Standing outside the cell, the sergeant-at-arms shit his pants at that roar of venomous promise of retaliation.
“Get a stretcher!” Aposolides shouted at the man as he twisted around to glare at the sergeant-of-arms. “And two men to carry it! Hurry!”
“Stretcher?” the trembling man repeated. “We don’t have…”
“A gurney!” Aposolides snarled. “A door, the tailgate of a wagon! Anything he can be carried on, man, and pad it!”
Stumbling backward, the sergeant-at-arms slammed into the slimy wall then began running as fast as his legs would carry him, mindless of the darkness through which he recklessly wound his way.
“And get the commandant down here, now!” Aposolides bellowed.
Halim was shuddering all over as he knelt there on the floor. He seemed incapable of moving and could only stare down at the still face of the man lying in front of him.
“Halim,” Aposolides said in a soft, stern voice. “Are you sure it is your prince?”
The ravaged, tearful face Halim turned up to his friend was all the answer the Oceanian captain needed. “Why?” he asked in a hurt voice. “Why would they do this to him?”
Aposolides shook his head. “I don’t know, my friend, but we’ll find out.” He squatted down beside Halim. “I think you are hurting him, Halim. Let him go back to the position he was in before.”
As gently as he could, Halim let go of his prince, whimpering at the moan that his action caused. “I am sorry, Ardalan,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”
The sound of feet thumping down the stairs brought Aposolides to his senses. He walked out into the corridor and nodded at the wavering flicker of light coming out of the darkness.
“Is the lad alive?” the old man called out.
“Aye, Grandfather,” Aposolides replied. “We’ll get you out of here too. Just hang on.”
“Look to the lad,” Avram Ben-Nezell said. “I’ve been here many a time before.”
Four men came bustling into view, the sergeant-at-arms leading the other three with a wavering torch held high. His face looked ghastly in the glow of the light. Two of the men were carrying on its side what looked to be a heavy, wide, wooden plank. The third man had a bundle of material in his arms.
“Where is the commandant?” Aposolides asked, his eyes narrowing.
“He wouldn’t come out of his office,” the sergeant-at-arms replied. “He’s in there with the whip master and they’ve got the door locked.”
“Sir,” the man holding the bundle of quilts said, “if it’s your intention to move Devrim…”
“Prince Ardalan!” Halim shouted furiously. “This man is the Crown Prince of Asaraba!”
Fear drove through the three men at that news and they would have fallen to their knees if Aposolides had not barked a command at them to stand their ground.
“I want my prince out of this hellhole!” Halim bellowed.
“Halim,” Aposolides began, “I think I know what the man was trying to say. If we put him on the plank in the cell, we won’t be able to get it out the door and into the corridor.”
Halim flinched. “What are you saying?” He was gently smoothing the dirty hair of his prince.
“He’s going to have to be picked up and carried out into the corridor and then put on the plank.”
“Even then, Sir,” the man spoke up despite the terror threading through his voice, “it’ll be a mite touchy going back up the stairs.”
“They get coffins down here all the time,” the old man yelled. “Don’t let them be pulling your puds!”
“Aye,” the man said. “We do bring coffins down here. I’m just saying it will be a bit harder on a living man in pain than a dead one who don’t feel nothing.”
“Halim, perhaps it would be better if one of us carried him in our arms,” Aposolides suggested. “At least up the stairs.”
“I’ll do it,” the guard holding the quilts said.
“I will do it!” Halim hissed, his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Think you I’d let another one of you bastards touch my prince ever again?”
“M-may I suggest knocking him out?” the sergeant-at-arms spoke up. “I brought some laudanum.” He held up a dark amber bottle. “I keep it for my headaches.”
“That’s a good idea, Halim,” Aposolides said. He took the bottle from the sergeant-at-arms and brought it over to Halim. “It’s best he not feel anything.”
Halim accepted the bottle and uncorked it. He bent over Ardalan to put the vial to the prince’s lips. “Here, son,” he said softly. “Drink this.”
