by Duncan Pile
He stopped outside the house, afraid to go in. Summoning his courage, Professor Worrick opened the door and slipped through. It was dark within, but he knew in his bones that Belash was already there. He could sense his presence, as he’d always been able to – a sibling bond that had never left them, despite their differences.
“I’m in the back, brother,” Belash’s voice called.
Dreading what was to come, Professor Worrick headed slowly towards the parlour door. Bracing himself, he pushed it open and stepped inside to find Belash standing by the fireplace, leaning casually against the mantel. Kenril was there too, his hands hidden within the sleeves of his long, grey robes. A single lantern lit the room, casting a yellowish light over the crumbling furniture.
“Antonius,” Belash said.
“Belash,” Professor Worrick responded. A spark of anger stiffened his spine and dispelled some of his nervousness. He wasn’t going to cower in fear before his own brother.
“Take a seat,” Belash said, indicating a wooden chair in the middle of the room.
“I’d prefer to stand,” Professor Worrick said.
Belash shrugged. “Your choice.”
“Can we get down to it?” Professor Worrick said. “I haven’t got all day.”
Belash laughed, but the sound was devoid of humour. He stepped away from the fireplace and moved closer to his brother, holding his gaze with flat, grey eyes. When he spoke, it was barely a whisper. “Don’t try to throw your weight around, Antonius. I know you’re p1ssing your pants.”
Professor Worrick swallowed, his fear returning in full measure.
Belash clapped his hands briskly. “But you are right. Let’s not waste the day in idle chatter. Kenril…”
The magician met Professor Worrick’s gaze. “We need you to steal something, and we need it as soon as possible.”
Professor Worrick blanched. It wasn’t the first time he’d stolen for Belash, but he hated betraying Hephistole’s trust. The chancellor was a good friend and a man to admire.
“What do you need?” he muttered.
“A nullifier.”
Professor Worrick shook his head in alarm. He knew of such a device, but it was kept in the Observatory, a prized item among Hephistole’s personal collection. It was a rare and valuable object, and trying to steal it would be risky in the extreme.
“I don’t believe the college owns a nullifier,” he said.
Belash back-handed him across the face. Professor Worrick stumbled and lifted a hand to his jaw. It stung like crazy and he could taste blood in his mouth.
“Don’t lie to me. Hephistole has one in his study, as you well know. An eye on a stand, carved from a single piece of granite.”
Professor Worrick’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “It will be very hard to get.”
“You’ll find a way,” Belash said. “I need it by the end of the week and not a moment later. Contact me in the usual way.”
Professor Worrick nodded mutely.
“Don’t look so sad Antonius,” Belash said, as he made for the door. “Many people live estranged from their families, and yet here you are, helping out your beloved brother.”
Antonius didn’t have the strength to respond.
“Don’t keep us waiting,” Belash said as he walked out the door, trailed by Kenril.
Professor Worrick waited for the front door to close and then slumped into a chair, his head in his hands.
He would give anything to escape Belash’s control but he couldn’t see a way out. He remained there for some time, too numb to think, and then, at some unspoken inner signal, stood up and left the house.
Seven
Jonn stood guard outside the Wrench’s room, listening intently to the murmur of conversation from within. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but the speakers’ voices were taut and angry. Jonn was feeling pretty tense himself, and understandably so – in two days’ time, he was going to attempt to rescue Adela from Belash’s clutches. No, he reprimanded himself forcefully. He wasn’t going to attempt anything; he was going to succeed. Whatever it took, even if he lost his life in the process, Adela would never have to endure another day as the crime-lord’s slave.
Every day in Belash’s lair was an ordeal. He was used to being Tarek by now and knew how to maintain the façade, but everything was harder with Adela around. He spent most afternoons patrolling the roof garden, which brought him into proximity with her time and again. Everything in him responded to her; his eyes wanted to follow her, his hands to reach for her, his body to be near her. Above all else he wanted to protect her, and when Belash was around, hiding his feelings was a near impossibility. He resisted every protective urge and refused even to make eye contact with her, remaining stock still whenever she passed. Thus far he felt that his cover was still intact, but if he relaxed his vigilance for even a moment the consequences would be unthinkable.
