Pt 1 / Pt 2 / Pt 3
Pt 5 / Pt 6 / Pt 7 / Pt 8 / Pt 9
|Bastard had pulled the lightest curtains closed before he left, giving Baereth enough light to adjust without hurting him, just one of many little courtesies he wasn't sure how to deal with. If the spymaster thing wasn't bullshit then the gestures were in good faith. If it wasn't Bastard got major points for the most confusing torture ever.|
He'd even wanted to have a physician tend to Baereth's injuries, to make him "more comfortable". Baereth explained at great length where the bastard could put his physician. He didn't bother to mention that he'd never been comfortable in his life and had no delusions about starting it now. The refusal obviously surprised the bastard, but after a great deal of competent looking fussing Baereth was left in a barely decorated room.
That had been several hours ago and, other than a servant who came in very briefly with food and not a single word of conversation, he hadn't seen or heard from anyone since.
Tugging at the chain shackling his left wrist to the heavy table in the middle of the room, Baereth dropped into one of the chairs and propped his bare feet on the other. After a few restless minutes trying to get comfortable he stood up again, kicking the chairs out of the way. Compared to this, the jail cell had been almost fun. Sure getting beaten up sucked but it was better than doing nothing for who knew how many hours. He couldn't even steal anything because he only had a pair of loose pants on. Not being able to hide things in them was what had gotten him into this particular mess at all.
Maybe I could move the table, he thought. Get it close enough to open a window. I bet the bastard likes giving to charity but never has the time. I'd be doing him a favour.
It was childish even for him, but suddenly he couldn't think of anything he'd rather be doing.
Knowing my luck of course, the thing will be bolted to the floor.
As it happened there weren't any bolts or anything else of the sort. The rough stone floors and the weight of the table made it difficult to move, but not impossible. Bracing low, he worked the table slowly across the room, taking a wobbling path most of the way to the window near the bed. There was a strange step up in the floor under the windows, and even in full health he would have struggled with it. Some bizarre design feature maybe or a leftover from something that had been removed. He pondered it long enough to decide it wasn't worth the effort, then went to the window.
Which was obviously locked shut.
Who the fuck locks a window this high up?
Thumping the thick glass with his fist, Baereth slouched against the stone wall and peered down through the gap he'd made in the curtain. The open courtyard below was almost deserted, though he could see people moving around on the surrounding path. A lone woman lunged around on the grass almost as if she was fighting some unseen opponent. Except it was no style he'd ever seen, and he suspected anyone who fought in a manner that matched was either totally incompetent or extremely dangerous and probably best dealt with from a distance.
After watching her for a few minutes that gave him no clues about what she was doing, he turned away from the window and considered what else he could do. The chairs were on the other side of the room, the table was not a comfortable seat, and he really was in more pain than he wanted.
And the bastard is obviously in no rush to get back to explain this secretary crap.
What he really wanted, of course, was for it to be nighttime and him to be somewhere else, preferably very far away. He was tired and sore and more than a little annoyed at himself for getting caught, not to mention drained and hungry in a way no normal foods could satisfy.
Worse still, he couldn't shake his curiousity about being offered a royal position. Obviously it was going to go wrong. People would get hurt, including him, and before it was done he'd regret everything that had led him to this point. He'd managed to stay under the radar for so long he'd actually started to think- Well he wasn't sure what, but it had been some sort of hopeful.
Pt 5 / Pt 6 / Pt 7 / Pt 8 / Pt 9