A groan was the only answer to Halim’s request and the captain wasted no time in pouring a generous amount of the bitter liquid into Ardalan’s mouth. Too weak even to cough, a gurgling sound came from the prince as the laudanum trickled down his throat and he swallowed convulsively.
“Sleep, son,” Halim whispered, smoothing the prince’s hair back from his filthy forehead. “Just you take a little snooze while old Halim picks you up and takes you out of this place.”
There was another groan and a slight movement of the tortured man’s lips.
“Your lady is waiting for you,” Halim said. “Did I tell you that?” He put a smile into his voice although tears were running down his cheeks. “She’s a sitting there looking out to sea and expecting you any day now. We can’t be disappointing her now, can we?”
Long eyelashes fluttered open and in the bright glare of the torch, Aposolides could see the glazed look in the prince’s dark eyes. He watched the young man try to focus, saw the eyelids close, open again then close once more.
“Halim?” It was a weak, pitiful question and it touched the heart of every man who heard it.
“Aye, son,” Halim said, his voice breaking. “It’s me.”
It seemed an eternity as Halim knelt there until he was sure Ardalan was beyond feeling anything. With infinite care, he slipped his arms under the young man’s upper back and knees and gently lifted him, staggering beneath the dead weight as he struggled to his feet and feeling the throb of pain in his healing lower back at such an exercise. Aposolides put out a steadying hand to keep his friend from falling.
“Bring the plank, men,” the Oceanian ordered. “He won’t be able to carry him all the way to the ship.”
“Wanna bet?” Halim snarled from between clenched teeth.
“I’m not going to let you,” Aposolides stated firmly. “Old men like us have been known to have a heart attack under such conditions and I don’t think your prince would appreciate you kicking the bucket just yet.”
As quickly as he could, Halim set off down the corridor with his burden tucked safely in his arms. The sergeant-at-arms ran on ahead to light the way, and once more Aposolides brought up the rear, holding his own torch high for additional illumination of the slippery stairs.
“Get that man out of there,” the Oceanian captain told one of the other three men, indicating the old man who stood clutching the bars of his cell.
“Aye, Sir,” the man said as the sergeant-at-arms passed him back the heavy ring of keys.
Although it was slow going up the dangerous steps, Halim barely felt the weight of the precious cargo he held in his arms. He was looking down at the dirty throat that was crooked over his arm and mentally cursing every vile inhabitant of Ojani save the poor old man who had been imprisoned with his prince. He made a mental vow to avenge the evil done Ardalan Jaleem before he shook the sand of that wretched shore from his boots.
Upon reaching the main room, Aposolides ordered the men to pad the plank and ready it for the prince’s transfer. “Make gods-be-damned sure it’s plenty soft.”
Halim cast a deadly look to the commandant’s closed door as he waited for the men to lay the quilts on the plank. The look he directed at the door brought chills to those who saw it.
“Halim?” Aposolides said. He had to say his friend’s name again before the Asaraban tore his glower from the commandant’s door. “Ease him onto the p
lank on his belly so we can get him to the ship’s physician.” He handed the torch he carried to the sergeant-at-arms so he could help Halim.
Halim nodded once then carried Ardalan over to the plank. As though he were placing a priceless vase onto a shelf, he lowered the prince’s rump to the sturdy wood. “Bring him toward you, George,” he said softly.
The Oceanian captain reached across the plank and gently took hold of the prince’s shoulder and laid a firm hand on the unconscious man’s hip. He pulled Ardalan toward him, easing him facedown on the plank.
As the prince was taken from his arms, Halim reached out to carefully turn Ardalan’s head so his grime-streaked cheek rested on the board. Once more he smoothed the matted hair then straightened up.
“Get him to the ship as quickly as you can,” Halim said. He turned his attention to the commandant’s door. “I’ll be along shortly.”
Aposolides stayed where he was as the men—including the sergeant-at-arms—headed for the quay.
