“Why should I believe you?” He did not trust this woman and was not prepared to take her word for it that Ellen was truly in danger.
“You have no reason to trust me,” she admitted. “But the question you should ask yourself is ‘what if I am telling the truth?’ Can you really afford to take that chance?”
The tailor walked back into the room to find them staring at each other. Without turning around, Patrick informed him that something had come up and he would be back later to collect his order. Isma then led Patrick out of the shop to where she had left her horse.
“Help me up,” she instructed him. He glared at her.
“Just tell me where Ellen is,” he demanded.
“I will take you to her if you help me mount,” she informed him. “It will take us a while to ride there.”
Not wanting to put his hands on her, he forced himself to do so and jumped up behind her once she was comfortably settled. “You should cling on to my waist,” she suggested, but he ignored her, preferring to fall off if he could not keep his balance rather than getting any closer to the woman than he already was. She had attempted to come between him and Ellen and his hatred for her ran deep.
They rode out of the town and into the nearby hills.
“Where are we going?” he asked, impatient to arrive at their destination.
“There is a cave just around the corner,” she informed him. “My brother is waiting for you there.”
Patrick had no idea what he was going to do once he found Ellen and the assassin. He tried to formulate a plan as they rode, but his mind was too filled with concern for the woman he loved for him to think clearly. He would just have to improvise once he had time to assess the situation.
A short while later, Isma told the horse to stop and elegantly slid off its back. Patrick followed suit and was led down a narrow gap between some large boulders. The hill they had ridden up was not excessively high, but offered a good view of the surrounding countryside. Behind the crest of the hill he saw the cave Isma had spoken of. It could not be seen from the road, making it the perfect hiding place.
Isma paused at the entrance. “They are inside,” she told him, indicating with her arm that he should go first.
The cave was dark and smelled damp and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. It was not big and he could just make out a tunnel at the back. He looked behind him and raised a questioning eyebrow at Isma, wondering if he should enter the tunnel, but she had remained outside and he could not see her.
The tunnel was not long and he could see the flicking light of a fire at the other end. He desperately wanted to call out to Ellen, but knew he should approach cautiously, just in case Nizari was not yet aware that he had arrived.
As he exited the tunnel there was a loud bang and the cavern he had entered became filled with smoke. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Nizari laughing.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring up at a rocky roof. The fire was still burning, illuminating the cavern. Every part of his body ached and his ribs hurt when he breathed. He tried to swallow, but something around his neck prevented him from doing so easily. He attempted to move his hand to it, but found that his arms had been tied above his head. He was lying flat on his back, naked and spread-eagled on what appeared to be a bed. His legs, too, were tied in place.
“Awake already,” a familiar voice said. He did not bother turning his head to look at Isma.
“What happened?” he asked her.
She walked up to the bed, sat down on it and began stroking his bare chest. “My brother was waiting for you and knocked you out with some sort of gas. As soon as you hit the ground he started beating you with a club.” She ran her fingers over his ribs as she spoke, making him wince. “He may have broken some of your bones I am afraid.”
“Where am I?” he asked, doing his best to ignore her caresses. “And what have you done with Ellen?”
Isma laughed. “You stupid man. I cannot believe you are so gullible. Maybe being in love kills brain cells. We never had her; it was just a ploy to get you alone, and it appears to have worked.”
Patrick, who had been struggling at his bonds, let his arms and legs fall back onto the bed as he signed with relief. Ellen was safe; nothing else mattered.
“In answer to your first question, you are in one of my brother’s many hideouts. He does not use them very often, but makes sure they are as comfortable as possible, hence the bed and the rugs on the floor.” From his position, Patrick could not see the floor and took her word for it that there were rugs present.
“So why am I still alive?” he enquired.
“You seem to have annoyed my brother a great deal. He is very angry with you, and he is not the only one. He plans on torturing you for a while before he kills you, but he promised me that I could have some fun first.”
Patrick had no idea what she meant by ‘fun’ and was not interested enough to ask. “What is round my neck?”
“Oh that. That is a choker collar. It is currently set to reduce in size once an hour. I can remove it for you if you like. But you have to do something for me in return.”
There was no need for her to explain what a choker collar was. Now illegal in all countries, they were created over a century ago by some rogue wizards and were used to force their victims into submission. Once activated, it would decrease in size at pre-set intervals until the wearer became unable to breath and suffocated. Usually the person agreed to do whatever was requested of them before it became so tight that it closed the airway. Most had been destroyed by the wizarding community, but Patrick was aware that there were some still around in museums and private collections and he was curious as to how Nizari had gotten his hands on one. He made a mental note to ask him when he saw him next.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked in response to her question. Her hands had started caressing his thighs and his body was responding in ways he could not control.
“Make love to me,” she replied. “I have heard that you are the greatest of all lovers and I wish to find out if your reputation is well earned. Persuade me you are as good as you are made out to be and I will help you escape.”
