––––––––
Ardhuin brushed her hair vigorously, sighing when she saw the ash and cinders that fell from her brush, and trying to ignore the beginnings of a headache. It hardly felt like she had slept at all. “I wish I had time to wash it,” she complained. “I was even wearing my hat. How did all that get in?”
“You did not notice the wind caused by the fires,” Gutrune said, handing her a hairpin. “They will understand any deviation from perfect grooming, given the situation. Matters are still urgent.” She sat up a little straighter on the bed. “Von Stangen was found outside the Closure.”
Ardhuin dropped her hands from her head, and her hair escaped from its arrangement. “Well then! We suspected he was behind this. Is that why Herr Asgaya left in such a hurry?”
Gutrune took the hairpin back from her, stood, and started arranging Ardhuin’s hair herself. It was a much more elegant look than Ardhuin had ever been able to create. “He was behind some of it, but not all. I do not know all the details, but they found that much early this morning. It was the blood-seeking spell that uncovered him,” she said, placing another hairpin with precision.
“I had thought that was for von Gerling,” she said, hesitantly.
In the mirror, she saw Gutrune’s face tighten momentarily. “It was. More precisely, for the rest of von Gerling’s blood. There was a splash of it on von Stangen’s boots.”
Ardhuin sat frozen while Gutrune completed her coiffure. It was unlikely that a man of von Stangen’s stature would be wearing the same dirty boots for days on end. If the blood was fresh, it implied von Gerling had bled from a more recent wound. She shivered. They must have been very angry with him.
“How do they know von Stangen is not the main conspirator?” she asked finally.
“I was not told,” Gutrune said. “It was mentioned to me just before I was sent to bring you.”
Ardhuin took another look in the mirror, sighed, and decided there was no point in delaying. It was depressing to think they had not solved the problem, but then, perhaps they were mistaken and von Stangen really was the source of all the attacks. She would have to see for herself.
Two defensive magicians waited outside. She didn’t recognize either of them. They looked annoyed. One complained in a rapid spate of Preusan Ardhuin could not follow. Gutrune turned to look at her, her usual cool, noncommittal expression on her face.
“Have you sent Herr Kermarec on any errand? They complain that he has left without notifying them. Again.”
Ardhuin shook her head, staring at the magicians wordlessly. Her denial seemed to dismay them.
“Where is the one who stayed with him last night?” she asked.
The question made the defensive magicians even more agitated and incomprehensible.
“They cannot find his guard. It is against procedure. The schutzmagus is required to notify his relief if...that is why they thought you had sent Herr Kermarec outside the palace. Neither he nor his guard were in the room when these gentlemen arrived.”
Frowning, Ardhuin went down the hallway to Dominic’s rooms. The door was ajar, but likely the others had left it so. She went in.
The room was orderly and empty. The brushes and shaving gear on the washstand were arranged precisely. She felt them; they were dry. Ardhuin turned slowly, searching for something she could not name. Her heart was pounding, her knees weak.
A glimpse of color, half-hidden under the bed caught her attention. She stooped quickly and picked it up: a book with a blue leather binding. The pages were creased, as if the book had been dropped while open. One page was even torn.
Sudden, unreasoning terror filled her mind, overwhelming any thought but that Dominic would never, ever treat a book in this way. And he was missing.
She gathered her power and sent it streaming away, more than she had ever used at once before, seeking the emerald rose pin she had given him.
She could not find it.
Dominic realized he was awake because his head hurt. He had no idea where he was—it was pitch dark, chilly, and the air had a smell that reminded him of the cells below the Kriegszauberkollegium. Metallic.
He was lying down on some kind of bed. When he made an effort to rise, he had to collapse again from weakness. There was a clinking noise when he did. Chains?
Where was he? What had happened? He had flashes of memory, sensations that he couldn’t patch together. Cold, but a chilly, damp kind of cold not at all like the freezing air outside. Swaying, being carried, and icy drops of water landing on his face. Sharp, lancing pain in his forearm.
Where had he been last? The Closure. Fighting an attack with Ardhuin. He drew a sharp breath, fear driving out the last of his mental confusion. No, he hadn’t been captured there. They’d gone back to the palace. She was safe.
Wasn’t she?
Someone had attacked him there. He strained to remember what had happened for some time in the cold and dark, until a scraping noise caught his attention. A line of light appeared—a door. And a human shape in that light.
