C
hains rattled and scraped over the ground. The air smelled damp and musty. The floor was cold. Something nibbled on his fingers.
Abraham woke up. He knocked a large rat away from his fingers. The creature skipped over the floor and scurried away. He sat up and wiped sticky straw away from his face. His head was splitting. He rubbed his temples. From the hallway flickered a dim source of light that he could see through the steel bars.
He crawled to the bars and peered outside. He was in a dungeon, as medieval as it could get. The floors were coated in a film of slime and mold. The place smelled like mold. Water ran down the limestone walls. He touched the breastplate armor on his chest.
“Great, it looks like I’m back in Titanuus.”
A chill went through him as he rubbed his head. He had a sinking feeling that Dr. Jack Lassiter had figured out how to send him back and forth. Perhaps the zillon, Ottum, had helped him.
Where am I?
The last time he’d been in Titanuus, he was preparing the Henchmen to fight the Gond at the House of Steel. Perhaps they had lost and he was a Gond prisoner. He had no way of knowing where he was without seeing someone. He called out loudly. “Hello!”
His voice cracked. He thirsted, and his throat was as dry as a bone. He searched the dungeon cell. A wooden bucket was tilted over, and he saw no sign of water or food.
How long have I been in here?
“Hello!” He grabbed the bucket and banged it against the cell bars. “Hello! Hello! Hello! Somebody, please!”
His words echoed hollowly down the hallway. No response came his way. The dungeons were deadly quiet, abandoned to the lingering gloom and stench of death.
Abraham rifled through his recent memories. He’d gained more knowledge since his last trip back home. The lightning that had struck his plane was man-made. The time had come to forgive himself. The time had come to make the monsters that had done that pay.
How many other innocent deaths have the monsters of the Corporation caused?
He shook his head.
I’m getting closer, but I need to get out of here.
He jerked on the bars. He kicked them.
Ruger’s body was strong, unnaturally so. He grabbed the inch-thick corroding steel bars in two hands and pulled. The metal peeled back a fraction of an inch. He put more muscle into it. His back muscles knotted up. He let out a loud groan.
Somewhere in the dungeon, a door squeaked on the hinges.
Heavy footsteps came Abraham’s way. He let go of the bars, sucking for breath. His belly growled, and he felt weak. His knees buckled underneath him, and he slid down the bars.
“Are you making racket again?” someone with a gruff voice asked. The heavy-set man behind the voice appeared down the hall. He waddled more than he walked and carried a short sword on his belt. “Still trying to bend those bars, eh? Goodness sake, no man can bend them. Those are the King’s Steel. You of all people should know that, Ruger.”
Abraham studied the pudgy man’s face. He was built like Horace but fatter. His forearms were chubby, cheeks flabby, and chins saggy.
He narrowed his eyes on the man and asked, “Do we know each other?”
“Boy, you really are daffy, aren’t you, Ruger? Of course. I rode with you over a decade ago. We talked about this, remember? A myrmidon cut the back of my knees out. Haven’t been very able ever since. No spring in me boots. Can’t climb that saddle either.” The jailer made a chipper face. “But I’m here and thankful. Make the most of the worst circumstances, like you always said.” He searched Abraham’s face. “You really don’t remember, do you?”
“Uh, what is your name again?”
“Carlton. Boy, you really have taken too many lumps on the noggin. I never thought I’d see the day when you’d deteriorate. But it happens to the best of us. Look at me. Fat as a cow, and I don’t even drink. Well, not at work. Usually.”
“What about the standard, Carlton?”
“Ain’t no standards down here. None. Just me and the rats. The king tends to kill more that cross him than let them live. Now, you keep it quiet. I’m trying to sleep.”
“Carlton, what about the Gond?”
“What Gond? The ones you slaughtered on the other side of the Wall? Why, they are all dead. Fertilizer, as I understand it.” Carlton swiped his hand over his greasy black combover. “I miss all of the action. I only hear what I hear if they tell me.” He leaned his shoulder on a bar and looked away from Abraham. “They treat me like I never wore that armor before, but I tell them I did. The laugh because I can’t fit in it.”
“How long’s it been since we fought off the Gond?”
Carlton turned his head and said, “By the Elders, being incarcerated really takes a toll, doesn’t it? That was three days ago.” He counted on his fingers. “Three days since you’ve been here. You’ve mostly been quiet. Model prisoner.” A distant look came over him. “Sometimes I feel like a prisoner.”
Abraham got the sinking feeling that Carlton might be crazy, but he didn’t notice a key ring on the man’s belt either. He carried only a short sword, and his hand stayed on the pommel.
Carlton moved away from the cell bars. He eyed Abraham suspiciously. “I know what you are thinking. You want to escape. Well, that’s impossible. You have to get by me, and ten more Guardians are waiting on guard if you get by me. Plus, you can’t get out of the cell without the key because I don’t keep the key on me.” He tapped his finger to his head. “You see, I am smart. Very smart.”
“Carlton, what about King Hector? Where is he? I need to speak to him.”
“No, I won’t tell you that either because I don’t know, and I wouldn’t if I did. It’s just like you said—ignorance is bliss. Well, I’m chock-full of ignorant.”