Lances of light stabbed through my eye sockets and pierced my skull, producing a feeling of nausea and a buzzing agony that seemed to begin at the base of my neck and spread out to absolutely everywhere in the world.

I dimly realized that opening my eyes had been a horrible, horrible mistake. I shut them tightly and resolved to avoid opening them again for as long as possible.

My thoughts were so sluggish, it felt as though each was wading through an ocean of winter treacle just to get to my brain. For a long while I did absolutely nothing but lay there, feeling myself breathe, occasionally wondering how it was I could take a breath without actually focusing on the task. As an experiment, I willed myself to take a deeper breath, which resulted in a tiny cough.

It was a disaster. The cough was enough to disrupt the steady rhythm of my breathing, but worse than that, it made me twist my neck slightly and once more try to open my eyes. In addition to the familiar twin lances of pain, it suddenly felt as if my head had fallen off of my neck and been rolled into a fire pit. My sides were sore, like I'd been kicked several times.

Kicked? Feet . . . you 'kicked' with your feet. I could dimly recall what feet were. My sides . . . ribs, maybe broken. I remembered what those were, too. Ribs, feet, arms, body, hands . . . it all came flooding back to me in a rush of understanding.

I remembered who I was. To celebrate, I made a soft moaning noise.

"Finally awake, are we?" a voice asked.

Hey, I knew what those were. Those were words. People used them to talk to each other, didn't they?

That particular discovery seemed to be key, and shortly after that the whole of reality snapped back into place. I acquainted myself with two very important facts.

First fact - it appeared I'd been kidnapped. That seemed fairly important, and I resolved to remember it.

Second fact - I'd been knocked unconscious. I could dimly recall that I really, really hated getting knocked unconscious.

There was a tight soreness at the base of my neck, which meant I'd probably been clubbed there, which in turn made me angry. It usually isn't necessary to hit someone at the base of the skull when knocking them out, but what's more, it can be downright dangerous. There wasn't a big difference between the amount of force required to knock someone out and the amount of force required to kill them. I might very well have not woken up at all.

Despite their objections, I forced my eyes to stay open. The painfully blinding light was coming from a dim, feebly burning torch located on a wall some fifteen feet away from me. There were some bars between me and it, I saw. Familiar bars.

Groaning, I rolled to one side and fought to right myself. My head felt as though an angry badger was burrowing out of it.

"Do you always sleep in this late?" I heard Borshank's voice ask from somewhere. It sounded amused. That pissed me off a little, which in turn made me want to piss him off a little.

Despite being groggy and injured, it probably wouldn't be hard.

"Gods, what in the world did I have to drink last night?" I croaked, sitting up and rubbing my temples. I could make out a smiling, somewhat blurry Preceptor Borshank sitting on a chair by the wall that held the torch, backlit dramatically so that he was little more than a silhouette. The torch at the other side of my cell wasn't lit, shrouding that half of the room in darkness, which I thought was a bit odd. Maybe he'd spent some time fussing with the lighting for maximum dramatic impact.

He smiled at me and chuckled a bit, but said nothing.

I sat there and stared at him, saying nothing as well, patiently waiting until it looked like he was about to open his mouth to speak.

"I-" he began.

"You know," I interrupted, "you really should smile more often, if only to catch people off guard. It's just so unexpected."

He frowned at the interruption, then gave me a knowing smirk. "I've got good reason to smile."

"Oh? Of course, you're proud of yourself for outsmarting me like you did. Sending some guy to club me from behind - very cunning." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Nope, not stupid or thuggish at all. Perhaps next you'd like to show off your clever debating skills by, oh, I don't know . . . punching me really hard in the face?"

"Aww, did you get hurt?" he mocked sadly. "Need some mallowmilk for the pain? Poor thing."

"What, me? No, I'm fine," I groaned good-naturedly, slowly getting to my feet. "I get worse headaches from too much ice in my lemon-water. No, I was really more concerned with your reputation, which is already in tatters. If word gets out that you pulled something this ham-fisted, well, quite honestly, people are going to start being embarrassed for you." I pretended to consider a moment. "Although, I suppose this is a less embarrassing story than that one about you relieving yourself in the royal gardens."

That got a scowl. He's so easy sometimes.

"I didn't appreciate that, by the way," he eventually growled.

"Really? Well, there's probably lots of things you're incapable of appreciating. Art, literature, fine food." I gestured at his uniform. "Smart-looking clothing."