The sudden contrast of light and dark blinded Dominic for a moment. He blinked as his eyes adjusted. Now he could tell he was in a small, strangely dark room with no furniture save the bed he lay on. The figure entered, and strong, impersonal hands lifted his arm, the same one that had felt the pain before. With movement the pain returned. The same hands turned his face one way, then the other. Dominic had no strength to resist, or even talk.
“It is too cold,” the figure said in a resonant voice, speaking Gaulan as a native of Parys would. “Henri, a brazier this instant. Has he eaten?”
“No, my lord. He was not awake.” This was said by someone outside, in a shaky, thin voice.
“He is awake now. Some bouillon at first. He will not be able to keep anything more down at present.”
“Yes, my lord.” Footsteps faded away.
“I must give you credit for your efforts against me, even though I cannot permit them to continue,” said the Parysan voice softly. “Your talents are wasted with the tattered remnants of the Alliance. Fortunately, you have provided me with a means to repair my losses. Pray do not take it personally. Although I am your adversary, I hold you in great respect. We will talk when you are more recovered.”
Dominic heard sounds of movement, and the light from the open door disappeared with a solid clunk. Despite his fear and confusion, his fatigue was strong enough that he dozed again, only to be awakened as the door scraped open.
Either he was stronger, or the light was better. An older man, dressed as an upper servant, brought in a charcoal brazier with both hands. He placed it on the floor near the head of the bed, left, and returned with a lamp and a bowl. He assisted Dominic to sit up, and then proceeded to feed him a spoonful at a time, never looking him in the eyes or speaking.
The bouillon was good, and Dominic was starving. He did wonder why he was being so well cared for. He felt much better, and looked more carefully at the man holding the bowl—Henri? The man had a long, drawn face with lines of worry, and something about him....
Dominic gasped, and Henri’s gaze flicked up to his face. A geas, strong and powerful, was visible in a light haze over the man’s head. Still silent, Henri gathered up the bowl and lamp and turned to leave.
As he shut the door, he gave Dominic a sudden, burning look of mingled pain and reproach. His lips trembled.
Dominic shifted and heard the chains again. He felt at his wrists, and found that thick metal bands encased them. A chain was attached to the shackles, and from that chain another went to the wall.
Why was he a prisoner? He had been captured by the enemy Ardhuin had been fighting all this time, but why had they not tried to capture her? Fear spiked through him. Perhaps they had. Or perhaps they thought to use him in some way against her.
The brazier made the little room much more comfortable, and he fell asleep, wondering why Henri had looked at him with such reproach.
Dominic awoke much later, still in total darkness. He had no way of telling exactly how long he had been asleep, or how long he had been imprisoned, but his stomach indicated the bowl of bouillon had been some time ago.
He was able to sit up now, and he did so. Searching the room by feel, he discovered the bed he was on was only a metal frame with a thin mattress. The walls and floor of his prison were metal, too, and he shook his head, puzzled. He explored the dull ache in his left forearm. The cuff of his shirt was unfastened, and his arm was bandaged just above his wrist. His head had a painful bump on the back, too, but that had not been bandaged. He appeared to be wearing the same clothes from the night of the Closure attack.
How long had it been? He felt his face. Rough, but no more than a day or two of growth. He let his hand fall with relief, and his sleeve snagged on something rough on his chest.
For a moment he was startled, then he remembered. The emerald rosebud stickpin Ardhuin had given him—for just such a situation as this. She would find him. Was that what the enemy wanted? Was that why he was still alive?
He had to warn her.
Dominic racked his brain, but before he could come up with a solution, the door to his prison opened. Henri appeared, bearing a tray on a stand that contained a lamp, a folded neckcloth, shaving gear, a bowl of something that smelled delicious, and a mug. He set them down and bowed.
“His lordship’s compliments, and he requests the favor of your company when you are ready,” Henri said, glancing at him quickly and then looking down.
“Who is this lordship?” Dominic asked. Henri jerked, his face working and eyes wide. His mouth was open as if he would speak, but not a sound came out. It looked frighteningly familiar.
“No, please...never mind. Don’t try to answer. I know you cannot.”
Henri drew a shuddering gasp of air, eyes closing for a moment. “Thank you, sir.” He looked at Dominic directly for the first time, and his earlier hostility seemed to have diminished. “I regret that it is not possible to offer you any other fresh linen, but his lordship will not permit your bonds to be removed for any reason.” He seemed ashamed.
