“You don’t think he’d just let us starve,” Leen called out suddenly. “Do you?”
“What fun is there in that? There’s no entertainment value in starving someone completely, at any rate.”
“Talking to you doesn’t necessarily make me feel any better.”
To advise a different choice of partners next time would be churlish. “This is quite a dungeon my brother’s built for himself, don’t you think?” Shaa said instead. “From the look of the floor-plan on the way down here he’s obviously expecting quite a few more tenants. You’d scarcely expect it, looking at this place from the street.”
“Looking at this place from the street I’d have expected almost anything.”
“Yes, I can see your point of view.” Shaa rattled a chain. “I might have thought he’d just hurl us out on the street too, under the assumption that we couldn’t do anything more to stop him, but apparently not. Perhaps he just wants to keep us around so he can periodically enjoy a convenient gloat.” That was not, of course, the only possibility. But suppose, god or no, there was something that could be done to stop him. The first step was traditional but clear. They had to get out of the dungeon.
As always, there were many conceivable ways to accomplish this. Given the dampness in the cell from Peridol’s high water table, the manacles would eventually rust, which would be a start. The time span, however, might be inconvenient. Anyway, another potential alternative could be much more productive, and in more ways than merely getting loose from the chains. Shaa began to focus on quieting his breathing.
“What do you think’s happened to Max?” Leen said.
Shaa drew a deep, regular breath. “By now, whatever Max’s situation happens to be, it will keep.” He was most likely firmly embedded in some impregnable dungeon, and if not that, he’d be out again roaming the streets. If the case was that of the dungeon, getting him extracted might take some doing but was probably not a matter of extreme urgency. In the other case, well, if Max wanted more help he could damn well come and beg for it.
Actually, that could apply to the case of the dungeon as well. Shaa was half-inclined to let him well and fully rot for a change. Might do Max a world of good. Of course, all this talk was somewhat specious considering his own present situation. But wasn’t that same situation at least partly Max’s fault? It was Max’s high-handed plot to rid Shaa of his brother’s curse that had led to their current low state, as well as to Arznaak’s elevated one. Yes, after the success he’d had with his machinations the world might be better off with Max on ice.
“I realize you have certain feelings for Maximillian,” Shaa told Leen. “So do I. In many ways he is like a brother to me.”
“Not at all like your actual brother, then.”
“Actually, my feelings toward both of them are often very much the same. They both inspire a mood of serious aggravation more often than is healthy for the digestion.” But then Leen might, against all good sense, really be in love with Max. Shaa spoke softly. “Don’t worry about Max. This place isn’t shielded that well; if he were dead I would know. Even if he were being badly tortured, I would know.” It was probably even the truth.
Leen again fell silent. Just as well; he needed his concentration. Locks were a basic exercise, but then Shaa had been at enforced idleness for far too long now.
Passive first. Just sit back and let the situation flow to you. Easiest thing in the world... and, so. The lock on the manacles was nicely shielded, and at Arznaak’s own hand, but Shaa had not only learned his earliest lessons from the same source as his brother, Shaa had much more often been forced to consider and react to a situation of his brother’s creation. There was likely to be a scrap of something lying about the cell... ah, a rat femur, just the thing. Now coerce the piece of bone to consider itself a key. With some prestidigitational manipulation -
The click from the lock sounded loud in the subterranean stillness of the cell, but another expected sound was absent. Shaa shook the manacle from his right wrist with a low clatter. In spite of himself, he felt himself grinning.
The pound of blood in his ears was soft.
His shortness of breath was no more than could be accounted for by the tension of the situation.
The habitual wheeze had deserted him.
Neither ankle was a soggy morass.
And the expected pain in his chest? What pain in his chest?
In short, the crushing rejoinder that had afflicted his every attempt to employ magic since Arznaak’s original launching of his curse had not arrived. True, this had been the most modest sort of magic. But still Shaa was a physician, and the patient whose condition was most familiar happened to be himself. If there had been a backlash, however slight, he would have detected it.
Arznaak had attempted to decoy him through misdirection. Nevertheless, the possibility had been obvious. Max had swapped the ring containing Pod Dall to Jardin, the former Curse Administrator, in exchange for Jardin’s lifting of the curse on Shaa. Although Arznaak, now having overthrown Jardin and installed himself as Curse Administrator in his stead, had gone through a ritual that he claimed would reestablish the curse, it had been a sham. Arznaak must have thought his brother would be too skittish to even test the curse again after the unpleasantness he’d suffered before. In every case of god-usurpation Shaa had heard of, though, it had taken the newly divine one some time to fully assume the mantle of office and become fully functional with the subtleties of their new powers.
Of course, the damage Shaa had already suffered through past injudicious use of conjuration was probably permanent; nevertheless, one must look forward, not behind, unless one wants to do nothing but fall over one’s feet. And it was a near-certainty that Arznaak would reinstate the curse eventually. However, he might also - most probably did also - have other plans that needed prosecution first. So by the time Arznaak got around to the curse again many things could be different.
So. Shaa could use magic again without fearing the backlash. This meant he could most likely escape, and without excessive histrionics. Would it be best to leave in a subtle and mysterious manner that might only be discovered after some extended period of time, or through the satisfaction of pyrotechnics? The decision was not trivial. He considered the options.
Beyond the skittering of the rats in the hall and the drip of water, there was heard unexpectedly a soft click of metal. From, perhaps, the next cell? The click was followed by a creak, as of a reluctant door carefully eased, and then a shadow that moved across the grill in Shaa’s own cell. Subtlety had it, then, although perhaps the opportunity for pyrotechnics would still present itself. Shaa finished divesting himself of the remaining chains and slid to the door. “May I help you?” he inquired.
“I think I’ve almost got it,” hissed Leen from the other side.
Skill in the magical was, of course, part of her job. Shaa held his hand above the lock to feel her work. “Very adroit,” Shaa murmured. “Quite deft.”
“Thank you,” said Leen, as this door made its own click. With a louder clack, she swung back the bolt.
Shaa joined her in the hall. She was looking down the corridor away from the door through which they had been brought. “You don’t think there’s some secret exit from this place, do you?”