The door he was guarding flew open and the Wrench stormed out, followed by Kenril, Belash’s pet magician.
“Get it by tomorrow night or Belash will have your hide. You hear me?” the Wrench said.
“Yes, Wrench,” Kenril said, his expression fearful.
Kenril was right to be afraid. Jonn had seen what the Wrench was capable of. The man was a conscienceless sadist and almost certainly insane.
“Do not fail me. No excuses.”
“No excuses,” Kenril mumbled.
“Go!” the Wrench barked. Kenril turned and fled, his robes flapping around his ankles.
Jonn knew better than to ask what was going on, and with the imminent rescue on his mind he wasn’t even curious.
“Sleeping on the job Tarek?” the Wrench snapped.
Jonn realised he was slouching. “Sorry,” he said, straightening up. He could have kicked himself. The Wrench knew him to be alert and hard-working; any change in Tarek’s demeanour invited unwanted scrutiny. The Wrench had been harsher than usual with him over the past few days. He was a bastard to everyone as a matter of course, but for reasons Jonn didn’t understand the henchman seemed to favour him, and usually treated him better than the rest of his underlings. In recent days, however, that seemed to have changed, and he’d started pushing Jonn around like anyone else.
“Come on then,” the Wrench said. “You’re on sewer duty. Report to me when you’re done, but only after you’ve washed.”
“Yes Sir,” Jonn said, and set off after him. Now he knew that he’d fallen out of favour with the Wrench, who only ever assigned sewer duty as a punishment. Jonn didn’t know what he’d done wrong, but he supposed it didn’t matter. In a couple of days he’d be out of there, and wouldn’t have to deal with scum like the Wrench anymore – or at least, he’d be dealing with him as Jonn and not as Tarek, and on terms the Wrench would find most unpleasant.
…
“Antonius, come on over,” Hephistole said, as Professor Worrick stepped off the transporter. Professor Worrick forced a smile but it felt brittle; surely Hephistole would see through it. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Oh, nothing important,” Professor Worrick said, swallowing noisily. “I was hoping to borrow your reticulator for a student demonstration.” The reticulator was an enchanted device that overlaid any object or place with a lattice of light, and was used for a number of purposes from basic record keeping to high art.
“What’s mine is yours,” Hephistole said, waving his hand towards the deeper recesses of his study. “Do you need help finding it?”
“No,” Professor Worrick said, rather too quickly. “There’s no need to trouble yourself. I know where it is.”
Hephistole paused, examining him with his ever-pervasive gaze. “Are you alright Antonius?”
“I’m just a little run down,” Professor Worrick said, moving hastily past the chancellor. “Nothing to worry about. I won’t disturb you any longer.” He could feel Hephistole’s eyes boring into his back as he entered the hallway at the rear of the study, but he forced himself to keep a steady
pace until the natural curve of the corridor took him beyond Hephistole’s sight.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he rushed past the various recesses until he came to the last and deepest alcove. He stepped within and took a steadying breath, looking around for the nullifier. His eyes fell instantly upon the reticulator – the device he was supposedly here to collect. He’d used it once before, when mapping out the landmarks of a long lost city, and instantly recognised its multi-facetted form. Glancing away, he continued to search for the nullifier, an object he had never used but which should be easy enough to identify. He’d seen diagrams of it in a journal – an eye on a stand, carved from a single piece of black granite.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he searched. The longer he took, the more likely it became that Hephistole would come to help, and Professor Worrick didn’t think he could tell his friend even one more lie. If Hephistole got within six feet of him and met his gaze Professor Worrick would confess all, and by doing so condemn his family to death.