“I can handle this on my own,” Halim said, death glittering from his eyes.
“I know you can,” his friend said. “Just thought I’d go along to watch the fun.”
It took only one brutal kick to the commandant’s door for Halim to enter the terrified man’s office.
Chapter Twenty
As he sat there beside the bunk, pressing cool compresses to the prince’s fevered flesh, Halim thought back to the last conversation he’d had with the man’s wife before he left for Ojani.
“Did I tell you Bhaskar met with a most regrettable accident, Halim?” the princess had asked.
She was walking with him to the docks where he would be boarding the Sea Stallion. Her right hand was tucked in the crook of his arm, her left carrying a dainty parasol to shield her from the harsh sun.
“No, milady,” he’d replied. “I don’t believe you did.”
“It was quite tragic, actually,” she’d continued. “They say he had two broken legs and two broken arms when he fell down a well at Veijali. Unable to drag himself along, to pull himself up, he starved to death very slowly with not even a drop of water to ease his torment for the well had gone dry many years before.”
“That was, indeed, tragic, milady,” Halim had concurred, wondering how a man with four broken limbs could tumble into a well.
“And poor Sahan,” she’d said on a long sigh.
“Has something untoward happened to the prince?”
“I’m afraid so, Halim,” she had replied. “He succumbed to a most mysterious illness that caused him to die an even more horrible death than Bhaskar.”
“No!”
“I’m afraid ‘tis true.”
“Was it something he ate?” Halim had asked with a twitch of his lips, for he knew how adept the princess was in the brewing of herbs and such.
“No,” she’d said. “Unfortunately for Sahan he was a very vain man and was always searching for the fabled fountain of youth to keep what he thought were his good looks.”
“And he found something that didn’t set well with him, eh?”
“Most likely a pomade or cream of some kind, I would imagine. Something that he spread on his hands and face, and which seeped into his pores to suffocate him.”
“You know,” Halim said, patting the hand lightly gripping his arm, “I once heard of a plant a woman used upon her husband’s staff that caused such a reaction. I don’t recall the name of that plant, though.”
The princess smiled. “Could it have been maiden’s briar by any chance?”
Halim shrugged. “It might well have been, milady.”
“I am told Sahan’s death was ghastly with him heaving for breath, clawing at those handsome features of his until his face was gouged with deep, very unattractive grooves.” She’d sighed profoundly. “Vanity, vanity. All is vanity, Halim.”
“So I’ve heard, Your Grace,” he had agreed.
“We’ll speak no more of those two, Halim.”
“No, milady. I believe they met with their just rewards.”
“I know they did,” the princess had stated.
“But there was a third man to blame for the prince’s death,” Halim reminded her.
“I imagine that one may have run afoul of his lady wife and such matters will be handled by her most capable hands.”
“No doubt,” Halim had agreed.
“How is he?” Aposolides asked from the doorway of the cabin.
“I gave him another few drops of the laudanum and he’s sleeping easier.”
“My physician is making a salve for his back. That should help.”
Halim nodded. “I heard a woman’s voice last evening. Was that Alara Ramseur cursing a blue streak?”
“Aye,” Aposolides said, coming into the room. “I gave her the papers but she didn’t want them.” He folded his arms over his chest. “She wanted her man, she said.”
“I hope you let her know she wasn’t getting this one,” Halim said.
“We had to throw her ass off the ship,” the Oceanian told him.
“I heard the commotion and figured that was what you were about.” He turned to look up at Aposolides. “Was that her ass being thrown into the brine?”
Aposolides sighed. “Aye, but the crazy bitch didn’t know how to swim and we damned near lost her before one of my men jumped in to drag her to shore.” He chuckled. “The last I saw of her, she was running toward the fortress, no doubt to complain to the commandant that we were absconding with her husband.”
“I don’t think the commandant heard her, do you?” Halim asked.
George Aposolides scratched at his cheek. “I don’t believe he’ll be hearing anyone ever again this side of hell.”
