W
ater dripped from the dungeon’s cell beams onto the stone floor. Abraham sat with his head sunk between his legs, listening to the steady, maddening drip of water splashing on the floor. He didn’t know which was worse, being locked up in the cell or wrapped up like a pig in a blanket in a padded room.
Switch. Switch. Switch.
A big part of him wanted to go back home the longer he sat in the murk. His trips to Titanuus had at one time been very appealing, but now, its treachery had gotten old. The time for normalcy had come.
Maybe Ruger can put an end to all of this.
He let out a wet cough. Typically, when he was in Ruger’s body, he felt a wellspring of endless vitality. Now, he felt drained. He’d never been the same since the wraith—the Underlord, Fleece—drained him. Perhaps all the back and forth between bodies had worn him down. Maybe Ruger’s body had begun to take on Abraham’s body from back home.
He leaned his head back and bumped it against the slime-slick wall.
Ah man, this isn’t good.
A rat crawled into his cell. Its long whiskers twitched as it stared at Abraham with beady red eyes.
“Don’t even think about it. I’m not dead yet.” He flicked his fingers at the rat, but it remained frozen in its spot. “Getting bolder, eh? Maybe you can see that I’m dead already.” He sniffed. “Maybe I am and I don’t know it. This better be real.”
If he’d had some idea of what was going on, it wouldn’t have been so bad. He’d left his friends at home in the lurch. Luther was in danger, and thanks to Abraham, he’d been dragged into everything. Mandi, Sid, Smoke—all of them had endangered themselves too. And there were the Henchmen.
What in Titanuus had happened to them? What if King Hector had disbanded them? He wouldn’t have killed them, would he?
The large rat with little white feet scuttled out of the cell and vanished in the hallway.
The grinding of rusting door hinges echoed through the dungeon.
Abraham heard Carlton’s heavy footsteps. The former Guardian-turned-jailer rambled on like a deranged man during his visits. He remained steadfast about his duties, as he was still sharp enough to not reveal anything to Abraham. Whenever he pressed for information, Carlton would button his lip and storm away.
“Are you thirsty, Ruger? Hmm,” the hefty Carlton said as he appeared in front of the cell. “Fresh water from the king’s own spring.” He rattled a wooden ladle inside the bucket, sloshing the water out as he did so. “You can have water but no food. Those are my orders. Do you want a drink, my old friend?”
“Of course I do. I’m dying of thirst, and I’d be grateful.”
“Hum-hee! You would do the same for me—I know that. I’m not here to make you suffer. No, no. I only make sure that you don’t escape. Now, you stay back. Any sudden moves, and I’ll spill it.” Carlton stuck a key in the keyhole and stared at Ruger with a bulging eye. “No no no!” He yanked the key out. “I see what you are thinking. You will try to overpower me and escape. I won’t have that!”
“I’m not moving,” Abraham said calmly.
He had no idea how Carlton had been assigned as his jailer. The man appeared inept. But he didn’t come across as someone worthy of living in the House of Steel. Perhaps Ruger had arranged it long before. “I am very thirsty. I swear on my honor that I won’t move.”
“Ha! Henchmen have no honor! You said so long ago to me.” Carlton slammed the bucket down on the ground. Precious water splashed up over the rim. “You can drink through the bars. Good day, Ruger! I’ll be back tomorrow.” He waddled away, and somewhere far down the hall, the door slammed shut.
Eyeing the bucket, Abraham crawled across the cell.
Probably sewer water.
He stretched his fingers through the bars far enough and squeezed his thick forearm muscles through. With two fingers, he grabbed the bucket and pulled it over to the bars. To his surprise, the water inside the wooden pail was clear as rain. Parched, he grabbed the ladle and drank. He licked his cracked, dry lips.
“Ah…”
Through the bars, he sucked in ladleful after ladleful until he couldn’t scrape any more out of the bucket. He picked up the bucket, tilted it up, and drained the last swallow.
He let out a throaty “Ah!”
He’d never enjoyed water so much before. Something about it was exquisite. The throbbing in his body eased. Hot blood raced through his system. He eyed the inside of the upside-down bucket. Only a drop came out. The bucket was drained.
Abraham clutched his fingers in and out. A spring of hot energy coursed through his limbs.
Blazing saddles! What is going on? I feel like I could run through a wall!
Something was afoot. Someone somewhere was helping him. Perhaps Iris had spiked the water with her magic. He couldn’t think of anything else at the time.
He grabbed hold of the bars and heaved against them. The muscles popped in his mighty forearms. Blue veins rose like corded snakes. He put his feet against the wall of steel bars and pulled hard against it. The corroded metal started to bend.
King’s Steel, my big ol’ butt!
He tossed his head back and threw his back into it. “Hurk!”
The entire wall of bars ripped out of its frame and fell on top of him with a loud bang
. For a long moment, he was trapped underneath the wall. He fought the urge to giggle. He’d meant to bend the metal, not rip the entire wall down. He crawled out from underneath the bars and said, “Conan, eat your heart out.”
He didn’t make it two steps down the hall before crossing a woman wearing a dark-red cloak barring his path. She brandished a razor-sharp sword.
