Abendau's Heir (The Inheritance Trilogy Book 1) (36 page)

“Your friend sends her love; says she misses Oscar’s in the Old Quarter,” she said.

Sam relaxed at the agreed statement from Nina. “Are you from the B-” he started, but she held her hand up to stop him.

“Yes. No names, please.”

“I’m a doctor,” he told her. “I’ve been treating Ka… I work in Omendegon.”

“Your friend gave us a good update on the circumstances, Doctor.”

“Can you help him?”

“Doctor, our group has been decimated; there is no way we could assault Abendau, not for the few that are still here. Not even for him.”

“I understand.” Sam went to leave, but stopped at her voice.

“We can get you out, Doctor. You’d have to come with me, tonight, and you’ll be fugitive, but we could get you somewhere safe.”

Sam paused for a long moment, not sure if it was her voice or words that were seductive. His hands dampened with sweat, and there was a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I thought I’d say yes if you offered,” he said. “But I can’t.”

“Why not, Doctor? You must know that if what your friend has told us– if you’ve seen and heard what she says you have– they won’t let you live. We could use your expertise.”

Her words cut through him, and he wanted to tell her that he would never be able to face Varnon’s wife. Not after listening to him beg for her. Not after her brother’s words to him, the accusation he’d never be able to fully shake. The spy’s patient eyes watched him, until he croaked out, “I can’t.”

“Can’t what, Doctor?”

The soft voice seemed to reach to him in the darkness. If he couldn’t tell her the first reason, could he give his wife something back? He swallowed. “He’
s…” How did he describe it: the stoicism, the determination not to cede? “He...”

“Yes, he is. He knew what Omendegon would mean for him, you know. His father told him long ago, when he was a child.”

“Yet he still opposed the Empress? Why?”

“He believed there must be a better way to rule, a fairer way. So do I; that’s why he put me here, and worked with me so I stayed hidden,” she said.

Sam took a moment, making sure he’d heard her right. “
He
put you here?”

“Yes.”

He cast his mind back to the awful day with the Empress, the day she had broken the block. The Great Master had asked Kare question after question about the spies, and he’d mumbled that he didn’t know, they were under Sonly’s remit. For hours….

“He didn’t give you up,” he said. “They tortured him, and he said he didn’t know…. I believed him, we all did. The Empress checked his mind. Even the Great Master believed him.”

“We know.”

Sam shook his head. “You weren’t there– you don’t know….” No one knew what happened in Omendegon. It was how the place worked, in secret, never recognised for what it was. Torture could be tolerated, it seemed, if it happened in the shadows. “How did he put you in here?”

“The same way he put the block in himself.”

“He could do that– get you past the mind sweeps?”

“There’s very little he couldn’t do, Doctor. With his powers, she’d never have taken him. She tried often enough. I assume the Empress took sperm from him? That’s what she wanted him for: the bloodline.”

“Of course she did,” he told her. “And she’s used it.”

“Doctor, I can be reached through this,” she said, and handed him a tiny comms unit. “We can’t get to you– not in the quarry– but perhaps, when he dies, you’ll tell us.”

Sam turned it over and over before he put it in his pocket. “If I do, will you tell Nina? She’ll know what it means for me.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll keep you informed,” he promised, not voicing his fear that he’d be dead first and none of them would ever know.

***

“Would Kare surrender?” Sonly asked. Even to her own ears, her voice was shocked.

Michael had refused to show her Simone’s report but he’d told her what it contained. He’d made her sit down and had held her hand while he described what they’d done to Kare. He’d had to stop several times, his hands shaking, but he’d kept going. She’d listened, knowing he wasn’t telling her everything, that he considered some things too much for her to know. What more could they have done?

A memory flashed in front of her of Kare, the day he’d been promoted to colonel, when she’d teased him into bed with her. After, as he’d got dressed– running late for his meeting– she’d watched him pull his clothes on. He’d been perfect, tall and strong. Now, according to the doctor, Kare had more scars than he had clear skin. He was like an old man, the report said, just about alive. Tears stung her eyes and she willed herself not to cry again.
Months. They’ve had him for months, and all this time, they’ve been torturing him.
Tears welled over her eyelashes and down her cheeks. She didn’t try to wipe them away– why shouldn’t she cry?

“I think so,” Michael said. His skin was drawn and lined, his eyes rheumy. “I’m sorry, Sonly, about Kare.”