His bonds. The shackles. Dominic lifted one hand and raised his eyebrows. The shackles were quite thick, but they were not entirely metal. He looked more closely. Each one was lined in silvery chryselectrum.
Dominic picked up the bowl of food and started to eat, both from hunger and from a desire to hide the startled reaction on his face. Iron, chryselectrum—and his prison was entirely iron as well. It would only make sense if he were a magician.
A chill thought went through him. Magic was affected by iron; he remembered Ardhuin mentioning this to him. He, and the emerald stickpin, were completely encased in iron. She would probably be unable to find him.
Well, he had been summoned to meet this mysterious lordship. Presumably there would be less iron about then. He could not be sure, however, that the conversation would last long enough for her magic to locate him. He would have to arrange for the pin to stay outside, unless he decided it was a trap.
The bowl was full of minced chicken in broth, well-seasoned. The mug held porter. Food for an invalid, not a prisoner.
“Do you wish me to shave you, sir?” Henri asked. Dominic shook his head. Even if he still felt a little weak, he could not be sure of the full nature of the geas on Henri.
It was awkward shaving in chains, but he felt much better cleaned up. He left the stickpin out when rearranging the fresh neckcloth, and tucked it in his pocket when Henri was busy removing the tray.
“Shall I tell his lordship you are ready?” Henri asked hesitantly.
“I am quite eager to speak with him,” Dominic said.
“They found Giessen. Dead.”
Ardhuin looked up at Gutrune, the words barely penetrating the fog of pain, wondering why this was important. Then she remembered. Giessen, the defensive magician who should have been guarding Dominic that night.
“Nothing else?”
Gutrune shook her head. “He was found in a dustman’s cart. From what they were able to discover from the dustman and the condition of the body, he was killed before the attack on the Closure.”
It was a small piece of good news, made large from the absence of any other. The substitution had been made in advance, not in revenge. However, it did not absolve her of the ultimate guilt of putting Dominic in danger in the first place.
“Still no messages,” Ardhuin said, her voice rough with disuse. “Not in two days time. It would appear they do not intend to use him as a hostage.” Her stomach tightened. “What other purpose could they have?” And did that purpose require him to still be alive?
She’d stayed in the palace too long. At first from shock, and then at the urging of the King and Council, for her safety. Staying here wasn’t finding Dominic, though. She’d tried.
“May I use your carriage?” Ardhuin asked, getting stiffly to her feet. “Perhaps if I conduct the search outside the city—”
Gutrune stood and held up both hands, stopping her. “That would not be wise. What if they did this to lure you out?”
“It is not wise to wait and wait.” Ardhuin snapped. “I have to do something!”
“It is always best to fight on ground of your own choosing—not the enemy’s,” Gutrune replied, still calm. “If you rush out without any information, you will be at a great disadvantage.”
Ardhuin fought to keep her temper, or at least not to burst into tears. “But there is no information. I must go to find it,” she said, her throat so tight she could barely speak. “There is no time....”
They might already be too late. That was the horrible thought that kept her from sleeping at night, that made her want to lash and tear.
Hands gripped her shoulders, squeezed in a comforting way. “I know he is dear to you,” Gutrune said in a voice so soft Ardhuin could barely make out the words.
He is my world. Tears brimmed and fell down her cheeks. “He only came here because of me. This is all my fault.”
Gutrune gave her a quick shake. “Nonsense. From my observation, Herr Kermarec is well able to speak his own mind and make his own decisions. He knew there would be danger here before he came, did he not? You cannot afford any mistakes now. You may be his only hope.”
“But we don’t know anything!” wailed Ardhuin. “What are we doing to help him?”
Gutrune gave a small smile. “We know he was here in the palace when he was taken, and it was night. Soldiers are enforcing the curfew, and there is a tight perimeter around the palace itself. Each of the bridges has a full guard. It is possible that this kidnapper was able to gain entry in the confusion of our return from the Closure, but it would have been very difficult to escape unseen. The King has ordered a search of the area,” she said. “Have hope, and be patient. If he is in the perimeter, we will find him.”
Not long after Henri had left his cell, two rough-looking men came in. Like Henri, they had geasi and were silent. One pointed a pistol at Dominic while the other unfastened the long chain from his manacles. The two manacles were still chained to each other, but not closely.
