I wiped the drips from my eyes and glanced across the shower room to see who was being persecuted this time, but I needn't have bothered. Monty was pressed up against the wall farther along the same row as me, while a pack of inmates sucked up water with their mouths and spat it at him. The poor kid was trying to cover something on his upper arm, and when he raised his hand to block a spout of spitwater I saw what it was-a brown birthmark the size of a grapefruit and the shape of a heart.
One of the kids stepped right up to Monty, cheeks full, and let loose a veritable torrent right into the kid's face.
"Nice tattoo, lover boy," he shouted through a twisted grin. I felt that familiar tug of anger, a beast inside me that wanted to be unleashed, but I fought it, reminding myself how Monty had reacted earlier. Besides, he spotted me staring at him and his green eyes narrowed in a way that once again made me feel like I was the one tormenting him. It was an expression of defiance, one that warned me not to help him. I didn't really understand it, but I respected it, and turned my back to let him know. I was glad I did, as the wet thump and cry that sounded from behind me would have been too much to witness.
Colder than glaciers, and dressed in clean new uniforms and paper shoes, we marched from the shower room into the courtyard. An armed blacksuit stood in front of the tunnel that led to the trough room, but I wasn't too upset about the thought of not going in there again after yesterday. Instead, Donovan led me and Zee across the yard toward the stairs.
"Things get heated down here when the trough room's out of bounds," he explained. "Hundreds of prisoners all starving and thirsty and bored is like dynamite waiting to go off. I don't think anything will happen, not with the warden's warning and all-no one's gonna blow if they've been promised a week in the hole-but best to stay clear just in case."
I wasn't going to argue with that. We reached the stairs and traipsed upward, but not before I noticed another door tucked beneath the stairwell, the gap in the rock so narrow that it was almost invisible. Two inmates stood outside, casually leaning on the wall. One was a Skull, the other had two black lines across each cheek-a mark I'd seen on another couple of prisoners.
"What's in there?" I asked, pointing. Donovan bent down to peer through the steps and nodded when he caught the eye of the inmate with the painted cheeks. The guy tilted his head in Donovan's direction in acknowledgment.
"That's the gym," he replied, continuing up the stairs. "But don't get your hopes up. That's private property, owned by the Skulls and the Fifty-niners-the guys with the lines on their faces."
"Why Fifty-niners?" Zee asked as we reached the second platform. Donovan snorted.
"Ask them, it's how many people they killed during the Summer of Slaughter, before they got sent down. There's fifteen of them so you do the math. They claim to have been one of the biggest gangs in the capital, east of the river. Don't believe it myself, though. They weren't big enough to take on the Skulls when they got here, just arranged some kiss-ass pact where they both control the gym. Ask me, fifty-nine is their combined IQ."
We reached the fourth platform with a series of huffs and puffs, each of us using the banister to pull ourselves up.
"They let a handful of people in to use the equipment, including yours truly," Donovan went on. "But nobody else gets in. They use it for cards and organized skirmishes. Floor in there is permanently red, if you follow me."
"Who wants to use the gym anyway," grumbled Zee as we hauled ourselves onto the fifth level. "Get worked hard enough in here without worrying about weights and rowing machines and all that crap."
"It's okay for you," Donovan replied, turning and flexing his arms at us. It looked for a minute like there were a couple of melons where his biceps should be. "You don't have a body like this to look after."
We laughed, but like all good moments in Furnace it was short-lived. As we neared our cell, two spotty faces emerged from behind the bars and blocked our way. It was Kevin Arnold and one of his lieutenants, a scar-faced kid called Bodie. Donovan seemed to expand when he saw them, his body swelling as he tensed his arms, and for a second the Skulls looked anxious.
"Don't have any beef with you, Donovan," Kevin said. I thought I could hear another sound from inside the cell, the noise of running water. "Just your jerkweed bunk buddy."
The Skulls turned their attention to me and I prepared to defend myself, nervously eyeing the six-story drop to my right and praying that I wouldn't end up flying over the railing. Donovan didn't say anything, but he didn't back down either.
"Got our man killed yesterday," Kevin went on. "Don't take that offense lightly. Gotta pay, blood for blood. You know the rules."
"Actually, I wasn't given a copy of the pirate handbook when I arrived, so I don't," I replied, cursing my voice, which trembled as I spoke.
Kevin smiled, and I noticed that he didn't have any of his front teeth.
"You funny now," he hissed. "But dead men don't laugh so loud."
I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. It sounded like some terrible Sunday afternoon horror film, but I knew that Kevin would skewer me with a shank without thinking twice.
"Soon as the warden lifts his warning, we'll shut you up for good, new fish. You and your little girlfriend there."
Zee spluttered in shock at the comment but didn't say anything. Kevin and Bodie barged past us and started walking up the platform. They were followed by a third inmate, who strolled from our cell still buttoning up his fly.
"Sleep well tonight," he said as he followed his friends, and I suddenly realized what the noise of running water had been. I dashed into the cell to see a dark stain spreading across my sheet.
"No way!" I blustered. "They can't. I mean, what did they do that for? Where am I going to sleep?" I went on like that for the best part of a minute before recovering my senses and pulling the wet mess off my bed. From the way it dropped to the floor with a splat I was pretty sure that all three boys had relieved themselves on my bunk. I dragged the sheet out of the cell onto the platform, then looked up at Donovan and Zee.
"What am I supposed to do now?"
"Laundry's in a couple of days," Donovan answered with a shrug. "Till then, I guess you'll just be sleeping al dente."
"Al dente?" I asked, frowning. Zee chuckled.
"I think he means al fresco," he said. "Out in the open."
"What am I, Italian?" Donovan replied, raising his arm as if to whack Zee but giving him a gentle clip on the ear. "Al dente, al fresco, Al Pacino, it's all the same to me."
The sharp tang of urine was making our eyes water, so we walked a few steps along the landing and sat down, our feet dangling over the drop and our faces pressed through the railings. The inmates looked like toy soldiers below, separated into different units that occupied various sections of the courtyard. Like oil and water, each group seemed repelled from every other, never straying into enemy territory. Some milled around like packs of dogs, looking for any sign of weakness. Others sat at the scattered tables arm wrestling and playing cards.
There was even a group of younger inmates playing tag, yelling in excitement as they chased one another around the yard, avoiding the bigger boys. I don't know why, but the sight of them running brought a lump to my throat-they were kids who should have been tearing across the school playground between lessons, or on their way home to a hot meal and a loving family. Some looked like they were ten years old, for Christ's sake-they never even had a chance to enjoy being young.
"The warden's not going to lift his warning, is he?" asked Zee, taking my mind off events below.
"He'll lift it in time," explained Donovan. "This place is like a pressure cooker and he knows it. He'll leave the threat of the hole hanging over us for a few days, but he can't keep it up forever or he'll have a riot on his hands." He idly picked some rust from the bar and flicked it out into the void. "He won't announce that he's lifted it, there will just be a skirmish one day and all that will happen will be a lockdown. Like I said, you never really know what's gonna happen in this place."