The Midnight Spy

by Kiki Hamilton

  Jaaniyah could see him squint in the darkness trying to locate her. As she watched, he crouched down, sweeping his hands before him along the floor, as if blind.

  “Where are you?” he called in a harsh voice.

  She could understand just enough Sartish to recognize his words. She sat silent as stone as she debated whether to try and kick him and make a run for the door or to stay hidden against the wall. But even if she made it out the door, she knew she could never find her way out of this labyrinth on her own.

  The man went back to the entrance of the cell and disappeared out the door but reappeared within seconds carrying a lit torch. He held the light high above his head, waving it back and forth, as he walked cautiously into the small room.

  The light fell upon Jaaniyah huddled in the corner.

  “Ah, there you are.”

  He walked over and stared down at her, his lip curled in a sneer.

  “Don’t look so high and mighty now, do yer?” He nudged her leg roughly with his boot. “Gittup.”

  Using the wall behind her for support, Jaaniyah pushed herself into a standing position. She wobbled for a moment, as the pain behind her eyes shifted to the back of her head, but at least this time she didn’t feel like she was going to throw up. She eyed her captor with a blank expression.

  He squinted at her. “Too stupid to be scared? Or scared stupid? No matter.” He slipped a noose around her neck and yanked it tight. “Follow me,” he said and pulled her along behind him.

  As they emerged into the hallway Jaaniyah heard low moans and cries drifting through the shadows from other prisoners being held there. Their mournful cries made her skin crawl. She was led toward the end of the corridor where a red glow ebbed and flowed. The air got warmer as they approached the end of the passageway and Jaaniyah could hear the crackling and snapping of a fire. The path divided into the shape of a T and as they neared the end of the corridor, Jaaniyah gazed down over the edge of the path into a chasm with a roaring fire burning far down below. The man pulled her abruptly to the left to follow along a narrow corridor.

  “The pit.” The man grunted as he saw Jaaniyah’s face. “Probably where yer gonna end up.” He seemed oddly satisfied with that idea.

  A thin trail wound round and round the perimeter of the cavern descending to reach the fire below. The raging inferno explained the warmth that permeated the underground tunnels.

  She was led through a number of nondescript hallways carved from the porous rock, each one similar to the last. Finally they climbed a set of stairs up to a plank door where a guard waited. At the jailor’s hushed explanation, the guard pounded heavily upon the door.

  The wooden portal was yanked open and a large man stood before her. His eyes glittered with black malice as he examined Jaaniyah from head to toe.

  “Bring her in,” he commanded.

  His voice sent chills down Jaaniyah’s arms and she fought a primal urge to run. This had to be Mosaba.

  With lightening quick speed, Mosaba reached for the noose hanging from Jaaniyah’s neck and drew it taut, jerking her into the room. Jaaniyah grabbed the rope with both hands in an attempt to lessen the tension on her neck. Mosaba laughed when he saw her grimace in pain.

  He tugged her across the room and shoved her onto a small wooden stool next to a fire before he sat in a large, carved chair, keeping a loose grip on her tether. Jaaniyah kept her eyes down, afraid to look at him.

  There was a long silence as Mosaba watched her. Jaaniyah dared one quick glance at the man and was shocked at the hate she saw burning in his eyes. Evil seemed to emanate from him.

  “Do you know who I am?” His tone was dark and bitter—like the dregs of a jug of unseasoned ale.

  Jaaniyah stared at the floor in front of his black boots and nodded.

  “Your father left my hospitality before he told me what I needed to know,” Mosaba said, his words measured. “I don’t intend for you to do the same.”

  Her breath stopped in her throat.

  “Do you know what I want?” His words were almost gentle as he stroked his short black beard with his thumb and forefinger. She shook her head. He leaned forward and pulled a glowing stick from the fire.

  “I think you do.” Somehow his soft words sounded more menacing than if he’d yelled. He reached over the side of his chair and lifted a jug, amber fluid trickling down one side of his mouth. “Hold your arm out,” he commanded.

  Jaaniyah tensed.

  He set the jug down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood from his chair and stepped toward her.