Outside the iron cell was a narrow passageway paved with rough flagstones. They passed another door, similar to his but ajar, and then the passage opened to a wider area, more reminiscent of the cellar of a large house. This cellar, however, did not have barrels and rough stores like coal. Instead, it was swept bare to accommodate a table and a bench with a rack of glass chemical apparatus.
His guides jerked him forward, but not before he saw the restraints on the four corners of the table. There was a raw, sour smell he associated with medical examining rooms, as well. He was very glad to leave.
When he finally arrived at the living area, his legs shook with fatigue and it was an effort to stand upright. Far too many stairs had been employed, in his opinion.
It looked like it had been a rich house once, with marble tile floors and marble columns in the entryway. The floor was covered in undisturbed dust that had a hint of magic to it. Dominic glanced back the way they had come and saw the marks of their feet slowly being erased. Someone wanted this house to look unused.
There were other signs of careful deception as they continued. Heavy curtains over old tattered ones, thick enough to block any stray light yet deliberately stained and ripped to match. A grand staircase that appeared to be completely unsafe, a few nails keeping it from collapsing entirely, but Dominic noticed discreet metal brackets and illusion that made it appear some of the treads were missing.
He was nudged up the “falling” staircase. Beyond was an area more clearly lived in, the carpet clean and fresh. His escort stopped in a large parlor that had an attached glass-framed conservatory to one side, the panes opaque with grime. The thug with the pistol pointed it at him again while the other left the room.
As he waited, Dominic became aware of motion in the conservatory. Henri was there, busy about some task. It seemed a pleasant place, green plants and statuary scattered throughout.
“Ah, there you are. How kind of you to come.”
Dominic turned sharply, then winced at the sudden wave of dizziness. A man stood in the double doorway of a connecting room. He had a taut, lean look that could have placed his age anywhere between forty and sixty. Tall and loose-limbed, he was dressed in a slightly old-fashioned suit. As he came closer, Dominic saw a scattering of small scars along one side of his thin face.
The man made a slight dismissive gesture, and the two thugs left silently.
“I was not aware I had any choice in the matter,” Dominic replied, wondering at the man’s air of casual courtesy and unconscious command. It was not arrogance, which would have included some recognition of others, even if that recognition was pure contempt.
“There is a certain regrettable degree of constraint, it is true,” the man said, nodding. “I beg you regard it as a compliment. I have taken my own measures, which should render you powerless for the moment, but I have no notion of how quickly you can recover. Thus—” He indicated the manacles and gave a wry smile. “But you should not be standing like this, so soon after the procedure. Please come in, and be seated. Henri! Bring refreshment.”
Henri froze in the act of arranging a tendril of ivy about a statue of an undraped woman making a gesture of surprise. Dominic could see him trying to fight the compulsion, even as he turned to go.
Two observations jostled in Dominic’s mind as he followed his captor into an exotically furnished office. The statue was not of a graceful, perfect nymph, but an ordinary woman—and the statue was full of magic, of a kind he had never seen before.
Dominic sank down gratefully on a large, soft ottoman, richly upholstered in gold-laced brocade. “I do not have the honor of your name,” he said cautiously.
The man laughed. “You know, I have almost forgotten it myself. In any event I have not used it since the war, and that young man no longer exists. Dead, if you believe the records. I have taken the mage-name Denais. And what name has Oron’s heir taken?”
For a brief moment there was utter confusion, and then Dominic found it hard to breathe. Denais was looking at him with interest, waiting.
He had to think, to focus. Of course Denais thought he, Dominic, was the Mage Guardian. He'd put him in an iron cell, after all. To protect Ardhuin, Dominic would have to pretend he was. Fortunately, Denais would not expect him to be able to do any magic in his current condition. Now, how would the heir of Oron reply?
“I have not yet decided,” he said, hoping he sounded careless and casual. “Besides, it amuses me to have them refer to me, as you did, as the heir of Oron. It reminds them of things they would rather forget.”
It then occurred to Dominic that perhaps Denais, apparently a Gaulan mage, would also rather forget Oron, but no change of expression was apparent in Denais’ face.
Time for some questions of his own. “How did you escape the impoundment at the end of the War?” Dominic asked. Denais did not have a geas now, if he had ever had one.
“Ah.” Denais took a seat in a deep leather chair. “Well, I was fortunate enough to be so badly wounded I was left for dead, and a truly dead man was mistaken for me—with, I admit, some assistance on my part. I looked even younger than I was at the time, so no one who saw me thought I could possibly be a mage’s assistant. I left Aerope as soon as I could travel, which was also of great use in remaining at liberty.”
