Authors: Brock E. Deskins
“No, I’m pretty sure I get it.”
“Bah, why am asking you? You’re nothing but a fat monkey with keys.” Garran snapped.
The jailer looked toward another cell. “Hey, Phil, you hear all that?”
“It’s rape!” a voice called out.
“Phil says it’s rape too.”
“Who the hell is Phil?”
“A rapist.”
“Garran, let it go for God’s sake,” Adam said.
“This is important. I will not let it go. Hey, get back here!” Garran shouted at the man’s back as he walked away. “You better switch our cells, or I’ll make you regret it!” The outer door creaked once more and slammed shut. “Damn it!” Garran spun and found Adam glaring hatefully at him. “What?”
“This is your fault.”
“How is this my fault?”
“Maybe if you hadn’t spent the entire day getting drunk, and probably fornicating, you would have noticed the drug in the wine and stopped drinking before it completely debilitated you! Maybe if you weren’t still drunk and drugged, you would put your mind to better use than complaining about what damn cell we are in and figure out how to get us out of here!”
“Maybe that is exactly what I am doing, Mr. blamey blame!”
“Why the hell does it matter what cell we are in and how is switching rooms going to get us out?”
Garran took an unsteady step forward and put his face within inches of Adam’s. “In addition to my drinking, the only fornicating, for lack of a better word, I did today was with that fat bastard out there. And by fornicating, I mean throwing dice with him while I took an impression of his cell key, made a copy, and dropped it through that little window in the other cell where we should have been locked up!”
“You knew we were going to get thrown in jail but still went ahead with the meeting?”
“I always assume I’m going to end up in jail at some point. Getting a key is the first thing I do on a mission.”
Adam stared at Garran a moment. “That is actually kind of brilliant.”
“Right? I’m not the greatest agent in the kingdom for nothing.”
“It is brilliant up until the point where we got locked in the wrong cell. There is like six rooms down here. Why would you think we would get put in the one with the key?”
“Because of the three that aren’t occupied, that was the only one with a window, and the requirements set forth by the treatment of royal prisoners treaty explicitly states a cell with certain amenities, one being a goddam window.”
“So…now we’re screwed.”
“No, I just need to think.”
“So…we’re screwed.”
“Very funny.” Garran sat on the stone slab that served as a bed and rubbed his temples. “I got it!”
“A way out?”
“No, a better word for fornicating. There is nothing like a little cloistering with the threat of impending doom to stimulate the old vocabulary.”
“Not at all helpful.”
“Just give it a minute, it will come.” Garran continued to massage his temples with his fingertips. “Aha!”
“Now you have a plan?”
“No, another word for fornicating.”
“We are so screwed.”
“That one doesn’t count, you already used it.” Garran stabbed a finger into the air. “Aha!”
“Don’t tell me, a third word for fornicate?”
“Fornicate? No, I have an idea to get out of here. Maybe we could speed this along if you got your mind out of the gutter and thought about something other than your sexual repression. Besides, it would have been a fourth word, not the third.
Adam shook his head. “What?”
“I came up with two, and then you said a third one. Really, if you are going to play the game, then learn to keep score.”
“Do you have a plan or not?” Adam screeched.
“Of course I do. I always have a plan. I think I mentioned that before. You have a terrible memory for someone who is always sober.”
Adam clenched and unclenched his fists several times. “What is your plan?”
“Do you remember what Gordon did with that goat?”
“I remember what you did with that goat. It is a thing of my nightmares whenever I close my eyes.”
“That sounds more like a you problem than anything I did.”
Adam shook his head. “No, no I’m pretty sure it is entirely you.”
“Anyway, your deep sexual repressions aside, you are god-touched. You can do what he did, only with a rat.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t”
“Take your pick.”
“If we don’t get out of here, someone from The Guild is going to come and take you away, and this entire thing falls apart. Now, can you do it?”
“It goes against every vow I have taken and every law regarding the use of magic in the kingdom.”
