The room fell silent. No one moved.
Séverin DuChard frowned down at Marceau, as everyone waited.
He jumped down to the ledge near us, dropping about twenty feet and landing gracefully, his robes curling around his feet. He leaped across the Maze walls until he came face-to-face with Marceau, while everyone watched.
One nearby wolf growled in protest. “Lord DuChard. Don’t waste your time with Marceau. None of us believe his nonsense about the Red Rider. We know you’ve captured him … I mean, her.” He swallowed and took a step back, his eyes bulging at his mistake.
DuChard ignored him, continuing to study Marceau. He glanced at me. “Take her back to her cell. Tomorrow night, dress her in her old clothes,” he ordered. “Then everyone will watch her suffer. Those who have encountered her can confirm for the others who she is. As for you …”
He backhanded Marceau without warning. Marceau grunted as his cheek reddened, barely managing to remain on the ledge.
“… Wipe that smirk off your face,” DuChard said flatly.
He turned on his heel and leaped back across the high walls, then jumped up to the platform and strode out. Simonet glanced down at us before urging the inmates to file out the door with the others.
Marceau rubbed his jaw. “You’re welcome,” he whispered. “We’ll talk tomorrow in the workroom. Dureau and I have plenty of Lycanum hidden in our cells. We can escape and come free you.”
I nodded. “With my gloves, I might escape on my own and meet you.”
“Gloves,” he muttered. “Of course. Our victory is assured. I’ll release the others and create a distraction, when you’re ready. When might that be, exactly?”
I stared into the eyes of the wolves rushing toward us. “Tomorrow,” I said. “Nightfall.”
Marceau nodded at me as the wolves seized us to drag us off in separate directions.
We were agreed.
I glanced up at the inmates leaving the balcony area, and caught the eye of Marc Creonin. He had not moved, though Simonet had given him the order. He simply stared down at me, and appeared to be smiling!
Then he turned and walked out, with Simonet close behind. As though he was giving me his silent seal of approval.
I took it as a good sign.
MY ESCAPE
43.
The next morning, the Strineaus led me down to the workroom with my arms bound, as they did before. I offered no resistance. Even as they sat me across from Marceau again and locked me in the collars. Marceau caught my eye with a meaningful expression.
“Ready for another exciting day?” he droned, staring at the materials he was combining.
“I’m sure there will be excitement tonight,” I said, equally subdued.
“Yes, I hear they plan to make an example of you,” Marceau said. He tossed his head. “Dureau agrees. He’s with me on this. His cell is near mine, so we discussed it all last night.”
I glanced at Anton Dureau, who gave me a slow solemn nod.
“The Serrones are a few cells away from him. They’re also in agreement that this could be the last pleasant night you spend here.”
I peered down the table. Madame Serrone caught my eye and also nodded, ever so slightly.
“So you’ll need all your strength for whatever comes tonight, Helena,” Marceau said. “Dureau and I have energy to spare, but you’ll need any reserves you can get.” He shook a vial of Lycanum vigorously as he stared at me. “Toward the end of the day, you should prepare yourself. You’ll need that extra strength, Helena, when they lead you through the corridors, all well-lit with torches.”
I nodded my understanding, and set to work as the Lycanthru guards watched us. We worked for nearly two hours, mixing Lycanum. The only thing I could think of as I stared at the sulfurous potion was its small size, and how to fit it inside my mouth.
“Careful with that, Helena,” Marceau said as I ground up wolf's bane with my gloves. “Remember, it’s poisonous."
“How do the Lycanthru manage to swallow it?”
“They develop a tolerance,” Marceau said. “Part of the purpose for all that liquor, to deaden the senses. But many of them have trouble when they first consume it. However, when you sell your soul to the devil, you gain certain powers, even while you’re slowly dying.”
I snorted. “I would rather make it quicker.”
“Enough talk,” a guard ordered from the entrance. “Get to work.”
I followed my routine, grinding and mixing and shaking up the Lycanum and setting its vials into the container, one by one.