He glanced from plinth to plinth, his eyes skimming over each object, but couldn’t see the nullifier anywhere. He moved through the room, scouring the nearby items with an increasing sense of urgency. His heart rate was ratcheting, pounding in his temples, but just when despair threatened to overwhelm him he laid eyes on a low plinth on the far side of the alcove. Obscured by taller plinths and dark in colour, the nullifier was hard to make out, but he’d found it at last.
Professor Worrick stepped gingerly through the forest of artefacts and snatched the heavy object up by the stalk. There was no way he could hide it from Hephistole, but if he dropped through the field of variable density he could be on his way without having to speak to the chancellor. Rushing from the alcove, he was halfway to the drop hole before he remembered the reticulator. If he left without it, his lie would be exposed. Uttering a curse, he rushed back to the alcove and grabbed the reticulator, before dashing back into the hallway.
Footsteps sounded from around the corner. “Is everything okay Antonius?” Hephistole called out.
“Yes, I found it thanks,” Professor Worrick said, casting energy into the drop-hole as he strode towards it. “I’m using the field of variable density.” Hephistole’s footsteps sped up and Professor Worrick threw himself into the hole, manipulating the magic of the field to let him drop rapidly from sight.
“Antonius,” Hephistole called from way above him.
Professor Worrick stuffed the nullifier under his cloak and looked up to see the chancellor’s face, peering at him through the drop-hole. Professor Worrick held up the reticulator. “Thanks for this. Sorry to rush off!”
“Pop by soon,” Hephistole called after him.
“I will,” Professor Worrick said. He needed to get off campus as soon as possible and deliver the stolen object to Kenril. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on the use Belash might put it to; until his family was safe, they were his only concern.
…
Hephistole stepped back from the drop-hole and scratched his chin. Antonius was definitely out of sorts. He’d worked with the man for over twenty years, and knew him as well as anyone did. The professor was a private man, saving his affections for his family, but in his own quiet way he was a friend to all his colleagues. He was a good mentor to many of the students; a careful and considered man who rarely let things get the better of him, but today he had clearly been rattled. Worryingly, Antonius had seemed secretive, furtive even. He’d been quick to turn down the offer of company, preferring to look for the reticulator by himself, and when Hephistole had tried to join him, he practically leapt into the drop-hole.
Hephistole entered the seventh recess and quickly located the reticulator’s plinth. Sure enough, it was empty. He looked around the room and, seeing nothing obvious out of place, breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he’d thought that Antonius was up to no good. Shaking his head, he left the recess and headed back to the desk. Antonius was clearly struggling with something, but if he wanted to speak about it he would do so in his own time.
Eight
The night before Adela’s rescue, Jonn didn’t get a wink of sleep. He tossed and turned, trying desperately to get an hour or two’s rest before the day dawned, but to no avail. At long last morning arrived, and he rose from his bunk exhausted but full of nervous energy. He went through his ablutions by rote, his mind whirring. This was it – his chance to rescue the woman he loved. If everything went to plan, he’d grab Adela and fight his way to the eastern corner of the roof garden, where Hephistole would transport them to safety. If things went wrong, he’d be dead before the day was through and Adela’s fate would be unthinkable. Jonn shuddered, refusing to dwell on it. If he failed, he’d draw his own blade across her throat. One way or another, her life as the crime-lord’s slave was over.
He felt grimly determined as he dressed, glad that the time to act was upon him at last. He would never again have to pretend to be Tarek or play the part of the Wrench’s lackey. He pulled on a pair of trews, loose enough to hide the enchanted pebble that maintained his disguise. He patted the secret pocket he’d sewn into the interior of the garment, taking comfort from the pebble’s telltale bulge.
