Captain Brand and Cy

Cy has been waiting half the night for a coach to pass. He's cold, tired and kind of has to piss, but he doesn't want to leave his spot. He's been practicing brandishing his pistol (he couldn't afford two) and saying "Stand and Deliver!" as loudly as he can without being heard.

He heard the distant sound of hoofbeats and the clattering of the wheels of a coach. Soon the coach was in sight, two large dark horses pulling in front, the coachman looking nearly asleep at the reins.

Bracing himself, Cy leaps out of his hiding spot into the middle of the road, waving his pistol a little shakily and yelling, "S-stand and deliver!"

The coachman pulls back on the reins, stopping the horses and putting his hands up, lowering his head submissively.

Swallowing nervously, Cy waves the man down from his seat. "How many passengers?" he says, lowering his voice to sound older and more menacing.

"Just one, a widower." the man said quietly, being very careful not to startle the young man with the pistol. "Please, don't hurt us."

Cy nods, feeling much more confident. "Good. Do as I say, and you won't be hurt. Go stand by that tree." He points the pistol and waits for the man to leave before going to the coach door.

The man nodded and hurried to the tree, keeping his hands visible and his head down.

Cy stands to one side of the door and raps sharply on it, keeping his pistol pointed, wavering only slightly.

The door doesn't open, no sound is emitted from inside the coach.

Frowning a little, Cy cautiously turns the knob and throws the door violently open, still keeping himself a little to one side of the opening.

From behind, someone grabs his wrist, wrenches the pistol from his hand and knees him into the carriage so that he's bent over the first step. A heavy leather boot is placed in his shoulder. "No second pistol?" a commanding voice demanded.

Cy cries out, struggling violently but rather blindly because of the pain and shock.

After the slow, deliberate sounds of a pistol being unloaded, Cy's hauled up violently by his hair. "Didn't you hear me, boy?"

Cy yelps again, his eyes watering at the pain, scrabbling at the hand on his hair.

A shackle locks around one of his wrists. The man forces his arms behind his back and locks the other shackle. He turns him around, looking the small, muddy boy up and down. "Not much of a highwayman, are you?" he smirked.

Cy squirms, trying to get comfortable in the heavy shackles. His face is white with terror, with bright red spots on his cheeks where he's flushed with shame and apprehension. "N-no, sir..." he stammers.

"How old are you?" the man grabs his chin, forcing his face up to inspect him. "You can't be eighteen."

"No s-sir..." he can't meet the other's eyes.

"How old are you?" he barked.

"Fifteen!" he yelps, startled. His eyes are huge in the dim light, and he's visibly shaking.

He shakes his head, turning Cy about, picking him up uncomfortably by his shackled arms and pushing him into the carriage. The door is closed behind him. The man climbs back on the back of the coach where he had been waiting, out of sight.

The coachman has regained the reins by this time, and the horses start pulling again

Cy gives a startled, pained squeak at the strain on his arms, and tumbles onto the floor of the coach. Before he realizes what he's doing, he's trying to open the door, only sort of stumbling into it on his knees.

The back of the coach is banged and he hears the voice of the man who'd captured him. "Be quiet, boy. If we get robbed again, you'd better stay still or you'll be shot by one of your own. Best to keep your head down." he chuckled.

Cy whimpers and painfully, with a lot of effort and noise, clambers onto the seat of the coach, praying under his breath.

Cy was kept in the coach overnight. It did finally stop moving sometime in the early morning. Cy could see some light peeking through the door of the coach.

Cy had slept fitfully through the night out of sheer exhaustion, but he's sore and bruised from falling off the seat in his sleep, or when the coach stops. His trousers are finally dry, but the coach smells pretty ripe.

The door opens and sunlight pours in, blinding the boy. Before he can adjust to the light, he's dragged out by one arm and forced to his knees. The coach pulls away, leaving him, the man and one horse in the middle of an empty field.

Cy blinks, his eyes watering at the brightness and rough handling. He kneels, quite still, trying to figure out what's going on and what he should do.

The man hands him a shovel. "This is yours." Finally, Cy can get a good look at the man. Though his boots and pants are muddy, his uniform is still near perfect, black and impressive. He has a stern face and dark hair held back in a tight, military knot.

Cy awkwardly takes the shovel, still on his knees, and gazes up in awe at the man. "Th-thank you..." he says reflexively, more confused than ever.

"You'll be digging your own grave."

Cy drops the shovel as though it's bitten him and recoils, falling over onto his back with his hands awkwardly manacled. He is a rather comic picture of shock and alarm, eyes and mouth wide and gaping.

"Of course, you're right, how could you dig your grave when you're shackled?" the man chuckled. He dragged Cy up by his shoulder, turning him about and unlocking his shackles.