Wondering how well they might explode.
I didn’t resist our force -fed lunch, and neither did Marceau or the others. We all knew better than to resist or do anything to arouse suspicion or anger. Near dinnertime, I prepared to secure one of the vials. I had been studying them all day, deciding how to slip it into my mouth and keep it hidden.
Marceau stared at me with widening eyes. Then he gave the slightest nod and turned toward Dureau. “Hey! Use your own wolf's bane!”
“Why should I?” Dureau shouted, suddenly enraged. “You steal mine every chance you get!”
“You’re a filthy thief and a liar!” Marceau snarled. “Keep your grubby paws on your side!”
“I’ll put my paws anywhere I like!” he said, punching Marceau with his meaty fist.
I jerked at the jarring blow that knocked Marceau sideways. Yet Marceau recovered quickly, his fingers clawing at Dureau’s throat. “Now!” he said. “Now you’ll pay, Dureau!”
Marceau had given me my cue.
He and Dureau grappled with one another as the Lycanthru guards hurried forward to separate them. While the wolves focused on their fight, I took the vial I had shaken and slid it straight into my mouth. The cork almost caught on my teeth as I shoved it in, but I opened wider to keep from popping it off. I glanced to either side to confirm no one had seen me, and kept my mouth shut.
I put my head down and returned to mixing Lycanum as the wolves smacked Marceau and Dureau down, shouting at them to stop fighting and start working. Marceau’s ability to take a beating staggered me, as he worked to gather his rasping breath.
“Well done,” he muttered as he continued mixing his powdery wolf's bane and alcohol.
I gave a small nod. I wouldn’t have spoken if I could.
“That was quite a performance in the Ma ze last night,” Séverin DuChard said as he strode before me.
I was back in Madame Strineau’s torture chamber, strapped to the rack. Only now I wore my Red Rider outfit. I had shut my eyes when the pack of Lycanthru shoved me facedown on the table and tore off my gown, stripping me naked. I resisted the impulse to struggle as they proceeded to dress me in my tunic and trousers. As invasive and humiliating as it was, I wanted them to dress me. Needed them to slide the gloves back on my fingers.
But before I could attack, they seized my wrists and stretched me out on the table, securing me once more with the leather straps. If I tried to saw through the bonds, they would see it and remove the gloves before I made any progress.
Meanwhile, I still had the vial of Lycanum pocketed in my mouth.
The Lycanum full of liquor and poisonous wolf's bane.
DuChard paced in front of the Strineaus, who watched me with folded arms. Simonet studied me from behind them, flanked by two other wolves. “I know it was Marceau who stirred everyone up,” DuChard continued. “We will deal with him separately, after we have made a clear example of you.”
He paused, taking hold of my cheeks. I tried to pull away but his fingers clamped tight. I had barely managed to roll the vial onto my tongue before he could feel it inside my jaw.
“You see, you’ve upset several members of our order,” DuChard said, his large hollow eyes boring into me. “Some of them imagine you to be unstoppable.”
I clenched my teeth, keeping them closed over the vial as he held my jaws like a vise. “They’re afraid of me,” I said. “Like they should be.”
&nbs
p; He gave a tolerant smile. “They only need to be educated, Helena,” he said. “Tonight you’ll return to the center of the Arena. We’ll secure you to a couple of posts where everyone can enjoy a good view of you. Once they see you and understand you are, in fact, the Red Rider – once they see you’re helpless – once we start branding you with hot pokers and Garroche starts whipping you until your body’s red with welts and you can’t stop screaming or crying for mercy – then everyone in our order will relax. No more Red Rider legend. Just a foolish girl named Helena Basque who remains imprisoned in Asile de DeSarte, where she spends every day paying for her sins against us.” He leaned close to my face, his breath hot against my cheek. “Tonight we put your ridiculous legend to rest.”
He released me with a shove that strained my neck. I shut my eyes, praying thanks.
I had almost bitten down on the vial.