Confident that his disguise was in place, Jonn pulled on his boots and left the room. He was off duty, which was why he’d chosen that day to mount the rescue. It was the only time he could plan his own movements and make sure he got to the roof garden. As planned, Hephistole would already be in place, invisible to Belash’s eyes, but after much thought, Jonn had decided that the afternoon was the best time to mount the rescue. If he wandered near the roof garden now, he’d have to pass through the hub of the warehouse. All kinds of things got underway in the morning – plans were made, duties assigned, teams formed – and even though it was his day off, someone might try and rope him into working if he appeared to be idle. Painful though it was to delay, waiting was the best choice. Belash would visit the roof garden in the early afternoon, and after sating his appetite would depart and go about his business. Everyone with the power to recruit him would be slowed by post-lunch torpor, and his chances of reaching the roof garden without being stopped were at their best.
Jonn closed the door behind him and hurried towards the nearest exit – the passageway that emerged behind the Lotus Flower – figuring that the safest way to avoid being seen was to head out for the morning and return once lunchtime had been and gone. The only tricky part would be leaving the warehouse.
The corridors were busy but that wasn’t necessarily a hindrance – it was easier to pass unnoticed in a crowd. He sidled past knots of people, moving quickly and purposefully, and managed to reach the exit without attracting attention. The doorway was guarded by a single sentry; a junior henchman who wouldn’t dare to question him. Jonn didn’t even acknowledge him as he pulled back the bolts. He opened the door and stepped out into the dim alleyway beyond.
“Tarek,” a familiar voice said. Jonn froze. His first urge was to run, but that was madness. He’d never get back into headquarters, and besides, he had no reason to think the Wrench was on to him. Composing himself, he turned to face the henchman. “Going somewhere?” the Wrench asked, eyeing Jonn shrewdly, his probing gaze scrutinising every line of Jonn’s expression.
In that moment, Jonn knew something had gone wrong. “It’s my day off,” he said, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “I’m heading down to the docks.”
“Not today,” the Wrench said. “I have need of you.”
“But…” Jonn started, desperately trying to conjure an excuse that might pass muster, but the Wrench wasn’t interested.
“No buts. Come,” the Wrench said, and Jonn had no choice but to follow. The Wrench walked through the complex in silence, leaving Jonn time to worry. Had he been found out? He didn’t see how that could have happened, given how careful he’d been to conceal his identity from everyone except Adela. A sudden chill shot through him. Lia, the slave girl he’d spoken to while cleaning the cages; she knew who he was. He’
d confided in her when trying to discover Adela’s whereabouts – a necessary risk, but one that greatly increased his chances of exposure. He didn’t think Lia would give him up willingly, but how much pressure could a person in her position take, living in fear and squalor, the victim of terrible abuse? Under the right circumstances, he had no doubt she could be made to talk.
Jonn shook his head, composing himself. If the Wrench had proof of his duplicity, he’d already be in chains. There was no need to change the plan. He’d do whatever the Wrench asked of him and wait for the first opportunity to get to the roof garden.
The Wrench stopped at the top of an all-too-familiar stairway; the stairway that led down to the cages. Jonn almost lost his composure. He knew what happened at the bottom of those steps; punishment, interrogation and torture.
“After you,” the Wrench said. Jonn schooled his face to stillness and started down the steps. However bad things looked, he had to keep his cool. There was still a chance his disguise was intact.
At the Wrench’s urging, he passed through the anteroom and entered the tunnel that separated the cages on one side from a series of cells on the other. A single henchman stood guard in the corridor – a blond giant called Belkin who rarely said a word and did what he was told without complaint. His torso and limbs were fleshy, lacking definition, but everyone knew he was freakishly strong – arm wrestling Belkin had become a sport among the other henchmen, but no-one ever came close to beating him. Jonn had spoken with him a few times and had concluded that Belkin was a simpleton who did what he was told without question. He was capable of the foulest deeds, but he did so under instruction and without any obvious relish. The huge man rose to his feet as they approached.
“Open cell four,” the Wrench said.
Wordlessly, Belkin stepped across the corridor and took out a jangling cluster of keys, attached to a large metal hoop. He pawed at them for a moment before selecting the one he wanted and inserting it into the lock. The lock snapped open, and the giant pushed the heavy door inwards.