Cy winces, rubbing his wrists and stretching his shoulders. Abruptly, without thinking, he's running for a nearby grove of trees.

The man grabs his horse, mounts and takes off in pursuit. He stops the horse just in front of the boy, cutting him off.

Cy runs into the horse's shoulder and falls over backwards. The horse gives him a look not unlike its rider's. Cy scrabbles backwards, trying to get into the trees.

The horse rears, coming down on either side of Cy's body and snorting at him. The rider dismounts, waiting for Cy to get up.

Cy screams and curls into a ball.

The man sighs, grabbing Cy by his collar and dragging him to his feet. He throws the fetal ball over the front of his horse, mounting and riding back over to the shovel.

Cy squirms uncomfortably, the saddle and the horse both digging into his already tender body, but he stays as still and quiet as possible.

He gets pushed off the horse before the man again dismounts. "Are you finished? I could shoot you in the foot if you think it would help keep you still."

Cy's eyes are wide and he shakes his head furiously. After a moment's pause, he asks, in a tiny voice, "Where's the trial? Did I miss it?"

"Highwaymen don't get trials anymore. I've been put in charge of capturing and putting down the highwaymen in this area."

Cy's green eyes are wide again, and his face goes chalk-white. He stumbles as though he's been hit. "...what?" he whispers. "You're joking," he says, with a nervous smile.

"There has been an unfortunate rash of murders in the area. Since we have many important and valuable people travelling these roads, we decided that any man who stands on a road with a pistol or a knife and asks for a coach to stop can be punished by death. Especially ones that say 'stand and deliver'." he smirked wryly. "Even not very good ones."

"Oh." he says, quietly. It does sound quite reasonable, put that way. Not that it helps him any. "...even completely unsuccessful ones?" he asks hopefully. "And I'm not yet properly a man, am I?"

"You're not a woman." he said, handing the boy his shovel once again. "And you will address me as sir, or Captain."

"Yes, sir," he says rather hopelessly. "Couldn't you just k-kill me now?" His eyes are rather teary as he picks up the shovel.

"If you want to be buried, rather than left in this field for the birds, I suggest you start digging."

"Will I at least get a proper burial?" he asks, poking the ground with the tip of the shovel.

"Yes, as long as we have a hole to put you in." the Captain nodded. "This is the beginning of a new Potter's field."

"...is the ground consecrated?" he asks, stalling.

"It will be. A church will be built. Now start digging. I imagine it will take you all day. You should get started."

Cy swallows hard and starts digging...slowly...

"If you dig it all today, you can sleep tonight. If not, you can dig all night too."

Cy raises an eyebrow. "What about you?" he asks, figuring he has nothing really to lose.

"The longer I stay up, the more annoyed I am. The more annoyed I get, the more bruised you will be." he said, looking Cy dead in the eye.

Cy bites his lip, then grumbles, "Good luck finding a place without a bruise," and poking some more at the dirt.

"There are worse things that could happen to you, boy." Captain Brand threatened.

Cy squeaks, surprised the man heard him, and starts digging more earnestly.

***

Before too long, his hands are very sore, and he's hardly made any progress. He's also very hot and thirsty. He leans on the shovel, making a not very happy face at his captor, not saying anything.

Captain Brand is sitting on a nearby rock in the sun, drinking water. Some of it spills down his chin.

Cy looks at the water longingly, licking his dry lips.

The Captain pours some of the water into his palm and rubs the wet hand over his forehead to cool himself off.

He sighs dramatically, wiping the sweat from his brow with a red, chapped hand, hoping the Captain will notice.

"What is it, boy?"

"Could I have some water, please, Captain, sir?"

"Have you earned it?" he looks down at the small hole. "You can't even fit in that yet."

Cy looks panicked at the reminder of his imminent fate. "Please," he says pathetically. "I'm trying..."

The Captain gestured him over, surprised by the boy's fragility. He looked like he was near tears.

Gratefully, Cy stumbles over, falling on his knees in front of the man. "Thank you..."

He handed him the flask, which was about a third full still. The water was warm, but it was water.

Cy drinks it quickly and eagerly, gagging a bit as the water hits his empty stomach and he drinks too fast.

Silently, the Captain handed him a crust of bread.

Cy quickly nods his thanks before messily devouring the bread, still kneeling in front of the older man.

To his surprise, Brand ruffled his hair almost gently. "You can rest for a little while."

Cy is very surprised, and stammers, "Thank you..." before flopping full out on the ground, panting a bit.

"What's your name?"

"Cy..." he says, rather shyly.

"What is it short for?" he raised an eyebrow, surprised at being given a nickname.

"Cyril..." he says, his tone making it clear that Cy is definitely his preference.

He laughed. "I'm Captain Brand."

Cy nods, not really sure what to say, but glad for the rest.