by Jack Conner
He turned, casually, to gauge the competency of the guards. They were not as old as he was, but they were strong. Ready. When he completed his survey, he turned his head up to the white face of the night above, felt the endless slivers of ice chip away at his face. No, he decided, now was not the time.
Not just yet. But soon.
Chapter 13
Though she wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, it was a good thing the soldiers caught up to Danielle. She’d never been to the section of the dungeon that Ruegger was being held in and had no idea where he was. Instead of being in the “general” prisoners’ area as she would have thought, he was being held in the portion of the dungeon reserved for political prisoners. What the hell? Mainly this area kept those who had tried to depose Roche Sarnova.
On five sides, his cell was fashioned of the same thick stone that Malcolm’s had been, and on the sixth rose a thick mesh of woven metal, as if someone had tried to make a blanket using the bars of a jail cell as thread—strong enough to prevent Ruegger from breaking through it yet porous enough to allow Danielle to see him.
When she neared the room, she found him on his cot, apparently asleep, but by the time she’d made it to the woven metal, he’d shot off his bunk and was there with her.
When their hands met, palms and fingers pressed against each other hungrily despite the sharp metal that dug into them. Their eyes met. Things that couldn’t be articulated in words passed between them in the instant before she closed her eyes and pressed her lips against the bars. He pressed his mouth to hers.
A weight lifted from her, a release even stronger than sparing Malcolm’s life. Ruegger’s lips and tongue merged with her own, the sharp-edged metal cutting them, making them bleed. She wanted him, badly.
“Danielle,” he whispered when he pulled back, his eyes smiling even more broadly than his lips.
She studied him, his hollow face, unshaven, his hair matted and filthy. His eyes burned bright and fierce and dark.
“They haven’t let you feed,” she said.
“I’m fine, baby. What about you?”
Looking over her shoulder at the guards, she asked, “Guys, would you give us a few minutes?”
They hesitated. Then: “Of course, ma’am. We’ll be right outside.” They left.
“Bastards,” she said. “Why’d they put you in here?”
Resting his forehead against the bars, he said, “They had good reason, babe.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was ... involved ...” (he smiled) “in a plot to take over the castle, to kidnap and ultimately to torture Roche Sarnova until he confessed to hiring the Balaklava to kill Ludwig. And if he did, we’d execute him.”
“That’s not funny, Ruegger.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah.”
She cleared her throat. “Ruegger, if you were out here, I’d want to slap the hell out of you, but since you’re in there I’m just thankful you’re alive. But I don’t get it. Trying to take over the castle? Torture Sarnova? What the hell’s going on?”
“It’s a long story.”
“So start talking.”
He sighed. “Okay, here’s how it happened.”
She stepped back, lit a cigarette and listened to what he had to say. He told it as briefly as he could.
When he was finished, she said, “The whole thing was idiotic. I can’t believe you’d do something like that without telling me ...”
She balled a fist, digging nails into her pale flesh, and closed her eyes angrily. Of course, Ruegger couldn’t have consulted her because she had left him to go kill Malcolm. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Even as she thought this, she knew it would be a long time before she’d let herself off the hook concerning that one.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She forced herself to smile. “I leave you alone for a week and you’re already trying to kidnap the Dark Lord. It’s a good thing we weren’t separated longer.”
He laughed, and she knew that he’d forgiven her long ago. Just the same, emotions roared through her, so fast she couldn’t even identify them. To steady herself, she leaned against the bars and gulped down several breaths. Beyond the bars, she could feel Ruegger waiting patiently.
A low crooning sound escaped her and, unable to stop herself, she said, “Why do you have to be behind those bars?”
When he didn’t reply, she nodded. “So you and Kharker got here yesterday? You’ve been here a whole day ...”
His kind dark eyes watching her, he stuck a finger out through the bars and traced her jaw line. “You okay, Dani? We don’t have to go through all this right now. Tell you the truth, I’d just kinda like to sit here awhile and look at you, feel you near me.”
Almost unable to speak around the lump in her throat, she shook her head. “No, baby. We’ve gotta iron this out. Later, we’ll get you out of here and then ...”
“Okay. But if you start feeling like you’re not up to it, tell me.”
She counted to ten and then said, “So you and Kharker got here yesterday. Where’s Jean-Pierre?”
“Well, Malie didn’t trust Kharker ...”
“For good reason, the bastard.”
“ ... so she brought Jean-Pierre along with the raiding party to use in case she had to blackmail him. I was supposed to keep him in line, but if he showed any signs of wavering we’d use the albino to keep him in check. Meanwhile, Malie and the Libertarians were supposed to sneak into the country in separate groups and meet at a point just a few miles from here. From there, they’d tunnel underground until they got to this mountain, where they’d seek out the secret entrance Kharker told them about, enter the castle and hide in the catacombs. But when Kharker and I got here, Roche took him aside. They were friends, they had to talk, that whole thing. Malie and I knew it would happen sooner or later, but we’d hoped the fear of anything happening to Jean-Pierre would make him stick to his word.”
“But it didn’t.”