Patrick smiled at her and she leaned in close to him as he whispered his reply. “I would rather you killed me now.”
“You bastard,” she yelled at him and slapped him hard across the face. She raised her hand to hit him again, but then lowered it as an idea occurred to her. “You may say you do not want me,” she told him, “but your body says otherwise.”
She leaned in to kiss him, pulling away just in time as he tried to bite her. “That was not very nice,” she admonished and nibbled on his earlobe before he had time to turn his head away. She straddled him, kissing and caressing his chest as she slowly worked her way down his body. Then she had her mouth on parts he swore no woman except Ellen would ever touch again. He felt cheap and dirty and bile began to rise in his throat.
There was nothing he could do as she undressed and climbed back on top of him, except close his eyes and pretend it wasn’t happening. He thought about battles he had fought in, conjured up memories of all of the exotic ways he had died, he even recited to himself some of the poems he had read; anything to occupy his mind. Eventually it was over and he heard Isma get dressed and leave the cavern. Still he did not open his eyes.
“He is all yours,” he heard her say and footsteps approached the bed.
“Did you enjoy that?” Nizari asked him.
“No,” Patrick replied. “Was I supposed to?”
The assassin punched him in one of his broken ribs and it took all of his will power not to cry out. “We are going to have some fun, you and I,” the man said, leaning in close to Patrick so he did not have to raise his voice. “I am going to cause you so much pain you will beg me to kill you. I am going to make you suffer and I plan on enjoying every minute of it.”
Patrick took him by surprise by laughing. It was not a mirthless laugh; it wa
s filled with genuine amusement. “I have died more ways than you could possibly imagine. Some have been quick, others long and excruciating. On top of that, I have watched the woman I love more than life itself die in agony. You say you are going to make me suffer. Tell me, what makes you think you can make me suffer more than I already have?”
“Brave words,” Nizari said in admiration. He had confronted a number of his targets before killing them and most had begged for mercy. The few that had shown any backbone had been easy to reduce to blubbering. Patrick was going to be a challenge, but he would break. Part of him hoped it would not be too soon. “But we both know that bravado will get you nowhere,” he continued. “Now, do not go anywhere, I have some things I need to retrieve.”
Patrick heard him depart and began to pull frantically on the ropes attaching his arms to the bed, but he was securely bound and all his struggles achieved was to make the rope dig more tightly into his flesh. There was no way he was going to escape unless someone released him.
Nizari returned a few moments later with a long sharp knife in his hand. He held it up so Patrick could see it. “Would you like me to gag you so that your screams do not disturb my sister?” he asked.
“Screw you,” Patrick spat at him.
“Dear me, we really need to work on your attitude,” the man replied as he lifted one of Patrick’s ankles enough to place the knife underneath it. With one swift motion he pulled it away, severing the Achilles tendon. Patrick gritted his teeth and held his breath until the worst of the pain subsided, determined not to scream. The same was done to his other foot, then Nizari threw the knife onto the floor.
“That is better,” he said conversationally. “We do not want you being able to run away should you manage to escape your bonds, do we?”
Sweat was pouring down Patrick’s face as he tried to cope with the pain. Any reply he was going to make was choked off as the collar chose that moment to tighten. It was not yet restricting his breathing, but he knew he would be dead in only a few hours if he did not have it removed.
Nizari chuckled when he saw the movement of the collar. “I can end your life before that does,” he informed Patrick. “All you have to do is beg. Why prolong this when we both know you are going to die anyway?” Patrick remained silent; he had nothing he wished to say to this man that would not result in more pain and violence.
The assassin paused for a moment, giving Patrick time to decide what he wanted to do, then shrugged his shoulders. “Very well, have it your way.”
He walked over to a basket he had lain on the floor and removed the lid. He placed one arm carefully inside. When he pulled it out, a snake was wrapped around it. It was bright green and not very big, but the sight of it made Patrick shiver.
“I see you recognise the species,” Nizari said. “A calmette adder, more commonly known as the torture snake. Its venom has no long lasting effects on humans, but it does cause excruciating pain as it travels around the body. I have been told that it is like being burned alive, though how anyone would know is beyond me. And the best thing is, not only is it easy to make it bite, it also replenishes its venom in a remarkably short space of time, meaning I can make it bite you over and over again.”
When Ellen had been brought back to life, Patrick had been made to suffer the same agony she had gone through when she had died, so he was well aware of what it felt like to have his entire body consumed by fire. He momentarily wondered if he should let the assassin know if the pain of being injected with calmette venom was comparable, then all thought went from his mind as he felt the snake’s fangs enter his calf muscle. As the venom flowed into him, he opened his mouth and screamed.
“Where is Patrick?” Tor asked Ellen. The sun was beginning to set and it was time for them to depart.
“No idea. He was not in the room when I awoke.”
“He would not be dumb enough to go anywhere by himself would he?” Sam asked. Tor and Ellen both stared at her, unable to believe she had asked such a stupid question.