Henri entered, carrying a heavy tray, and proceeded to lay out tea and pastries. After pouring, he left as silently as he had come, closing the big double doors behind him.
The exotic tea matched the room, rich and heavy. Dominic sipped carefully, trying to keep his cup from rattling against the saucer, or his chains from touching any of the delicate china.
“You mentioned a procedure. Is it connected to this?” he asked, raising the arm with the bandage.
Denais leaned back and regarded Dominic over the edge of his teacup. “Of course. For many years I had nothing to do but research. My remote location was awkward, but it had other advantages. In Anatoli, life is cheap. I discovered from my own experience and some half-remembered tales that a magician’s strength—his power, if you will—is carried in his blood.”
“You bled me to make me weak?” Dominic asked, surprised.
Denais gave a mocking smile. “That is a useful side-effect, but no. I learned after many years of effort how to remove the power from a magician’s blood—and to use that power myself.”
“The bodies left by the Closure. That was your doing,” Dominic said slowly. All magicians of one kind or another, all drained of blood.
“I do try not to be wasteful,” Denais said, nodding and taking a chocolate-dipped madeleine from the tray. “I needed the essence, of course, and there is always the problem of disposal. Creating fear and unrest was also useful to me.”
“Are you trying to start another war?” Dominic asked, feeling very cold. “Was the first not horrible enough?”
“I am finishing one,” Denais snapped, his eyes narrowing. “I did not surrender. Have you seen what the Alliance did to Gaul? Even now, thirty years later, it is broken and humiliated! We who were the pinnacle of Aerope reduced to cringing servitude, forced every day to apologize for daring to dream of glory!”
That this glory had consisted of conquering and humiliating the other countries of Aerope seemed to escape Denais.
“So you assassinated the...the other Mage Guardians. How long have you been working on this?”
Denais smiled, his earlier ill humor vanishing. “Long enough, and you have caused me significant delay. How fortunate you have provided me with means to make up the deficiency. Magicians of your level are not common.” He leaned forward. “You are still somewhat pale. We must not risk your health, even though I have enjoyed this conversation and indeed, hope to have more. As long as I feel confident that you are under control, who knows how long our acquaintance will last?” Denais gave him another mocking smile, and rose. “Come. The laboratory will interest you.”
Dominic followed him outside. There was just enough time for him to glance at the conservatory. Henri was there again, still attending the magical statue, trying to arrange the ivy to conceal more of the undraped woman, whose expression now seemed frightened rather than surprised. He caught a glimpse of gold on one of the statue’s hands before the conservatory was out of view.
It was easier going down stairs, but still tiring. Dominic was beginning to stumble by the time they reached the cellar.
Denais went over to the table and apparatus and motioned Dominic to join him.
“You see, I have designed a most efficient method. The source is connected here, and the essence is collected in a stasis vial. Unfortunately, even that does not permit long-term storage, since the nature of the essence affects the stasis spell.”
“Of course.” Dominic looked at him in fascinated horror. That table where the “source”—a human being—was fastened and drained of blood, was just another piece of equipment to Denais. If what Denais had said was true, Dominic had himself been tied down there and bled for power.
“It is a nuisance, but the essence cannot be contained more than two weeks without losing its effectiveness,” Denais commented, unlocking a carved wooden cabinet with a bright flash of magic. On a shelf were a physician’s hypodermic, a length of cord, and some sticking plaster and bandages. Above the shelf, in velvet-lined niches, were five bottles labeled with a name and a date on each. They contained a clear liquid that glowed to Dominic’s vision. That must be the essence, then. One of the five bottles was only partly filled, and the fluid did not glow. The name on the bottle was his.
“I could not obtain a full measure of essence without killing you,” Denais said, seeing the direction of his gaze. “With luck, I can repeat the procedure several times. And your essence is, of course, much stronger than any of the others, so less is needed.”
Dominic thought furiously as the rough servants were summoned to return him to his cell. He had at most two weeks before Denais discovered the essence derived from his blood was worthless, and when he did, both he and Ardhuin would be in danger. If Denais considered his essence more powerful, he would probably save it for a special occasion, or only use it if he had no other.
As Dominic got closer to the door of his cell, he desperately tried to think of some way to get the emerald rose stickpin out of his pocket and hidden unobtrusively, but the thugs were too watchful. There had been no opportunity upstairs, either. He would have to think of something else.