“He told Sarnova everything. Later, after they’d thrown me in here, Khark told me he had no choice, that Sarnova already knew what was going on so there was nothing for Kharker to betray. Sarnova’s spies had seen Jean-Pierre and Malie’s army cross the border. Maybe that’s the truth. Even if it is, though, Kharker would’ve known beforehand that Sarnova keeps close tabs on the borders. If so, he was lying the whole time.”
“There’s not much sense in giving him the benefit of the doubt, is there?”
“It’s my fault. I should’ve seen it coming, should’ve realized that Sarnova would have spies like that, that he’d know if Malie entered Romania.” He banged his head against the bars.
“What about Malie and Jean-Pierre and the rest of them?” Danielle said. “They still out there?”
“As far as I know. I was supposed to make a map of this place, learn the troops’ schedules, general reconnaissance. I was to go down into the catacombs and find wherever they were hiding, let them know how to attack. Without me, they might’ve made it anyway, but they don’t have a chance at all now that Sarnova’s onto them. They’re as good as dead, and it’s all because I didn’t take the time to think it through.”
He was angry with himself, Danielle saw, but he was smart enough to know that anger wouldn’t get him very far, that what he needed now was to be cool. Just as she thought it, she could see his anger draining away, could see him collect himself. For a moment, she wished she had such a tight handle on her emotions.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to see me like this. Caged …”
She smiled. “Honey, you look like apple pie to me. Besides, God knows you’ve seen me in some piss-poor shapes myself.”
“You should be in my arms right now. Instead … I might be here for a long, long time. If they don’t kill me. Not to mention what’ll happen to the Libertarians.”
“They’re not your responsibility.”
“They were.”
�
�One battle at a time.”
They talked for a long time. He wanted to know how she’d been, so she told him about Malcolm, about Junger and Jagoda and Kiernevar. He held her hands when she described killing Malcolm, and he swore lividly when he heard what Junger and Jagoda had almost done.
When she was through, he stared around him at his bars. “Things are going to hell out there, it sounds like,” he said. “This is not where I need to be.”
* * *
“How’s our pale man doing tonight?” rumbled Captain Raulf D’Aguila, sinking beside Jean-Pierre.
The albino just glared at him. Jean-Pierre’s stomach growled. The hunters had returned with very little to show for their excursion and they hadn’t deigned to give their prisoner any of their fodder. Even now, they gathered around him, eating. They seemed to savor every last morsel.
D’Aguila laughed. “Hungry, I bet.”
The Captain ordered one of his men to hand over a half-eaten bird to Jean-Pierre. The Frenchman took the offering, but in a way that made Raulf laugh even harder.
“Not a king’s ransom, is it?” the Captain said.
Really, the bird didn’t look so bad, but Jean-Pierre refused to give D’Aguila the satisfaction of seeing him eat it. Grudgingly, he sat it down on the snow at his feet.
Under his breath, he said, “Thanks.”
Raulf shrugged. “The least I could do. After all, you’re my partner in this whole thing, as much as Malie and Ruegger are, and you know I hate to see my partners treated like prisoners.”
“Then give these soldiers something else to do than following me everywhere I go. For instance, they could go find something for me to eat. Maybe pick some chicory roots for coffee.”
Raulf smiled, displaying needle-like teeth. “Sorry, old son. You know I can’t do that. You may be a partner, but I wouldn’t trust you to do my laundry.” He patted Jean-Pierre on the knee. “Now, if you’ll promise not to escape, I might loosen up a little.”
The albino regarded him. Of course, the Captain was lying through his crocodile teeth, but what could it hurt to play along?
“Sure,” he said. “I promise not to escape.”
For a moment, Raulf was silent. Then, unexpectedly, he burst into laughter so convulsive that his large reptilian wings shook with the force of his mirth.
Jean-Pierre took that as a no.
* * *
As soon as Danielle left Ruegger’s cell, she scoured the castle for Kharker. Finally, realizing the Hunter would probably wish to speak with her himself, she returned to the room she’d been sleeping in for the past several nights. Sure enough, though she shared the room with Sophia and two other girls, Kharker waited for her alone.
“I wanted to see you,” explained the Hunter, sitting on her bed.
“I bet you did, you piece of shit.”
She started towards him but stopped when he lifted a hand.
“Don’t take another step,” he said. “You know what I can do.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a good idea, but back-stabbing doesn’t impress me.”
“Stop it, Dani.”
“Stop what, telling you how much of a jackass you are? Ruegger’s rotting in jail!”
Though anger pulsed in a vein somewhere on his temple, only kindness and patience touched his brown eyes.
“I’m sorry about Ruegger,” he said.
“You fucking better be. Now go get him out of there!”
“It’s not that simple. It’s in Roche’s hands now.”
She wanted to hurt him. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much she could do but call him nasty names. So she did.
“Bastard.”
Slowly, he retrieved a half-smoked cigar from a pocket and lit it up. After the first mouthful of smoke, he said, “Like one?”
“No thanks. Where’s your bodyguards?”
“Probably in the pool room, hustling.”
“I bet you taught them how to do it, too.”
He smiled, apparently confident that she was now relaxed enough to lighten up with. “You know I did,” he said.