"You know, you're worse than your father was. No respect, either of you. Responsibility, authority . . . you just don't give a damn." He sat up a little straighter and regarded me. "It was all just a game to him too, your father. Real thorn in my side, he was . . . doing whatever the hell he wanted. Always managing to free himself from obligation, or wishing to be the exception for some new rule. A real quick talker." Borshank gave me a satisfied half-smile. "And then one day your old man found a situation he couldn't talk his way out of, didn't he?"

I chuckled, shaking my head sadly.

"Gosh you're clever. That's only the most obvious thing anyone would try to needle me with. Never heard that approach before. Hey, how does it feel to know your 'rapier wit' is on par with a gaggle of not-too-bright youngsters trying to get a rise out of me as a teenager?"

Borshank's scowl deepened, and he shook his head.

"So much like your father," he practically spat.

"Thank- . . . wait, I'm sorry, were you trying to hurt my feelings just now?"

He scowled even harder and took a deep breath, looking at me with consternation.

"You know," I chided, "if your whole sinister plan is to kidnap someone from their keep and drag them off to a jail cell so you can stand on the other side of the bars and spontaneously insult them, you might want to make sure that you're clever enough to pull it off beforehand. Or at least pre-prepare something, you know? Perhaps brush up on your name-calling a bit? 'Worthless scum' is a pretty good insult if you're at a loss for one, or perhaps 'vermin', if-"

"There are moments when you're talking where I'm tempted to simply walk up to you and beat your brains in," said Borshank matter-of-factly.

I held my arms out to either side of me. "I invite you to try."

He just stared at me from his chair, clenching his fists. I chuckled some more.

"Wow, you just kind of suck at making plans in general. I imagine your whole purpose for bringing me here was so that I could get all pissed off, while you sat in that chair, acting smug. And here I am, relaxed as can be, and you're the one getting upset. You must really enjoy getting flustered or something. Do you need lessons at this sort of thing? You know . . . crafting clever plans, acting smug, all that? I'm willing to take you on as a student, but I'll warn you now, from what I've seen of your natural abilities, it won't be cheap."

For a second it looked like he was about to stand up from his chair and start screaming at me, but remarkably, he seemed to calm down and relax. He even managed to smile a little after a few seconds.

"You know, you're absolutely right," he grinned. "I was letting you rile me up there."

"Riled up? You? Surely not."

"You mentioned my plan, just now." He gave me another self-satisfied look. "Would you like to know what I have planned?"

"Is this the dastardly scheme where you arrest me under some weird pretense, steal all my canes, and then open up a cane shop of your very own? What am I arrested for this time, I wonder? Maybe 'conspiracy to make a preceptor look like an utter buffoon'? Although, if that's a crime, I'm afraid that you deserve to be in here more than I do . . ."

"Arrested? Oh, Tucat . . . you're not arrested."

"Oh? Well, that's a relief. This place was mere seconds away from breaking my spirit."

"No, you're not under arrest, Tucat. Nobody even knows you're up here. No magistrate will send for you, or come by to bother you. There isn't even anybody within earshot. See, I figured I should give some of my knights some much needed time off, them being so busy lately."

I was a little disconcerted by where this was going, but resolved not to let it show.

"Oh, it's the 'throw away the key' bit then? Well, I'm game - let's see who lasts longer." I furrowed my brow at him. "You're not going to force me to actually eat the food here, are you? Because that's just cruel and wrong, even for you."

Borshank stood up from his chair, slowly, and took a couple of steps toward the bars that separated us.

"Well, Tucat, as much as I've enjoyed this brief battle of wits-"

"You're actually calling this a battle?"

"-I figure it's time to just leave you here, alone, with your thoughts . . . wondering how long you'll remain, or if anyone will ever come for you." He shook his head in mock sorrow. "Poor little kitty-cat."

"Well, you really saved it at the end there . . . recovered the whole thing nicely. There might be hope for you after all. Do me a favor though, will you? Could you wring your hands together and cackle maniacally like a stage villain, maybe say 'mwa-ah-aah' a few times? I think you're really on to something here."

Borshank gave me a tight smile. "Enjoy your quiet time. I'll make sure you're not disturbed. Pity you won't be able to make your social engagement tonight."

"Oh, don't worry yourself . . . I didn't have plans."

"Really?" he said, giving me a look of feigned concern. "That's not what your keepmistress thinks."

My breath caught in my chest.

It took a few seconds for my brain to start working again, but once it did I was thinking fast and furiously.

The best way I could help Talia was to find out as much as I could about what he was talking about. He was probably testing my reaction to the news, hoping to catch a glimpse of how important she was to me. I needed to appear calm and relaxed.

Clearing my throat, I tried to act as nonchalant as possible.

Calm and relaxed.

"Uhm-" I began.