Halim dipped the cloth he’d been using to wash Ardalan’s face into the basin of cool water. “Do you think I might have gone a bit overboard myself, in regard to the commandant?” he inquired.
“Well, now that you mention it,” Aposolides said with a grin, “I’ve been meaning to talk with you about your unseemly behavior.”
“Unseemly?” Halim asked with a quirk of his brow.
“Don’t know how else to describe your conduct.”
“Did I tell you I have a Chalean berserker in my family woodpile, George?”
“No, indeed, you didn’t, but your hostile attitude toward the commandant makes more sense now that you have.”
“And the whip master?” Halim asked. “Do you think I was overly harsh with him?”
“Not so’s you’d notice,” Aposolides replied. “Although…”
“Although…”
“I think bashing the man’s brains out with the chair was a bit of overkill. He was, after all, quite dead when you whacked him.”
“Oh well,” Halim said. “I did want to make sure.” He laid the cloth on Ardalan’s brow.
“I believe you achieved your purpose,” Aposolides conceded.
The men were silent for a moment as they looked at the ravaged back of the young prince. There was nothing Halim could have done to either the commandant or the whip master that would have been terrible enough to avenge the grievous sin they had committed against Ardalan Jaleem. Death had been too easy for the both of them, but at least the deaths had been as violent and as brutally personal as their attack on the prince.
“Why don’t you go get some sleep, Halim?” Aposolides inquired. “I’ll stay with the lad while you do.”
“I’m all right,” Halim said, although he’d been up all night. “I want to be here when he wakes up.”
“Does he know where he is?”
“He opened his eyes when I was bathing his arms and he looked up at me, but I don’t think he knew who I was,” Halim replied. “I called his name but he just stared at me.”
“Well, laudanum numbs the mind,” Aposolides reminded him. “He might have known who you were, but was too out of it to respond.”
“He groaned when I was washing his legs,” the Asaraban said. “I think I might have put a bit of pr
essure on his ass when I lifted his foot up to bathe it.”
Aposolides frowned. “That’s a pretty vicious lash across his rump,” he said, looking down at the naked man. “He’s gonna have a time of it sitting up for a while.” He put his hands on his friend’s shoulders and rubbed them vigorously for a moment. “You have to be tired, Halim. You really should rest or you won’t be of much use to the lad.”
“If you can get me a cot,” Halim said, “I could stretch out when I’m not tending to him, George. Sitting on this chair is plaguing my back something terrible.”
“I’ll see to it,” the Oceanian said, squeezing Halim’s tense muscles. He patted his friend on the back then slipped quietly from the room.
Halim took the cloth from the prince’s forehead and wet it again, squeezing out the excess water. He gently wiped the young man’s sweaty face, his cheek and the back of his neck. Since Ardalan was lying on his belly, there was no way he could run the cool cloth down his chest, but he thought that might help in reducing the high fever that had claimed his patient. Having to content himself with simply laying the cloth on the prince’s forehead, he wet it again then laid it on the hot flesh.
“You’re becoming an old mother hen.”
The voice was weak, strained, but it was the dearest sound Halim had heard in a long time.
“Do you realize how many more gray hairs you added to my thinning pate, Ardalan?” Halim asked, coming to squat down in front of the prince so they would be at eye level with one another.
Feverishly glazed eyes roamed over Halim’s face. “You look fine to me, old man.”
“That’s twice you’ve called me old, pretty boy,” Halim growled then sniffed. “Do it again and I’ll make you do a hundred push-ups without stopping.”
“You can try,” Ardalan mumbled. It was obvious his tongue was still numb from the laudanum, but his voice was a bit stronger.
“You want some water?” Halim asked.
“Aye.”
There was a pitcher of iced water brought up from the chest in the hold and Halim got up to pour his prince a goblet then stuck a hollow reed into the water. He came back, leaned over his charge and put the reed to Ardalan’s lips.
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