sometimes one would go in search of a weak prisoner and a second helping. Invariably, the weaker inmate cried out for help. Sometimes the call would be answered by a good samaritan—or at least, Sal suspected, someone looking for a future favor. Just as often, the call went unanswered. Fights broke out. Meals were stolen. But the guards paid no heed; they just kept doling out their pasty, grey slop, and the line kept moving.
    Sal and Jaren finally got their portions, and headed back toward their spaces along the back wall, holding their bowls close. Sal tried valiantly to stagger with confidence, hoping to discourage would-be bullies. It didn’t work.
    About halfway to their destination, a cellblock thug stepped into their path. He was tall and thickly built, with corded ropes of muscle showing through wherever his many tattoos would allow. And he was smiling.
    The thug barely glanced at Jaren, writing off whatever power an emerald whatever-he-said might have. He stared directly at Sal without saying a word. He didn’t have to. His bunched muscles and evil grin said it all.
    Sal felt his training try to kick in, but it fizzled and died like a starter on a chipped flywheel. Still, he set his chin. He wouldn’t win this fight, he knew, but he would fight all the same. The goon stepped forward and snatched the bowl from Sal’s grip, shoving him to the ground almost as an afterthought.
    Fight over. That didn’t last long.
    Light glinted from Jaren’s face, and Sal guessed that his eyes had changed back to that wicked green that had colored them when Sal had first met him.
    “Uh uh uh, mage,” the tough said, wagging his finger at Jaren. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You know the penalty for magic in here. You might wind up in tomorrow’s slop bucket,” he sneered.
    The tough turned to make off with his ill-gotten goods, but found his way blocked. A pair of dangerous looking men, though both a full head shorter than the goon, stared him down. Sal squinted up at them, and thought for a moment he was seeing double. The pair could have been