"Self, am all ears. Head to toe, two big ears."
"Yes. You will be. The time of crudeness has ended. Now you begin listening and answering." He straightened, faced the door.
Two men pushed a wheeled cart through. Mocker ground his teeth though he didn't understand what he saw on the cart.
The Man in the Mask made him understand those sorcerer's tools.
The pain was worse than any he had known before. This agony was scientifically applied, to one purpose. To drive him mad.
Mocker never had been very stable. It took just two days to crack him completely.
They let him rave in darkness for a week.
Something happened then. More pain. Smoke smells, of flesh burning. Screams that weren't his own. Men struggling. A scream that was his own when he hit the floor of the cell.... Darkness. Peaceful, restful darkness.
The night whispers returned. They changed, becoming gentle, delicate whispers, happy, cheerful whispers, like those of a nymph beneath a waterfall. They calmed him. They shaped him.
Then there were gentle, feminine hands, and the distant murmur of grave-voiced men. But for a long time he was bound, his eyes blindfolded. His memories remained vague, confused. A man in a mask. El Murid's men... he thought. And Mercenary officers.
They kept him drugged and he knew that, but occasionally he came round long enough to catch snatches of conversation.
Once, evidently, a new nurse: "Oh, dear! What happened?" Horror filled her voice.
"He was tortured," a man replied. "Burned. I don't entirely understand it. From what he says, he was set up by men hethought were his friends. Nobody knows why yet. Lord Chin rescued him."
What? Mocker thought. His brains must be scrambled. Wasn't Chin the torturer?
"It was a complicated plot. One of his friends apparently tipped El Murid's agents, who kidnapped him. Then he sent mercenaries who staged a rescue-then turned him over to this Haroun, who wore the mask the Lord lost when the Dragon tried invading the west."
"You said...."
"There's a link between man and mask. The Lord lost his, but he still knows everything that happens if someone wears it.... Hold it. I think he's coming around. Better give him another sniff. He needs a lot more healing before we let him wake up."
It may have been a day or week later. It was another man and another woman. This time the man seemed to be the newcomer.
"... says Lord Chin transferred right into the dungeon. For some reason bin Yousif wore the captured mask that day instead of the one he'd had made to look like it. Lord Chin knew the minute he put it on. He'd broken the eye crystals, apparently thinking that was enough to end the connection."
"Bet the Lord caused an uproar."
The woman laughed musically. "They're still petrified, thinking Shinsan's coming again. They're chasing their tails. They don't know there's a new order here, that Ehelebe has come."
"What happened?"
"The one called Haroun got away. Lord Chin punished the others."
"Bin Yousif would. He's slippery."
"He can't run forever. Ehelebe has come. None shall escape the justice of the Pracchia."
Even in his dazed state Mocker thought that a little preachy. Perhaps the woman was a fanatic or recent convert.
"What were they trying to do?"
"Lord Chin thinks they were preparing him as a weapon against Shinsan. The man called Ragnarson is paranoid about it.... Get that cotton and the bottle. He's waking up."
People stirred. Mocker smelted something sweet.
"How much longer?"
"A month, maybe. The Lord...."
There were more, shorter episodes, quickly ended by sharp-eyed physicians and nurses.
Then came the day when they didn't put him back under.
"Can you hear me?"
"Yes," he whispered. His throat was dry and raw, as if his screams had never stopped.
"Keep your eyes closed. We're going to remove the bandages. Ming, get the curtain. He hasn't used his eyes for months."
Hands ran over his face. The cold back edge of a scalpel dented his cheek. "Don't move. I have to cut this."
The cloth slipped away. "Now. Open your eyes slowly."
For a while he saw nothing but bright and dim. Then shapes formed and, finally, vaguely discernible faces developed. Three men and five women surrounded him. They seemed anxious. One man's mouth became a hole. Mocker heard, "Can you see anything?"
"Yes."
A hand appeared. "How many fingers?"
"Three."
The women tittered.
"Good. Inform Lord Chin. We've succeeded."
They ran more simple tests, and freed him from the restraints. The speaker told him, "You've been laid up a long time. Don't try getting up without help. We'll start exercising you later."
The group fell silent when the Tervola entered. A man in black, wearing a mask. Black on gold, rubies, the cat-gargoyle.
Mocker shrank away.
A soft laugh escaped the mask. The Tervola sat on his bed, folding the sheet back. "Good. The burns healed perfectly. There won't be much scarring."
Mocker stared at the mask. This one had jewels where the other had been open.
"How...?"
"My fault. I apologize. I miscalculated. Your enemy controlled more power than I expected. He proved difficult. You were burned in the process. For that I offer my deepest apologies. You had suffered enough. A year of torture. Amazing. You're a strong man. Few of my colleagues could have endured."
"Self, being short of memories of interval incarcelated, am I wondering, question being, where is same? Self."
"Ehelebe." The man examined Mocker's eyes. Mocker noted that he used his left hand. The Man in the Mask had been right-handed. Haroun was right-handed.
"Same being? Have never heard of same. Is where?" "Ehelebe isn't a 'where'. It's a state of mind. I'm not being intentionally obscure. It's a nation without a homeland, its citizens scattered everywhere. We call ourselves The Hidden Kingdom. Wherever there are enough of us, we maintain a secret place to gather, to take refuge, to be at peace. This's such a place."
"Being same system known for cult of Methregul." Methregul was a demon-god of the jungle kingdom of Gundgatchcatil. He had a small, secret, vicious following. The cult was outlawed throughout the western kingdoms. Its bloody altars were well-hidden. Today it was a dying creed. It had been more widespread in Mocker's youth.
"The structures are similar. But the ends are as different as day and night. Our goal is to expunge such darknesses from the world."
Mocker was regaining his wits quickly. "Self, self says to self, what is? Tervola saying same has mission to combat evil?" He laughed. "High madness."
"Perhaps. But who better to alter the direction of Shinsan? You'd be surprised who some of us are. I often am myself, when my work brings me into contact with brothers previously unknown to me."
Mocker wanted to ask why he had never heard of the organization. Old habit stifled the question. He would wait and watch. He needed data, and data not volunteered, on which to base conclusions.
"You've recovered remarkably. With a little wizardry and a lot of care from these good people." He indicated those watching. "You'll see when you get to the mirror. They repaired most of the damage. The bones and the flesh are fine now. You'll have a few scars, but they'll be hidden by your clothing. The only worry left is how you are up here." He tapped Mocker's head. "Why?" "Excuse me?"
"Have been told self was saved from wickedry. Am not ungrateful. But many persons labor many hours to repair ravishes-ravages?-of mad cruelty of captor who never says why self was imprisoned. Am wondering."