"Oh-ho! Look at that!" he said gleefully, likely spotting something in my expression. "You really do fancy her, don't you? Oh, this should be wonderful!"

I decided that being calm and relaxed could go hang.

"I swear, if you even touch her, Borshank-"

"Me? Touch her? Why, I won't be anywhere near her!" he smiled. "I'll be sitting in the company of a dozen knights who are enjoying some time off. I figure they'll make unimpeachable witnesses. See, I've noticed something - when certain people take an alibi like that to a magistrate, well, they can prove they're not guilty of all sorts of things!"

"She's not a part of this!" I shouted, edging closer to the bars.

"What, this? You mean this good-natured, fun little battle of wills we're having? This little contest, where you think you can poison me with drugs, make me look ridiculous in front of my knights, and that it's not going to cost you anything?" He sneered at me. "Daddy's little boy, in just about every way. You know, when your keep was quarantined with that outbreak of rose blight, and word came back that you'd miraculously managed to survive, I thought you'd end up much different. More somber, serious . . . maybe prone to fits of brooding. But somehow, you managed to become even more like your father than he was. Pity."

I just stood there, staring at him, trying to think of something I could say.

"Ho-ho! Now who's the flustered one, hmm?" Borshank crowed, clapping his hands and rubbing them together gleefully. "So smug just a few seconds ago, and now you're panicking like mad, trying to figure out a way to weasel information out of me - find out what I've got planned for your precious Talia. Well, don't you worry. It won't be hard." He gave me an oily smile. "I want you to know. I want you sitting in here, thinking about it. I want you in here . . . shouting, screaming, begging. I want you pacing like a caged rock lion for the next hour or so."

Hour or so. Thank the gods - I had time. I'd already sneaked out of this cell more times than I could count, so it would just be a matter of getting to her in time.

I cleared my throat.

"Oh, well I guess you'd better tell me the rest of it, so I can get on with the screaming and carrying on and whatnot. Any chance of getting some water in here? Perhaps some salt or lemon for gargling? If my screams get too hoarse I may have need of them."

"And now, since you have an approximate time, you're hoping to get additional details. The essence of interrogation - the subtle leeching of information. And of course, you're just so clever that you think someone like me has no idea what you're doing, either. You'll just extract from me all the things you want to know, and I'll be none the wiser. Well, I'll do you one better." He gave me a smile I didn't like. "The exact time. When? Seven bells, is what she's been told. It's currently a shade past six. Where? The Finchpipe tea shop, a couple of blocks from Tucat Keep. Lots of time for you to get there, too, if I happened to let you go. Or," he said, walking over to a nearby section of my cell, "if you had some way of getting out."

With that, a smile on his face, he kicked the iron bar I'd cut through those many weeks ago. There was a solid clank, and the faint 'gong' of rung metal.

The bar didn't even twitch.

I could feel my eyes going wide. Borshank's expression became even more gleeful as he watched me put everything together.

"See, I had some of my men go through your cell yesterday. They found all sorts of interesting things. Oh, I'm sorry . . . did you truly believe me that stupid? You thought I didn't know you were popping in and out of your cell this past month? Well, I've repaired all of your little escape holes, so you'll be doing nothing but sitting there the whole evening. This time, you've got no way out of your cage," he leered, voice dropping to a whisper. "And I haven't even told you the 'what' part yet. Would you like to hear what will happen around seven bells?"

I locked stares with him, clenching my fists, but didn't answer. A shadow of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Talia's going to arrive at the tea shop and be seated at a table," he practically whispered, edging slightly closer to the bars between us. "Shortly after that, she'll be joined by an unsavory fellow - a former guest of the jails here - who will just happen to be wearing a cloak with your family crest on it. He'll say he was sent to escort her to you, and they'll leave together. And you know what'll happen then? I'll give you a hint." Borshank bared his teeth in a humorless caricature of a smile. "Given some of the things he was arrested for, I suspect he doesn't respect women terribly much."

"You can't do this! You're a preceptor, for Baal's sake!"

"Oh! I'm glad you finally understand that. Too bad it's taken a lesson like this for you to realize."

"I'll kill you," I growled, teeth clenched. I could feel the muscles in my face start to twitch. "Listen carefully to me Borshank - if anything happens to her, I will stop your Baal-be-damned heart from beating! I promise you!"

Borshank chuckled sadly.

"Me? Why would you want to kill me, of all people? Why, I would never assault a woman in such a dreadful manner, nor will I be anywhere near your precious Talia." He smiled at me. "You know, much like you were nowhere near any of those excise officers who got robbed. I'll be just as innocent of wrongdoing as you are."

"I never kept the gold!"