  “I don’t like Jacoby’s, did you know that?” He stood inches from her now. She could smell the acrid fumes as the flames turned to red embers. “I had a dirty little Jacoby under my feet for years.”

  Jaaniyah didn’t answer.

  “Look at me!” he thundered.

  Jaaniyah jumped, her gaze jumping to his.

  “Hold your arm out, NOW.”

  Jaaniyah lifted her shaking arms up, the soft skin exposed. Faster than she expected he reached out and grabbed tight onto her wrist.

  “Where is she?” His black eyes bulged with rage as he lowered the burning piece of wood toward her arm. “Where is Madanica?”

  She shook her head, too afraid to speak. Mosaba slammed the red hot ember onto her arm and held it there. Jaaniyah let out a scream of pain and tried to jerk away but Mosaba’s grip tightened until she thought he would crush her wrist. After what felt like eternity, he removed the burning piece of wood from her arm.

  “Tell me.”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, tears falling from her eyes. Nica couldn’t possibly be aligned with this mad barbarian.

  “MADANICA!”

  Jaaniyah flinched as he screamed. Spittle flew from the corners of his mouth striking her in the face. He shouted the name so loud, she wondered that the stone walls didn’t shake.

  “You know where she is, don’t you? And the Getheas Stone.” He was shaking now, his hand clenching and unclenching reflexively. “You will tell me,” he threatened, his voice soft again. “You will tell me everything I want to know.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaaniyah cried. She was going to die at the hands of this madman. What a cruel twist of fate that her twin should spend years with Mosaba and survive and she was doomed to die by his hand in a matter of hours.

  “You two thought you had it all figured out, didn’t you? Thought you were so much smarter than me. So much better than me. But I know more than you think. You don’t know ANYTHING!” His words ended in a scream. He struck before Jaaniyah saw his hand coming. Her head snapped back and her teeth smashed together with an alarming crunch as the back of his hand collided hard with her face. Tears involuntarily sprang from her eyes as her brain registered the pain. She could feel blood gushing from her nose.

  Instinctively, she raised her arms to cover her face to protect herself from further blows.

  But the blows that Jaaniyah expected didn’t come. Mosaba seemed to gain some measure of control. He yanked her back to the door by the noose around her neck and barked a series of harsh orders. Jaaniyah put her hands to her nose, trying to staunch the flow of blood, the fluid warm and sticky on her skin. The door opened and she was handed off to the same guard who had delivered her earlier.

  The stones were rough on her bare feet as she stumbled behind the man. She kept her head down as she walked, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. The burn on her arm throbbed with a red hot fire as though he still held the heat of the ember to her skin. The shadows of other people passed by but Jaaniyah didn’t look up. They wound their way past the roaring fire in the pit and entered yet another corridor within the maze of passageways when her captor paused to discuss something with another guard. Jaaniyah heard a rustling from a cell next to her. She didn’t bother to look.

  There was a startled gasp. “Nica.” It was just a whisper.

  Surprised, Jaaniyah turned her hea
d to the side and looked down. A young man stared back with a horrified expression. Even in the dim light she could see the orange color of his hair and the freckles that riddled his face. She turned away. A prisoner—just like her. He would be no help.

  The man holding the noose opened the door to her cell. As she entered he gave her a shove that sent her sprawling. Her aching head hit the stone floor with a jarring impact. Jaaniyah cried out in pain. The man’s laughter echoed into the cell as he slammed the iron door shut with a resounding clang.

  Jaaniyah didn’t have the energy to stand up. Instead, she pulled her knees to her chest and cried.

  “NICA.”

  It was another harsh whisper from across the hall. Jaaniyah ignored the voice. After an hour of repeatedly calling ‘Nica’, the voice had started to annoy her. Was the young man demented? Finally, she pushed herself into a sitting position and crawled to the front of the cell just so she could tell him to shut up.

  “Who are you?”

  His face lit up, then his look turned to one of confusion.

  “Who am I?” he repeated. “What kind of question is that?’

  “Just tell me who you are,” Jaaniyah snapped. Blood had crusted around her nose and one side of her jaw and mouth were swollen.