“Screw your vows and screw the law. This is about something bigger than both of them. Do you know how to do it?”
Adam nodded. “In theory. I can probably figure it out.”
“Good. All we need to do is lure a rat in here, and then you can do whatever it is you need to do.”
“Sure, screw our laws, screw my vows, and screw my eternal soul,” Adam muttered. “At least you won’t be able to screw the rat.”
“Sire, Agent Law is here,” the seneschal announced.
Anton’s eyes traveled toward the door and stood. “Already? Very well, show him in.”
Brennan opened the door wider, and Victor strode into the room. His clothes and face showed his road weariness, but his eyes were alert, his posture intense.
“Agent Law, I was not expecting you for at least another day or two. You very nearly beat the courier here.”
“I tried, but even I cannot overcome their logistical advantage,” Victor replied. “Do you have them?”
“Yes, I locked them both up not more than two hours ago.”
“Holt wasn’t a problem?”
“Not in the slightest. He drank the wine I drugged like a man breaths air. He was regaining consciousness, but I doubt he will be lucid for hours yet to come.”
Victor grunted. “I wouldn’t count on it. You should have killed him the moment he passed out.”
“Your missive did not clearly state that you wanted him dead, and I did not want to risk overstepping my bounds with an action that cannot be reversed. If you like, I will bring two of my guards with us, and they can shoot him through the bars in the door.”
Victor thought a moment and nodded. “I would rather kill him in a fight, but I’m in a hurry, and he’s a slippery little turd. Best just to get it done with. It’s going to be a much longer ride back to Leva.”
Anton led the way out of the room and motioned for two soldiers with crossbows to accompany them.
***
“All right, so how do we get a rat to come in?” Garran asked. “I would rather not just wait for one to wander by. I don’t know if we have that kind of time.”
“I could make an odor in the room,” Adam offered.
“So can I, but I figured that given the tight confines and poor ventilation it would be rude, and I didn’t want to listen your complaining.”
“Not that kind of odor, you idiot. A smell to attract them, like food.”
“Oh, yeah, I can’t do that. I might bring in some flies, but that’s probably about it.”
Adam sighed and shook his head.
“What? I’m still woozy from being drugged. Give me a break.”
Adam ignored him, closed his eyes, and began softly muttering. Within seconds, the smell of sharp cheese wafted through the air. He directed the scent through the slot cut into the bottom of the door and out into the corridor.
“I was wrong,” Garran said. “I could have made a smell very close to that.”
“Shut up, I need to concentrate.”
“Amateur. I can make that smell in my sleep.”
“That is something for which I am far too familiar. Now, shut up.”
Garran stood in the corner closest to the door, gripping the waste bucket and waiting to clobber any unfortunate creature that scurried in looking for food. Minutes passed and Garran began to doubt his plan. It would be just his luck that Anton had the only rat-free dungeon on the world.
He was just about to skip to the second part of his plan when a large black rat poked its head under the door. It cautiously entered the room, sticking its nose into the air and sniffing. Garran slowly reeled back his arm and let the bucket fly. It struck the rat full on, flipping it onto its side where it squealed and writhed on the floor.
Garran lunged forward, grabbed the rat just behind its head, and snapped its neck. “What now?”
“I need to get some of its blood.”
“I don’t suppose you have a knife?”
“No. Maybe there is something we can use around here, a broken shard of pottery or some such,” Adam said and began searching the floor of the dank chamber.
“The things I do for God and country,” Garran muttered with a sigh.
He clamped his teeth into the skin on the rat’s back, gnawed, and opened a large gash. Adam turned away and heaved the contents of his stomach out onto the floor.
“Oh, God, why did you do that?”
“Expediency, now hurry up. I’m getting a bad feeling that we don’t have much time.”
“Or maybe you are feeling the first symptoms of rabies.”
“Hm, I am thirsty all the sudden.”
