“Witch!” the empress turns suddenly, which makes her headdress wobble precariously on her head, the empress reaches up to straighten it, and I suddenly wonder how many times a day she has to do that. Her entire outfit – long golden embroidered robes with sleeves that drape down to the floor – just looks…inconvenient.  A woman melts out of the shadows at the back of the room. I hadn’t even seen her until now. She’s tall and thin, almost hungry looking, with silver hair pinned up with chop sticks. She wears the same style of gown that the empress does, oriental looking. But the way she holds herself reminds me of a beaten dog, like someone expecting to be kicked and cussed at any moment.

                “Cast a spell at her,” the high empress folds her arms over her chest, looking pleased with herself, “that way we can see if she’s really an anti-mage, like you said she was.”

                “I already tried,” the woman’s voice was pleading, “when I tried to heal her, like you said. I can’t fix the wound on her head, because I can’t use magic on her. It’s impossible….” She faltered when the empress pressed her lips together, then sighed and flicked one hand at me, intoning something in a low voice, words I can’t make out. Nothing happens, and a slow smile spreads across the empress’ face, “she is one.”

                “Yes, your majesty,” the witch says in a weary voice, “it appears so.”

                “Well now,” the empress folds her hands together and beams at her gaurds, “I have a set now, a witch and an anti-mage! I’m sure I can find uses for both of you! Keep her in the infirmary until she’s all better, Josephine.”

                The empress turns to leave, her ridiculous gown sweeping the floor, but I’m not looking at her anymore, my eyes are fastened on the witch with renewed interest. Josephine.

                It can’t possibly be….

                My heart tries to beat out of my chest as the witch comes closer, her face sympathetic. I try to croak out words, to ask her the question burning the tip of my tongue, but my throat betrays me with a raspy croak and nothing else.

                Frustration makes me tug against the ropes, and Josephine shakes her head sympathetically, “those will come off, don’t worry. As soon as…her majesty, is convinced you won’t try to make a break for it.”

                Frustrated, I shake my head, trying to silently convey that I need to say something. I need to ask her something.  Her forehead creases as she stares at me, “hold on, let me get you some water to clear your throat.”

                She vanishes down the hall then, and I’m left for a few long minutes with nothing to do but stare at the roof and fret. Where are my friends? How will I get out of this one? Will this witch person be able to help me? Or has the empress got too tight a hold on her?

                Finally Josephine comes back in with a brown, clay cup and holds it to my lips. I drink deeply, the cool water refreshing my throat, washing the dirt and dust away. My voice is nothing more but a croaky whisper, but I manage to get out, “Josephine Rosedale?”

                Her eyes grow wide, and she nods, then looks around the infirmary, as if she’s afraid the very walls have ears, “yes, are you….did they send you…”

                Hah. As if this entire thing was organized or something. There was no time for explanations though, so I just nod. Her eyes get even wider, and this time her cheeks flush with excitement, “excellent, we have to get you out of here…”

                “Wait…” I hiss, “my friends. The ones I crash landed with. Where are they?”

                Her face falls, “I…they’re in the dungeons. She had no use for either of them. But we don’t have time….”

                “We’ll make time,” I said firmly, “there’s no way I’m leaving them behind. You don’t have to come with me, just untie me and point the way to the dungeons. I’m busting them out.”

                Josephine purses her lips for a moment, looking frustrated, but then apparently resigned, because she nods abruptly, “right. Okay, if you insist. I may have an idea.”

                She goes over to a set of cupboards on the wall, throwing open the top, which is filled with scratchy looking brown uniforms. She grabs a handful, throwing it on the bed next to me, then she strides over and locks the door, glancing down at the bandaged man as if she’s wondering if he’ll talk, or sound the alarm or something. He’s still mumbling about lunch though, so she strides over to me and begins tugging at the rope binding my ankles and wrists. Josephine curses after several seconds of frustrated tugging, and mutters something under her breath, waving her hands in a short, complicated pattern in the air. To my shock, the ropes binding me to the bed suddenly fall to pieces, the fibers crumbling before my eyes as if it were hundreds of years old.

                “Wow…” I breath, but the witch is already throwing the clothing at me, her face frantic, “hurry up, we must be quick about this. If anyone asks, we’re servants, you make eye contact with nobody, keep your hair hanging in front of your face. The servants bring food to the prisoners, so we should be able to get in just fine, we’re collecting the dishes, if anyone wants to know.”

                I nod, shrugging into the itchy uniform, which turns out to basically be sack-cloth cut into the shape of trousers and a shirt. Then Josephine leads us out of the infirmary, down a winding flight of stairs and at last, through a heavy door in the wall that leads us to a rough brick hallway that I’ll wager is the start of the dungeons.

                “What do we do when we get them?”  I can’t help it, I keep checking to make sure the diamond is still there in the breast pocket of my new uniform, and Josephine glances at me now and again, as if she knows what I’m doing, but she doesn’t remark on it.

                “There’s a back door to the dungeons, and no need for subtlety on the way out. I’ll take care of any guards that stand in between us and freedom,” she says grimly.

                “Why are you here? Did she capture you or something?” I ask as we creep along the musty stone passageway, “why didn’t you just blast your way out of here?”

                “I was waiting for you. There was no sense in getting myself killed before you could come find me. And I knew I’m not hard to find,” the witch grunted, “everyone knows who the empress’ pet witch is.”

                I glance up at her. Josephine’s face is twisted in something that could be anger, but that I suspect is closer to self-loathing.

                “Yeah,” I mutter, “but the crash wasn’t part of the plan.”

                “Worked out fine,” she says, “I could sense you coming, so I just told her. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist picking you up. A new toy to play with, you know.”

                “You could sense me?” I say curiously, “how? What do I feel like?”

                “You feel like nothing,” she says, “like a cold spot.  A black hole among stars.”

                “That sounds lovely,” I mutter, suddenly wishing I hadn’t asked, “a great, sucking hole….wonderful.”

                She smiles at me, a trace bitterly, “sorry, there’s a reason witches and sorceress have always hated anti-mages. You suck away our energy, like draining sap out of a young tree. Very slowly, just a little at a time.”

                I gape at her in shock. Apparently nobody had thought to mention this little fun fact to me, “I…oh.”

                “So you’ll forgive me if we don’t become good friends after this, “ another  dry smile, and then she stopped in front of a second thick door in the wall, lifting a finger to her lips in warning.

                My heart was pounding in my throat as we slipped silently into the main passage, the place where the prisoners were kept. There were large, square cages in which clumps of dirty hay had been piled, and people…or, shades of people really – were slumped on them. Some wore only rags, and covered their faces with boney hands as we passed. Some growled at us between the bars, stretching dirty hands out to try to grasp our clothing. The guards took absolutely no notice of us at all, even though I kept glancing over at the two large, bearded men who leaned against the far wall. One of them was picking at his teeth with a wire hook, periodically checking out what he’d dug from between his molars with vague interest, and the other seemed to have fallen asleep standing up, his great, wheezy snores echoing up and down the stone corridors.

                The witch leads me to a pair of cells at the far end, and suddenly there they are. Ellie and Gus are curled together on a pile of hay. Ellie has her face buried in his shoulder, and Gus is stroking her hair and presumably murmuring reassuring things in her ear.  I grip the bars tightly with both fists and leaned in to hiss at them, “Cuddle time’s over, folks. Ready to go?”