  There was a long moment of silence as the other prisoner contemplated her demand.

  “I’m Toppen, of course. Toppen Bakerswith.”

  “Well, Toppen Bakerswith, I am not Nica.”

  Toppen’s smile faded as he realized she wasn’t smiling. “Of course, you’re Nica. Madanica Santos. Who else could you be?”

  Jaaniyah sighed. “How does Nica know you, Toppen?”

  Another long silence stretched between them. “You know me because I delivered wine to the castle. Have you been struck on the head?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’ve been struck on the head, more than once, burnt on the bare flesh of my arm, tied up, slapped so hard by bloody nose is probably broken and hauled across half the countryside trussed up like a pig for market. How could you tell?” Jaaniyah didn’t try to stop the anger welling inside. It felt good to let it out. “Now I want out of this bloody place,” she cried, “and I want Mosaba Santos HUNG FROM THE HIGHEST YARDARM IN JARISA.” Her words ended in a shout. It was only the abject fear she saw on Toppen’s face that cooled her temper.

  “Shhhh…Nica, please, stop, shhhh, stop it right now,” Toppen pleaded with her. “By the Gods, you know what your father will do to you if he hears you talking like that. What in bloody hell is wrong with you? This is all because of that spy who tricked us. I knew I should have stopped him somehow…”

  “I am not Nica,” Jaaniyah ground out again. “I am Jaaniyah Jacoby and I have been kidnapped from my home and brought here against my will.”

  Toppen’s mouth dropped open. “By the grace of Getheas,” he whispered, “Nica, what have they done to you?”

  Jaaniyah heaved a sigh at the uselessness of the conversation and thought about crawling to the back of the cell and hiding but she couldn’t resist the opportunity to question this strange young man a little further. “How did you know Nica?”

  “We were headed to Pont d’Suree to go to University.” He craned his neck to look up and down the hallway. “We were escaping from Sartis,” he said in a loud whisper. “We planned for months. Don’t you remember?” The pleading look on his face convinced Jaaniyah of his sincerity.

  “University? Nica was going to go the school? To do what?”

  “You are very good with numbers and languages as well as the healing arts. Remember all those little animals you would nurse back to health? Especially that one black dog Mosaba tortured?”

  Jaaniyah was silent. “Did Nica have any family?”

  Toppen stared at her. “You don’t remember anything about your own life?”

  Jaaniyah sighed. “I’m not Nica. I’m her sister. Her twin.”

  His reaction vacillated between laughter and disbelief. Finally, Toppen shook his head with pity. “Oh, Nic, what have they done to you to push you this far over the edge?”

  Exhausted, Jaaniyah turned and moved away from the door and lay down at the back of the room, cradling her head on her good arm. She wondered where Becknah was being held and if he was still alive. A new fear flickered inside her. What would Mosaba do when he realized she didn’t know the location of the Getheas Stone?

  The events of the last few days caught up with her. She couldn’t think straight. How could she be locked in this filthy jail cell in some underground version of Lucede’s lair? How could the man she loved be infatuated with a twin sister she hadn’t even know existed? How could any of this be happening? She curled up in a ball on the floor and cried until there were no tears left.

  FOOTSTEPS STOPPED BEFORE her cell. The metal door creaked as it swung open and she scrambled to the back of the dark room.

  “Get up,” a voice growled. “Mosaba wants to see you, now.”

  Toppen’s worried face stared from the shadows of his cell across the hall as she was tugged into the hallway. This time she paid more attention to the route they took, looking for any possible exits or means of escape. But the hallways were dimmed and lined with shadows, making it hard to differentiate from one passageway to another. Carved from the porous stone that surrounded them, the hallways were hung with torches perched in metal brackets along the walls. Occasionally a torch had burnt out or blown out, leaving a patch of total darkness. Low moans and eerie disjointed wails drifted from the different cells she passed, making her skin crawl.

  The guard pulled Jaaniyah along by a neck leash, but this one didn’t seem to take pleasure in trying to choke her. He came to a stop in front of Mosaba’s door and banged on the heavy portal.

  “Enter,” a voice called from inside.