Adam took the rat from Garran, dry heaved a bit, and dabbed the blood onto his face with a finger. He began muttering the strange language of magic once again, this time sending his consciousness out into the passageway and other rooms in search of a blood connection with the rat.
“I found another one,” Adam said minutes later.
“Can you control it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Send it into the room next to this one. The key should be in the straw beneath the window.”
Adam forced his will onto the rat. Looking through the rat’s eyes was a very disorienting experience and deeply unpleasant. It took time to get his bearings and find the room to which Garran was referring.
“I found it! I can move it, but it’s really heavy.”
The rat appeared beneath the door moments later, dragging the large key with its mouth. Garran reached down, took the key, and then stomped on the rat. Adam cried out, fell to the floor, and vomited once again.
“What the hell?” Adam croaked as he writhed on the floor.
“That’s good,” Garran said. “Keep that up for a minute.”
“Oh, you bastard!”
Garran stood on the waste bucket, stretched his arm through the bars, and sought out the keyhole on the other side. He stabbed blindly at the door until he finally managed to find the hole. The lock withdrew with a click. Garran removed the key and pushed the door slightly open.
“You sonofabitch!” Adam wailed from the floor. “Why did you do that?”
“It was a rat.”
“You could have waited until I was out!”
“I need you to act like you are in distress and your acting ability sucks. Just keep squirming and whining.” Garran shouted toward the outside door. “Hey, fatso, we need some help in here! The Prince is dying!”
The outer door screeched open and the jailer waddled in. “What are you two up to?”
“Nothing,” Garran replied through the bars of his cell. “You need to get in here. Anton is not going to be happy if his royal prisoner dies.”
“I’m not opening that door for any reason.” The man’s pudgy face filled the barred opening and peered down at Adam. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s got a bad case of virginitis,” Garran said.
“Huh?”
Garran threw himself against the door, slamming it into the guard’s face. The jailer stumbled back until he hit the wall a few feet behind him. Garran lunged through the opening and punched him repeatedly in the face and head until he stopped moving.
He dragged the unconscious guard into the cell. “Are you ready to get out of here now, or do you want lie around and whine a little more?”
Adam got to his feet as he shook off the empathic pain from the rat’s brutal death and glared at Garran. “Go to hell. I’ll get you back for this!”
“Just thank me for giving you the opportunity when you do.”
Garran locked the cell door behind them. An arm jutted between the bars set in the door of another cell a few paces away.
“Hey, buddy, let me out!” Phil begged.
Garran strode to the door. “Why should I let you out?”
“Come on, we’re the same you and I. Just leave me the key.”
Garran held up the key. “This key? Do you want this key?” He pulled the key away when Phil reached for it. “You have to stretch farther than that. Come on, Phil, you can get it.”
“Garran,” Adam shouted, “stop teasing the rapist and let’s go!”
Garran tossed the key into one of the empty cells and stepped close to the bars. “We are not the same! You should be ashamed of yourself!”
“So should you!” Phil retorted.
“Most days I am!”
“Garran, let’s go!” Adam pleaded.
Garran ignored the Phil’s expletives and led the way out of the dungeon room and into the antechamber, closing the outer door behind them. His foot touched the first step when he heard voices echoing down the stairs. He grabbed Adam by his sleeve and pulled him into the dark recess near the bottom of the stairs. Adam began using his god-touched powers. Garran stifled a curse when he recognized the man with King Anton and the two guards.
Garran nudged Adam with his elbow and tapped his ear.
“They can’t see or hear us,” Adam whispered.
“Shit!” Garran hissed. “That’s Victor Law.”
“That’s Victor? Shit. Can you fight him?”
Garran held up the truncheon he had liberated from the jailer. “Not with this and, if I’m being completely honest, not with anything else either.”
The group paused just feet away and stared at the antechamber door.
“That’s odd,” Anton said. “There should be a guard here.”
“I think it’s Olin down here tonight, Milord. He probably went up to the kitchens,” one of the soldiers said.