“He snuck off somewhere before we went to bed as well,” Ellen admitted.
“Where could he possibly have gone?” Dal asked.
Tor, Seth and Sam looked at each other. “Tailor,” they all said at the same time.
“He has been complaining about needing new clothes,” Ellen said.
“We have to pass there on the way out of the town,” Tor informed them, “so we can visit the shop and see if he has been there today. If it is still open,” he added.
The tailor was just closing his shop when the group pulled up outside and noticed Patrick’s horse still waiting for its rider to return. Tor called out to the tailor and asked if he had seen Patrick. He had not finished describing him when the man replied that he had. He ran back into his shop and returned with a parcel. Tor passed it to Ellen, who gasped when she unwrapped it. She had been expecting to find shirts or trousers, but it was a beautiful dress and appeared to be the perfect size for her.
Tor questioned the tailor further and discovered that Patrick had left the shop in a hurry with a woman. The man described her and everyone knew who it was. Tor thanked the man and bid him a good evening.
“Isma,” Nosmas said, then glanced at Ellen, who was still admiring the dress with the other ladies and had not overheard what the tailor had said. “What do we tell Ellen?” he asked.
“The truth,” Tor told him. “If he has gone off with another woman, I am not waiting around for him to return.” Bracing himself, he told the women that Patrick had left the shop with Isma, but did not receive the reaction he had been expecting.
“There has to be more to the story,” Ellen said. “Patrick would not go with another woman without good reason.”
“He had her once, maybe he wanted her again,” Seth said, opening his mouth before thinking. Dal hit him, hard.
“She was lying about sleeping with Patrick,” Sam said. “He assured Ellen that nothing happened and I believe him.”
“I never thought I would say this, but I do as well,” Ria piped up. “Something bad must have happened for him not to have returned to Ellen before she woke. Even if he had cheated on her, he would not have stayed away this long.”
“Alright,” Tor said. “I will accept that assessment until I have evidence to the contrary. Any suggestions as to how we find him?”
Silence greeted his question.
The assassin walked out of the tunnel and into the first cave, where he found his sister curled up in a ball with her hands over her ears. He gently took hold of her arms and pulled them away from her head.
“He has stopped screaming,” he told her.
“Is he dead?” she asked. There were tear streaks down her face from where she had cried when she could not block out the awful sounds Patrick was making.
“No,” her brother told her. “He fainted. I will start again when he regains consciousness.”
“Have you not tortured him enough?” she asked in horror.
Nizari was surprised by the question. “Of course not. I have not even started yet.” He stood up and retrieved his bag, taking two containers from it. “When these two chemicals are mixed together with a little water, they form a paste which, when applied to bare skin, feels like it is dissolving the flesh. It does no physical damage, but it is said to be even more painful than calmette venom.”
Isma stared at her brother, completely lost for words. She had expected the torture to last for minutes, not hours, and would never have agreed to help him get hold of Patrick had she known what he really had planned.
“I am hungry,” he continued, oblivious to her distress. “Go back to town and get some food.”
Grateful for the excuse to leave, she jumped to her feet and ran out of the cave. She climbed onto her horse and rode away as fast as she could, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the source of the screaming as she could. She had no intention of returning and had no plans other than getting away from her brother and finding somewhere to hid
e; somewhere where he would never think of looking for her. She had always been scared of him, now she was terrified.
A short while later, Nizari returned to the inner chamber and was pleased to see that Patrick had regained consciousness. “Are you ready to beg for death yet?” he asked casually.
“I would not give you the satisfaction,” Patrick replied in a husky voice. His screams had made his throat raw and he was desperate for some water, but knew he would not be able to swallow it. The collar had tightened once more while he had been unconscious. He had less than an hour before breathing would become difficult.
Nizari laughed. “I think we both know you are going to change your mind on that score.” He held up the containers he had brought with him. “When my employer gave me the collar, he also gave me these. The paste they create will not actually eat away your flesh, but it will definitely feel as though it is.”
Patrick watched as the man poured a large quantity of powder from each of the pots into a bowl and added water. He used a stick to stir the mixture, not wishing to get any on his own skin. When it was ready, he walked over to Patrick and tipped the bowl forwards so he could see what was inside. The substance inside was the colour of fresh blood.
“Would you like to die now, or later?” he asked.
Patrick ignored the question. “You are wrong, by the way,” he said before the torture could begin again.
“About what?”
“Being burned alive is much more painful than being bitten by a calmette adder. Come to think of it, so is having sex with your sister.”
Patrick could see the man seethe with fury and it gave him an odd feeling of satisfaction. Without another word, Nizari scraped a small amount of the paste onto the stick and smeared it onto Patrick’s chest. The pain began as soon as it touched his skin and Nizari only managed to put it on three more areas before the screaming began again.
The noise finally stopped when the collar tightened once more. Though he wanted to, Patrick was now unable to make any noise other than a low rasping as he struggled to breathe through a restricted airway.
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