I shifted it back to the corner of my mouth, speaking through clenched teeth again. “Someone else will discover your weakness and fight you.”
He laughed heartily. The Strineaus and the other Lycanthru joined him, while Simonet seemed to consider the possibility. “You think others in La Rue Sauvage – or any other province – will be as deranged as you, Mademoiselle? No one else will risk their lives fighting us. You survived, until now, and you can count yourself fortunate for lasting as long as you did. Now it’s time to pay the price.”
“Nevertheless,” Simonet said. “Others will need to be dealt with, should they cause problems.”
DuChard smiled at me. “Of course. We can surely arrange to have your friends brought here, as promised, once we teach you your place.” He turned to Madame Strineau. “Don’t take all the fight out of her, Liana. They need to see her strong, when we present her this evening. I can’t have her screaming too early.”
I tugged at the straps. Madame Strineau’s lips twisted into a wicked smile. “I’ll control myself, Lord DuChard.”
“Good,” he said. “I will gather my St. Andrew’s cross from home to hang her on. Gambeaux, you can assist me.”
The lanky wolf nodded.
DuChard regarded me once more, then turned back to Madame Strineau. “Set up a platform, to raise her high enough for everyone to see. Have her ready in two hours, Liana.”
The others filed out after him, casting amused glances over their shoulders before leaving me alone with Madame Strineau. She continued to admire me. “Well, my little dolly,” she said. “Shall we get started?”
My body tensed as she looked me over from head to toe. She seemed to be measuring my responses to her intimidation. Or perhaps searching for the most vulnerable area to torture. At this moment, it would be the inside of my jaw, where I struggled to keep the vial of Lycanum corked.
When she finally stepped forward, her heels clicking across the stone floor, I flinched, nearly biting down on the vial. “You must be uncomfortable,” she said, reaching for a side crank that I couldn’t see. The table began to tilt backward, lower and lower, stopping at a slightly raised position that brought her back into my view. She smiled down at me. “There. That’s better, isn’t it, dear?”
I said nothing, my entire body quivering.
She bent back down and I heard the other crank turn. The straps tugged my wrists higher and I winced.
She rose again. “And I imagine that’s worse. Do tell me if anything hurts.” She laid her hand on my tightened stomach. “I like to know what hurts.”
She bent toward the levers and the straps pulled tighter, straining my lower back. The levers clicked another notch, and my arms stiffened like poles. Another notch, and my stomach and thighs started to burn.
She stood, pursing her lips as she stroked my cheek. “How’s that, Helena? Are you starting to feel pain yet?”
I kept still, refusing to flinch at her touch. I couldn’t overreact and let her discover the vial.
“I don’t want to start cutting you, Helena. Not until after Garroche marks you with a few welts. But I can still apply pressure to every part of your body, like before, to prepare you for what’s coming. Simple pinching, pulling, squeezing of your sensitive areas. Nothing too hurtful at first.”
She leaned her face next to mine, her giant eyes bright. “But when the pressure doesn’t stop, and keeps increasing – that’s when you’ll panic. When you realize I can tighten steel clamps as tightly as I wish around your waist, your thighs, your arms, your neck. To cut off the air to your lungs. Cut off the flow of blood to your extremities. Then you’ll understand that I decide whether you suffer or rest, whether you breathe or suffocate. But first, I want to make sure you stay firmly in place.”
She dropped down and the crank clicked again, tugging my wrists higher. Then again, and again. Stretching my upper arms, my stomach, my thighs, my groin. I groaned at the pressure, in spite of myself, but kept my mouth closed, the vial hidden. The stretching finally stopped and I hung there, my limbs pulled to their limit. I couldn’t move anything but my head and fingers.
She put her hands on her hips, enjoying my helplessness. “There. That’s much better. Now let’s start on those thighs that you’re kind enough to expose for me in those trousers.”
I struggled to move as she crossed to her table of torture instruments. She returned with one of the large metal cuffs, which she closed around my leg, above the knee. She slid it up higher, until the wider part of my thigh stopped it. She twisted a squeaking screw to loosen the cuff and slid it higher, almost to my groin, then closed it off. The screw started squeaking again, tightening the metal shackle.