"Oh, I know that. That's not the point, though, is it?" The smile left Borshank's face. "You don't take me seriously. Or Prince Tenarreau, for that matter. I'm beginning to suspect that you never have. Time for that to change."

I leapt forward, teeth bared, slamming into the metal bars as I reached through them in an attempt to grab his jacket. At almost precisely the same time, he took an easy half-step back before my outstretched fingers could touch him.

"Ah, see?" he smirked. "There we go. That's what I was waiting for. The frustration, the rage. Helplessness." Borshank gave me a cool smile. "Must be going now. I've got an alibi I need to be working on. Oh, and don't you worry - as South Preceptor I assure you that there will be a thorough investigation into . . . well, into whatever terrible crime is about to happen in your territory."

"Borshank-"

"I'll just leave you to whatever thoughts you have going through that head of yours, Tucat," he said, turning away from me and heading towards the exit. "I'll probably come by with water or something around eight bells, see how you're doing. Until then . . ."

He walked out of the room, whistling to himself.

I honestly can't recall the details of the next bit too clearly. I think I called after him several times, screaming epithets and other savage, murderous sounds that have been around since before the concept of language. I do remember my hands violently gripping the bars, pulling on them and pushing against them as I roared through my teeth from the effort. I'm not even sure how long it lasted, but it felt like only a couple of minutes had passed before I felt dizzy and light-headed, which seemed odd to me.

Oh, yeah. I'd been hit in the back of the head. Maybe jerking around violently wasn't the best idea in the world.

I stopped what I was doing and stood there, inches away from the bars, breathing deeply. An idea occurred to me.

"Guards?!" I shouted. "Anyone? If you can hear me . . . I demand to see Preceptor Albusequa!"

I heard nothing.

"Hello?! Albusequa! You've got to let me talk to her! You can't deny me that! If you're a Crown Knight, and you can hear me, I demand that you tell her!" I shoved my weight against the bars, angrily, though it hardly produced any sound. "I need to talk to Preceptor Albusequa! Borshank, you son of a bitch! You can't do this!"

Nothing. I couldn't even hear the dying echoes of my own voice. Aside from my breathing, the only sounds were coming from the nearby torch on the wall.

My brain started looking at the possibilities quickly, frantically.

The bars were solid - I'd known how solid they were coming in. I didn't need to waste my time checking out how well they'd fixed up my old escape route, because I knew they'd have made it secure.

Each bar was spaced about four inches or so apart, braced periodically against one another with smaller horizontal bars every few feet or so. There would be some sideways give to them in the middle, between the bracing bars, but not a lot. Could I apply tension against them, wrapping a few in fabric and twisting it, perhaps hoping to find a bar that was brittle or forged improperly?

My jacket and cloak had both been taken. My shirt would be too light for such work, even if I had some water to wet it with. Same with my trousers - they'd rip before I was able to apply any sort of real sideways pressure to the bars. The only thing that might have worked was my cloak. Of course, if I had my cloak, I would have had at least one hidden something-or-other that could have gotten me out of here anyways.

I was barefoot as well, so kicking at the cell door repeatedly was out. From my many hours spent in this cell I already knew that the hinges couldn't be fiddled with, and with the door braced the way it was it wouldn't even matter if I could - the locking mechanism for the outer door was well out of reach.

The stone wall that the cell was built against was fairly solid, but the mortar hadn't been fixed up in a long while. There was no point pursuing that, though, since it would take me forever to even get through the wall in the first place, and once I did I'd be six stories above roaring surf and jagged rocks. I'd find it impossible to get down, even with my climbing spikes, which had probably been taken along with the rest of my gear and-

Probably . . .

He'd sounded fairly confident when he'd told me he'd had my cell searched, and had removed all my little bits of gear, but had he really found all the tools I'd smuggled in here? Every single one? Or had he missed a couple?

I began searching among the cracks and crevices of the stone wall, looking for any sort of sign that something had been missed during Borshank's clean-up. The first few I checked were definitely gone, and they'd clearly found my collapsable fabric rod I'd wedged against the wall by the floor. Around the sixth hiding spot, I began feeling anxious.

Just then, I remembered the loose brick - the one that even I had trouble finding from time to time - and the treasure trove of useful things that I'd stored behind it. I carefully counted the correct number of bricks down and across until I'd found it, then counted bricks again to make sure I had the right one. I gave a test wiggle . . . and saw the stone brick move ever so slightly.

They'd missed it! Relief flooded through me, and I felt my shoulders loosen.

I reached up with both hands in order to slide the brick face out toward me.

"Lord Tucat!" an urgent-sounding voice whispered. "Wait!"