Victor drew his sword. “You two go check the cell—carefully,” he ordered the two guards.
The men leveled their crossbows and one edged forward and opened the door. Seeing no one in the short hall beyond, they both crept into the passage. One peered through the bars of the cell.
“I see someone lying on the floor,” the soldier called out. “It’s just one, and it’s pretty fat. I’m guessing it’s Olin.”
“You just missed that bastard!” Phil shouted. “If you hurry, you can catch him.”
Victor sniffed the air. “I know you’re close by, Holt. I can smell you. Come on out from wherever you’re hiding. There’s no use fighting the inevitable.”
“You think he’s smelling the cheese?” Garran asked.
“Probably both, but mostly you. They are a rather similar odor.”
“I took a bath!”
“Your stink is like layers of paint. It would take days of scrubbing with a potent solvent to remove it all.”
“Damn it.”
Garran gripped his cudgel tighter, called upon his transcended powers, and lunged. In Adam’s eyes, he was almost a blur, covering the few yards between them in a second. To Garran’s mind, he felt sluggish, his body still protesting the powerful tranquilizer with which Anton had drugged his wine. How slow he was became clear when Victor spun and slapped Garran’s club aside.
Garran dropped his shoulder without breaking stride, plowed into both men, and sent them sprawling into the next room with enough force to trip up the two soldiers halfway down the corridor. He slammed the antechamber door and threw the iron slide lock.
“Time to go!” he shouted to Adam and raced for the stairs.
A dull pounding rattled the door behind them. “You can’t run from me, Garran!” Victor shouted.
“Oh yes I can!” Garran yelled back as he fled up the stairs.
Adam and Garran emerged from the short, winding staircase and bolted down the hallway in what they hoped was toward the outside. Their feet beat a rapid staccato on the floor as they stumbled to a halt at an intersection of corridors.
Adam looked furtively down the intersecting halls. “Which way do we go?”
A guard stepped through a doorway halfway down the hall to their left. “Hey, what are you two doing?”
“Nothing, just trying to find the way out,” Garran answered. “Care to point us toward the exit?”
The man grabbed the hilt of his sword and began drawing it out. “I think you both need to come with me.”
“I think you need to focus on the more urgent matter at hand,” Garran countered.
“What urgent matter?”
“Putting out the fire.”
The man looked behind him then back at Garran. “What fire?”
Garran grabbed the burning oil lamp from the wall and hurled it toward the guard. “That fire.”
The glass globe shattered against the wall partway between them, soaking a large tapestry in oil a split second before igniting it.
“What the hell are you doing, you fool?” the soldier cried as he tore the tapestry from the wall and began beating the flames with his surcoat.
“Burning this mother to the ground!” Garran shouted, his eyes wide and psychotic.
The soldier’s outcry echoed down the halls, and others quickly took up the clamor as they emerged from different rooms and spotted the fire. Garran ran toward another lamp and threw it at a knot of three guards and a member of the castle staff who were running toward them from the hall to their rear. The oil ignited, bringing the group to quick halt.
Garran grabbed Adam by the elbow and propelled him down one of the two remaining passageways. Shouts and pounding feet echoed behind them as they ran. Garran lashed out at a lamp with his truncheon as they sprinted past, shattered the glass, and set fire to the oil splashed across the wall and floor.
“Gah, my stick is on fire!” Garran cried as he waved the flaming club before him.
“I’m sure a trip to the physic will clear it up. I imagine they all keep a steady supply curatives on hand just for you.”
“Now you develop a sense of humor?”
Two more guards burst into the hall ahead of them. Garran lowered his head and charged, waving the flaming brand and screaming like a lunatic. Taken aback by their natural fear of fire and Garran’s frantic assault, the two guards drew up short and backpedaled. Regaining their courage, they raised their weapons and surged forward. Garran ducked below the first one’s wild swing and slammed him into the wall. The second guard raised his sword high and made to cleave Garran’s head in twain.