  The guard opened the door and pulled Jaaniyah into the room. The first thing she saw was Mosaba’s big frame filling the large carved chair on one side of the room. Before him, a man sat slumped in a chair, his robe tattered and filthy. A surge of relief flooded her as she recognized Becknah’s grey head. An empty chair sat next to the scholar. The guard pushed her forward toward Mosaba.

  “Come in, come in, my little princess. We’ve been waiting for you,” Mosaba said in a cheery voice that made Jaani wary. “Please, come sit.” He nodded indicating the empty chair.

  Jaaniyah drew close. Becknah’s arms had been tied to the arms of the chair. His face appeared bruised and he looked frail, his entire body sagging with age and pain. The guard shoved her into the seat next to him.

  “How are you?” Jaaniyah whispered. He gave her a feeble smile and nodded, though he looked awful to Jaaniyah. His cheekbones stuck out so prominently he reminded her of a cadaver. He started to ask her something when Mosaba cut him off.

  “I’ve been informed by a reliable source that you two know where the Getheas Stone is located.” He stared hard at both of them.

  Jaaniyah didn’t move, didn’t make eye contact with Mosaba. It was as she feared. He wanted the impossible.

  “You will tell me where the Stone is located.” His tone was cordial, almost friendly, as if they were discussing the weather over a cup of tea.

  Becknah cleared his throat and spoke in shaky Sartisian. “Your Grace, the location of the Getheas Stone is a legendary secret left by the Ancients, hundreds of years ago to be discovered when the stars aligned.” He shook his head with regret. “I’m afraid we don’t yet know the location of the Stone.”

  “Ah, but I think you do,” Mosaba said. “Are you not a scholar? Can you not read the stars and divine these things?” His voice was calm, but Jaaniyah could see his fingers gripping the arms of his chair. “I’ve had word you are launching your own quest for the Stone.” Though his voice remained low, Jaaniyah could hear the ragged undercurrent of madness.

  Becknah started to shake his head but Mosaba interrupted.

  “Here’s how we’re going to proceed. You will tell me where the Stone is located. I will send one of my soldi
ers to recover the Stone and bring it to me. Should my man fail to return with the true Getheas Stone then I will cut a finger from each of your hands and the head from his body.” Mosaba threaded his fingers together and rested his hands in his lap. “Then we’ll try again.”

  ou know another way into the Ortawn?” Nica repeated in surprise. “How is that possible?”

  “As you may recall, Sebande and I were on our own for a number of years. We did some exploring,” Shanks said smoothly. Behind him Sebande gave a rueful half-laugh. “The Ortawn is carved from very porous limestone. At one time that area had great amounts of water running through it, which created the caverns underneath Sartis. The force of the water formed the rooms and chambers of the prison. There are several different ways in and out of the Ortawn, but this particular entrance is one we created ourselves, so I don’t think anyone else knows of it.”

  “You created it? How?”

  Shanks looked at Sebande. The dark haired soldier shook his head, his lip curled in disgust. “Why not?” he muttered. “She knows everything else.”

  Shanks cleared his throat. “Sebande and I—” there was a hiccup of hesitation, as though he still found it difficult to divulge their secrets— “we…uh…lived in the Ortawn for a while.” He sat back. “We’ll just leave it at that for now. Anyway, while we were there we dug an exit.”

  Nica had to bite her tongue not to pepper him with questions. There was probably nothing he could have said that she would have found more shocking. They’d lived in that ghastly hellhole? Had they been prisoners? Perhaps that was how Shanks had come to speak Sartish so fluently. She cleared her throat and tried to sound nonchalant at his startling disclosure. “And does this exit still exist?”

  “No reason it shouldn’t. It’s a desert there. Nothing changes but the top layer of sand,” Shanks replied. “But the problem is, all three of us can’t go tramping into the Ortawn. It needs to just be one of us.” He poked at the logs of the fire again. “And we can’t leave you unguarded, so Sebande and I have discussed the situation and we’re going to split up. He’s going to go in after Jaaniyah and you and I are going to head back to Berjerac and look for that statue for the next clue.”