Balling a fist, she spat on the floor at his feet. “Guess you didn’t think I’d go after you, did you? Thought you could just betray Ruegger and suffer no consequences? Is that what you thought?”
With an enraged cry, she lunged toward him, her dagger already in hand. As she brought it down, a white cloud enveloped her and she screamed in confusion. Then, angry beyond the point of reasoning, she tore off the bed sheets he’d surrounded her with and came toward him again.
“No,” he said, softly. Without another word, the bed sheets flew up into the air, seemingly of their own accord, and rearranged themselves on Sophia’s bed, where they’d come from, neatly folded and everything.
She turned to him, dagger still clutched tightly in her small pale hand. “Think you’re pretty impressive, don’t you?”
“That was nothing,” he said. “Just a trick to let you cool off.”
“Letting me cool down’s a mistake. When I’m cold-blooded I might actually be able to think of a way to get you.”
“Stop it, sweetie. I can’t believe that we can’t be friends again. All you’ve got to do is try to see things through my eyes. I had no choice. Don’t you see that? I did what was best for my friends. To me, friends are very important, and when I’m in a position to protect one of them, I do. When Ruegger threatened to torture and perhaps kill Blackie, I did what I could to ensure that both of them stayed alive. Surely you see that. There was no other way.” Keeping a level gaze on her, as if to hypnotize her with his calmness, he patted the area of the bed just beside him. “Dani, let’s be friends again.”
“How do you propose we do that? Wanna lock me up, too? Want me to turn around so you can stick the knife, maybe? Well, fuck you, Khark, I don’t need this shit.”
He called out after her, but she was already gone.
* * *
She spent a large portion of the rest of the night in one of the immortal bars, getting plastered and listening to some soldiers sitting a few tables away tell war stories about their times in London. When the soldiers spotted her listening, they offered to buy her a few drinks, but she told them she was taken. They didn’t retract the offer. It wasn’t long before a tequila-shooting contest was declared, and before the hour was over, three of them had passed out. Beside herself, only two of them were standing, and she knew that if she stayed much longer she wouldn’t be coherent, either. Politely, she excused herself.
She had to find Sophia, tell her that Ruegger was here. When she returned to the room they shared, the ghensiv hadn’t arrived—though, mercifully, Kharker had gone. There was one more person Danielle should notify about Ruegger, so, drunkenly, she made her way around to several of the castle’s bars, looking for Harry. He was nowhere to be found.
Of course, thought Danielle, wincing.
She found the chain of low-rent rooms that Cloire’s death-squad had been bumped down to, and, taking a deep breath, she knocked on Cloire’s door.
After a moment, the werewolf shouted “Go away! I’m busy!”
Gritting her teeth, Danielle said, “Open up, damnit. It’s me. I’m looking for Harry.”
For a moment, silence greeted her. Then the bolt of the door drew back, and the door opened a few inches to reveal a naked Cloire with a scotch in hand.
The she-wolf eyed Danielle drunkenly, then snorted and swung the door wide.
“Come on, then.”
Cautiously, Danielle pushed inside, noting that Cloire stepped back a few feet as she did so. Candlelight lit the otherwise dark room, and by its faint light Danielle could make out the small lumpen figure of Harry sleeping on the only bed.
“Harry,” she whispered.
The mortal didn’t stir.
“Leave him alone,” said Cloire, and Danielle was slightly surprised at the protective tone of her voice. “He needs his sleep, Dani. Trust me. He earned it.”
“What about you?”
Cloire smile
d, her eyes glassy. “I’m watching him.” She motioned to the mini-bar in the corner. “Care to stay for awhile?”
For some reason, this tempted Danielle. She genuinely wanted to spend some time just talking to this creature, this livid naked thing that had just seduced the only decent man she knew except for Ruegger. But she was too tired, and now was not the time.
“No.”
“Maybe later.”
As soon as she was gone, the door closed quietly behind her. After giving herself over to a great sad sigh, Danielle staggered back to her own room and stripped off her clothes, picking her way towards the bed. Before she even reached it, she fell to the carpeted floor and passed out cold.
* * *
Dawn approached all too swiftly. Shit, Jean-Pierre thought. I have to think of something fast. Before too long, they’d take him underground and chain him up like they’d done yesterday, just to ensure he didn’t try anything while the rest of them slept. He couldn’t allow that to happen this time. If he waited any longer, he’d be too weak. Hell, he was weak enough already.
During the days and nights he’d been held captive, he’d formulated a plan, if it could be called that. He kept hoping that he’d think of something better, but so far no dice. He was stuck with what he had.
Now. It had to be now.
He jumped off the rock that had become his station and left the shelter of the trees for a smoke. It had become a ritual, and the guards that hovered behind him had become accustomed to it, so much so that Jean-Pierre could tell that their level of readiness had tapered off. So much the better.
He lit his last Pall Mall.
As he did, he extended his mind out over the ridges and through the woods of the mountain the Libertarians had made camp on. Slowly, the cigarette burned, but he tried not to dwell on it. If his mind hadn’t found what it needed by the time the last bit of tobacco had turned to ash, he would have to go back inside the army’s shelter. From there, it was only a few feet down to where the chains waited.