I swallowed, forcing myself to remain calm.
The cuff tightened, until I could feel my pulse throbbing through my leg.
“Yes, you’re starting to feel that now,” she said, stroking my hair. “I want you to feel it more.”
I struggled to remain still. The vise tightened again, making my veins pound. My body started bucking, in a desperate effort to free myself, as I rolled the vial back onto my tongue and clenched my teeth over it.
“Now you’re starting to understand, aren’t you, dear?” Her fist clenched my hair and yanked my head to one side. I gasped for a second before shutting my mouth tight. “But you have much more to learn. And Mama will teach you.”
She held my head painfully in place until I met her gloating eyes. She finally released me, then twisted the rusty squeaking screw tighter. My thigh felt like it would burst through the metal clamp. I grit my teeth, my body quivering.
Her hand moved to my waist, feeling my stomach. “I’ve waited so long for you, after hearing of Lord DuChard’s plan. And now here you are. So strong, but so helpless. So brave, but so frightened.” She squeezed my abdomen, like she was testing how much my flesh would give. “So much to learn. Let’s clamp that other thigh. Then we can start experimenting on your trim little belly.”
She stepped away to her tools once more, bringing back another large clamp, as my body tensed and pushed against the cold rack.
Someone made three rapid knocks on the door. I winced. Madame Strineau paused. “Who is it?” she demanded.
“It’s Garroche,” answered in an anxious voice. “Madame, prisoners have escaped!”
She hurried to throw open the door. Garroche stood there, breathless. “What do you mean, ‘escaped’?"
“Marceau and several others are missing. Their cell doors are wide open!”
A thrill surged through me. Our plan was working. Once I escaped, I could ambush the Lycanthru from behind and rescue Marceau and the other inmates.
Thunder shook the walls. Something had exploded somewhere in the corridors.
Perhaps they would not need rescuing.
“What on earth -?” Madame Strineau tossed her clamp onto the table with a ringing echo and hurried away with Garroche. She tossed a scowl over her shoulder. “I’ll be back for you, darling,” she said before slamming the door.
Silence swallowed the room. I was alone. Alone and helpless, but I had my gloves. I had to hurry.
I flicked my wrists.
Nothing happened.
I tried again. Still nothing.
I groaned. My arms were stretched too far. I couldn’t flick my wrists hard enough to slide the blades out.
Madame Strineau would return in another few minutes to finish torturing me, along with Marceau and everyone else who tried to escape.
44.
I flicked my wrists again, desperate. I still couldn’t ge t enough force to activate the blades.
I swallowed, my mouth dry in the damp torture chamber. If I didn’t escape to help them, Marceau and the others would be captured within minutes and Madame Strineau would return to finish breaking me on the rack.
I flung my wrist again, and again. Useless. My limbs had been stretched too far.
No. I wasn’t stretched far enough. I couldn’t pull my arms any closer, but I might manage to stretch farther, to give myself some slack.
I stretched upward, reaching for the wall behind me. I felt my wrists pull slightly away from the leather straps, and flicked my wrists.
Still not enough force.
I tried again with no luck. I sucked in a deep breath, tightening my stomach. Then I stretched my entire body, from my thighs and stomach to my shoulders and wrists. Reaching, reaching.
I flung both wrists outward and felt the metal shards slide into place. I slumped back into my pained position, took another breath, and started sawing. The straps began to fray. Fiber by fiber, second by second.
After a minute, I had nearly cut through both bonds.
The heavy door flung open.
My heart stopped as I turned toward Monsieur Strineau, standing in the doorway and smiling politely. “Good afternoon, Mademoiselle,” he greeted like a kindly servant. “Liana’s tending to a disturbance. She asked me to look after you.”
I tried to steady my breathing. He had not noticed the frayed edges of the leather cuffs, or the blades hidden behind my spread fingers.
Red Rider Revolution Page 29