Ardhuin pushed up the stray strands of hair that had escaped and stared at the document again. Gutrune von Kitren had been translating it for her, but she wanted to look at it herself. Markus Asgaya lounged in a chair nearby, outwardly relaxed, but with shadows under his eyes showing the long hours he had been at work.
“So, we still don’t know who this mysterious individual ‘K’ is, other than that he is powerful and telling von Stangen what to do.”
Markus stirred. “Not exactly. It appears K and von Stangen were allies, but sometimes reluctant ones. K wanted to use some of the army in the Closure attack but von Stangen refused.”
“What does von Stangen say about that?” Ardhuin asked.
Gutrune shook her head. “He is refusing to answer questions. Despite these documents, he maintains that even to respond to the accusations is a stain on his honor, that he has never endangered the safety of the King or of Preusa. It is true, we have no proof but what we found in his quarters, and that is murky at best.”
“I heard something interesting about von Stangen,” Markus said, sitting up with a stifled groan. “He was with the detachment that worked with the impounding process at the end of the war. He met most of the Gaulan mages and knew about their magic. Something of an expert on it, in fact.”
“He was also an adherent of Marderian,” Gutrune said. “A political leader who objected to the present King’s views on empire,” she explained, seeing Ardhuin’s puzzled look. “Marderian firmly believed in the purpose of Preusa being conquest.”
A knowledge of Gaulan mages, and perhaps their magic, in combination with an opposition to the King’s policy of non-aggression, made von Stangen very suspicious indeed. The documents were further indication, but sparse on information she could use. Von Stangen’s quarters had been thoroughly searched, once by her. Dominic was not there, and probably had never been.
“Didn’t you say the reason he was away was to visit his estates?” Ardhuin asked abruptly. “Where are they?”
Gutrune and Markus exchanged a glance. “In the south. Near Bad Gluckshof,” Gutrune said. “A little more than a day’s travel.”
“You think they managed to evade the perimeter?” Markus asked.
“We’ve searched almost every building inside,” Ardhuin said. “They must have gotten him out somehow. And in three days he could be anywhere.”
Gutrune thought for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. “I will make the arrangements to leave at first light tomorrow.”
Dominic explored his cell in the darkness, feeling every inch he could reach. With the chain in place, he could just place one hand on the surface of the door. He continued down, straining to reach, and at the limit of the chain felt a gap at the bottom of the door, no more than an inch high. He could not tell if the gap went all the way through to the hallway.
More substantial meals were brought to him now; once by one of the rough servants, once by Henri. They both waited until he was finished, then removed the plates and utensils.
“The statue in the conservatory—it’s a real woman, isn’t it?” Dominic asked Henri, while he was waiting.
The older man stared at Dominic with wide, astonished eyes. His mouth worked, and finally he pantomimed putting a hand over it.
“You have been forbidden to talk. I understand.” Henri nodded. “Is she...is she perhaps your wife?” The woman appeared the right age, and Dominic remembered the gold ring. While Henri could not speak, the tears sliding down his cheeks were confirmation enough. “I’m sorry. I would help you if I could.”
Behind Henri in the open doorway, a large orange-and-white cat wandered by. Seeing the newly opened door, it stopped to investigate. Giving Henri a casual lean as it walked by, it sniffed Dominic and looked at him expectantly.
Dominic took a scrap of chicken from his plate and offered it to the cat, who took it with delicate grace.
The beginnings of an idea started to form in his mind. He gave the cat another small bit of food, and it started to purr. Asking Henri for more water, he quickly hid a handful of chicken from his plate while the man’s head was turned.
The meal over, Henri shooed the cat out of the cell and closed the door. Dominic waited until the sound of footsteps faded down the passageway, and then carefully shoved a scrap of food under the door. A small tug told him it had been taken away.
Working quickly, Dominic took out his handkerchief and the emerald rose stickpin and made a small bundle of them, rubbing the bundle vigorously on the floor of his cell to disguise the whiteness. Using a thread pulled from his blanket, he wrapped the bundle further with the remainder of the food he had hidden away.
Carefully, he nudged the bundle under the door. He felt nothing, and had a momentary spurt of panic. Had the cat eaten its fill? But then a tug came — a firm, determined one — and he let go. He could no longer feel it anywhere.
He had to hope it was out in the passageway now, and that it would remain unnoticed. It had to work. It was his only chance.