“Starting now, you’ll come to me for your medicine,” Mogkan said, smiling.
Before I could react, someone knocked on the door. Two soldiers entered the office without waiting for permission.
“Your escorts are here, Yelena. They’ll take good care of you.” Mogkan turned to the guards. “She doesn’t need a tour. Our infamous Yelena has come home.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I scanned the two muscular guards. Swords, short knives and manacles hung from their belts. They were well armed, and wore grim expressions of recognition. I was outmatched. I touched the familiar lump of the switchblade strapped to my thigh, but decided to wait until the odds were more in my favor.
The guards gestured for me to accompany them. I shot a final beseeching look at the Commander, but nothing so far had roused him from his oblivious stupor.
I felt a small surge of hope when the guards led me to a tiny, barren room in the guest wing instead of the underground cells in which Brazell housed his prisoners. Having spent a week in those dank, rat-infested chambers after I killed Reyad, I loathed the thought of ever going back.
After the door was locked behind me, I took comfort from removing the picks from my hair. The lock was a basic pin-and-tumbler type, which would be easy to open. Before springing it, I slipped a small pick with a mirror on the end under the door. With the mirror, I spied a pair of boots standing on either side. Those overachieving guards had stationed themselves outside my room.
I went to the window. The guest wing was on the second floor. My view included the main courtyard. I could jump to the ground if I was desperate, but for now I would wait.
The next day, I was permitted out of my room only to taste the Commander’s meals. After breakfast, Mogkan waved a small vial of antidote in front of my face.
“If you want this, you must answer a question,” he said.
I steadied my nerves. With a calm voice, I replied, “You’re bluffing. If you wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be standing here now.”
“I assure you, it’s only a temporary condition.” Anger burned in his eyes. “I’m merely offering you a choice. Death by Butterfly’s Dust is a long, ugly and excruciating experience, while, say, slitting your throat is quick—a moment of pain.”
“What’s the question?”
“Where’s Valek?”
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. I hadn’t seen Valek since the fight in the woods. Mogkan considered my answer. Taking advantage of his distracted state, I plucked the vial from his hand and drained it in a single gulp.
Mogkan’s face reddened with fury. He seized my shoulders then shoved me toward the guards. “Take her back to her room,” he ordered.
Once there, I wondered what mischief Valek was creating. I doubted he was sitting idle. Mogkan’s questions on Valek’s whereabouts confirmed my suspicions. Restless, I paced the small chamber, longing for a workout with Ari and Janco.
During my brief visits with the Commander over the next few days, I began to recognize that my presence was part of Mogkan’s show. In order to keep the Commander’s advisers from becoming suspicious, Brazell pretended the Commander was still giving orders. At one point, Brazell leaned close to the Commander as if they were having a private conversation, then proclaimed that, per Commander Ambrose’s request, a factory tour would be scheduled for the next day.
I was allowed to join the group going to the plant. This surprised me almost as much as the fact that none of the Commander’s advisers made a protest or comment about Brazell manufacturing Criollo instead of the livestock feed he had reported on his permit. They munched on bars of Criollo, content to nod and agree with Brazell that the factory was a marvelous invention.
As we walked through the building, sweltering heat pulsed from the gigantic roasters that were continuously fed with Sitian beans. Workers, streaked with sweat and black dust, shoveled coal into the massive fires under the ovens. Once roasted, the beans were conveyored to a large area where other workers cracked their shells with mallets, extracting a dark brown nib. Steel rollers crushed the nibs into a paste. The paste was spooned into a five-foot-wide metal container to which sugar, milk and butter were added. Using steel pitchforks, workers stirred these ingredients until the mixture became a smooth, thick liquid, which was then poured into square and rectangular-shaped molds.
A veritable shop of delightful smells and flavors, the place was, however, a joyless environment. The dour employees, uniforms soiled with Criollo and sweat, grunted and strained under the physical exertion. During the tour, I searched the various work areas for poisonous or addictive ingredients that might be slipped into the mix but found none.
When the group returned to Brazell’s manor house, I watched the animated expressions on the advisers’ faces leak away, leaving behind the same blank look that had taken over the Commander’s face. Which meant that there must be a link between eating Criollo and succumbing to Mogkan’s magic. Mogkan’s show would end as soon as he had gained control of the advisers’ minds, and when that happened my accommodations would change for the worse.
That night, under cover of darkness, I dropped my cloak out the window of my room and banged on the door, calling to the guards.
When the door opened, I declared, “I need a bath.” Without waiting for a response, I strode with purpose down the hallway. The guards followed.
At the baths, one guard stopped me in the hallway while his companion looked around inside. Only when he was sure I would be alone did he nod and step back.
As I went through the entrance, I said in an authoritative voice, “I don’t need an audience. Wait here, I won’t be long.”
To my delight they remained outside. I scurried to the far wall where, hidden from view, there was another entrance. The guards might work in the manor house, but I’d grown up here. With a child’s curiosity and free time, I had been able to explore almost every corner of the house. Only Brazell’s private suite, office and Reyad’s wing had been off-limits. Unfortunately once I turned sixteen, Reyad’s wing became my daily nightmare. Pushing away the thought, I concentrated on the present.
I pulled the handle of the door and encountered my first unwanted surprise. It was locked. No problem, I thought, reaching for my picks. The mechanism popped with ease, the door swung open, and I discovered a second nasty shock. One of the guards waited in the hallway.
He smirked. I rushed him. Using my momentum, I shoved him off balance and punched him in the groin. A dirty Valek move, but I didn’t care as I raced down the corridor, leaving the guard far behind.
Slipping out the south entrance, I retrieved my cloak, and then headed west to find my pack and bow. Bright moonlight illuminated my path, and I could see where I was going; however, my true path was less evident. I knew I couldn’t help the Commander from a locked room, but I was unsure what I could do from the outside. I needed to talk to Valek. Deciding it would be too risky to go to the barracks, I took to the treetops. Only Valek knew this trick. Once he learned of my escape, he would track me.
When I reached the open area reserved for the annual fire festival’s visit to MD–5, I stopped for the night. Shivering in my cloak, I huddled against a tree trunk, blowing clouds of steam from my mouth. Once, I heard the baying of dogs and distant shouts, but no one came close to my makeshift bed in the tree. Sleep eluded me; I was too cold and nervous. Instead, I envisioned the bright fabric of the festival tents in the clearing, hoping to warm myself by remembering the hot energy of the festival nights.
I imagined the big tops in their proper places. Dancers, singers and acrobats lined up in the middle of the clearing. Food stands huddled in and around the big tents, scenting the air with mouthwatering treats. I went to the festival every hot season when I had lived under Brazell’s roof. It had been the highlight of my existence. Although my memories of those last two years, when I had been Reyad’s laboratory rat, were dreadful.