"What Was Mine" 6
It was essentially a cow, but twice as tall, with a round, distended belly. Also, it had six legs. It was covered with coarse brown-black hair and had no horns. Its right flank, facing us, was branded with a large double-digit number: “17”. It paid us no mind as we leaned against the gate of its tiny enclosure. “We let ‘em graze free, normally,” said Wrangler Bison, spitting a stream of tobacco into the mud and shit., “but this one’s been here in the stable since it shit you out.”
I blinked and shook my head, feeling a bit nauseated. For almost two years I was inside that creature. No wonder my skin was raw all over: it was from burning in stomach acid for 23 months.“It was a private contract,” said Peyd from behind us. He was standing in the middle of the stable, between the two rows of horses and a couple of these beasts. It was very obvious that he was hoping to avoid soiling his mirror-polished boots. “I find the concept distasteful, naturally, but running a facility like this has certain fiscal requirements. The principality’s funding is hardly enough.”I gave Bison a quizzical look. “…Where…?” I threw a hand at the creature.“Oh, yeah, remember those frontier arcanist wars back before the big one? All those crazy magic-users setting up their little fiefdoms in the unsettled territories? These things are a product of that. They’re magically bred from, from cows, or buffalos or something. I don’t know what they used to use ‘em for, but it turns out they can swallow a fellow and keep him alive inside for years! I’ve sort of become an expert in keeping ‘em. They graze on grass and a special grain mixture I’ve come up with, keeps ‘em nice and fat. It’s what you’ve been eating too, inside there, though I can’t figure how it gets into your body. Don’t really want to know.”My stomach lurched. “…Who…the private…contract?”Bison jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He’d know, not me, and I doubt he’ll tell you.”“Our clients are confidential, Mr. Gunniver,” Peyd sniffed.“See? Now, these things’ll keep a man alive for ages, like I said, but every now and then, a guy turns out to be incompatible with the process, and they get expelled, either through the throat or out the pucker.” Bison winked at me. “You took the lower route.”I nodded absently as rage started boiling deep in my belly. Somebody paid to put me in here. To get me swallowed up by some fucking magical cow. I cleared my throat. “What happens…to me?”“Well, that’s the real question, isn’t it?” said Peyd, appearing suddenly at my right side. I looked at him, and he fixed me with those resolute, steely soldier’s eyes. “I’m not fond of the private contracts, as I said, so I take your rejection by Number 17 as a sign that you shouldn’t be here. I’m all for letting you go as soon as you’re physically capable of riding a horse out of here. But…” His moustache twitched excitedly. “I have my sense of duty. Therefore…” He safely backed away out of the mud once more. “Once you’ve recovered enough to swing a sabre, we’re going to have ourselves a proper duel. Very simple rules: if you win, you get to leave. We’ll even give you provisions and your sidearm back.”I frowned. “How many times…has this happened before?” My throat screamed. I coughed phlegm and spat it dangerously close to Peyd’s boots.“These sort of unanticipated expulsions? Three times since we’ve started the program. Three times over…seven years, I believe.”“Were any of those…private contracts?”“One of them, yes.”“How did that turn out?”Peyd grinned savagely. “No man has ever left this prison before his sentence has run out, Mr. Gunniver. Is it safe to say that we’ve caught you up to speed?”