“It’s not just Kare,” she said. “I miss them all.” She wished Lichio was here, to wrap his arms around her. Or Silom. The doctor had said they were in one of the quarries. The idea of Lichio, her laughing little brother, being worked to death sickened her. And Silom. She hoped they, at least, were together and able to support each other. Would they be with each other when they died? At that, fresh tears started. She had to stop crying, somehow.

She went to the computer and read the message she’d composed, moving her hand over the “send” command. She waited a moment before she pressed it with a sharp stab of her finger. It was gone: moving across the star systems; bouncing from ship to planetary booster, into deep space to Belaudii.

“So that’s it, then,” she said. “I’m going to my bunk, Michael; if there’s any response, let me know.”

As she walked to the women’s barracks, she wondered if Kare would have done things differently. She wished she had. She lifted her chin, determined to do what had to be done; she owed him that, at least.

Sam followed Beck as he led the heavily shackled Kare to the small transport. They passed the port staff, who jeered and spat at Kare, but he kept his head down, docile.

“How long to the quarry?” Sam asked.

Beck turned his head to answer and Sam shivered, not for the first time, at the flat look in his eyes.

“Not far; twenty minutes.”

Sam dug a bottle of water out of his bag and took a sip. He handed it to Beck, who took a swig and offered it back. Sam looked at the bottle. He couldn’
t bring himself to drink after him. “Keep it. I have another one.”

They flew out of the port and over the palace gardens, a green oasis in the midst of the stone city spreading into the desert. As the city faded into the distance, they passed over one of the quarries and then soared high over the desert, the Abendauii winds pulling at the transport. They sat in silence, the only noise Kare’s breathing, rasping against the constriction of his collar.

“Shut up,” growled Beck.

“Yes, Master,” whispered Kare.

He put his head back as far as the collar would let him, and his breathing quietened. As Sam drank his water, Kare licked his broken lips before he glanced at Beck and closed his mouth. Sam set his bottle down, not able to swallow any more of it. Whatever else le Payne was right about, he didn’t enjoy seeing pain.

The ship swooped down to a smaller quarry beneath. Beck drank the last of his water before he checked the prisoner’s chains, smiling as his rough tug forced a hiss of pain. Sam watched him, silently, sure this bastard would be his murderer as well as Varnon’s.

They landed, and Sam left the transport. He waited while Beck and Kare got out. They entered a huge cargo lift and as it descended, the air become moist and warmer. A combined smell of diesel and sweat grew. When the lift stopped, he opened the doors and the quarry’s intense heat enveloped him. Fine dust made him cough slightly. Almost immediately he heard the unmistakable sound of a lash.

“I’m going to take this dog to his cell, Doc; you’re to report to the clinic,” said Beck.

Sam nodded and stepped carefully across the quarry, past slaves who continued their work as he passed through a huge entranceway, hewn out of the red rock, on the other side of the cavern. He looked back at the quarry; it was similar to how he’d imagined hell.

***

Lichio tossed a rock into the cart alongside him, lifted his blunted pick, and leaned over to break the next. Months ago, the pick had seemed too heavy to lift, the giant Belaudii’s gravity higher than that of Holbec’s. They’d beaten that out of him; now he lifted and smashed all day, barely conscious of the weight. Sweat poured down his back and exhaustion ran through him like a wire joining each part of his body. He wanted to sit down and refuse to get back up again, but knew he’d be forced to go on.

He leant forwards, coughed, and pain ripped across his chest and back, worse today than previously. He heard the lift descend but concentrated on his work, careful to turn his head away as he cracked the rock. His arms and legs were toughened to the sharp shards, but he had a fear of them near his face and eyes.

At a soft hiss, he glanced at Silom on the tier above. He was thinner now, but still one of the strongest Banned prisoners.

“The lift.” Silom brought his pick down, heavily.

Lichio looked down at the main section of the quarry and saw Beck, and the loss of Kare hit him harder than ever. As the most senior officer left, a le Payne to boot, he did his best but he was no Kare Varnon, and he missed him, every day.

Silom stopped work. He stood upright and stared at Beck, a look of hatred on his face.

“Stop it,” Lichio said. “They’ll see you.”

Silom put his pick down and straightened his back. “Oh, sweet lord,” he said, his face paling.

Lichio followed his gaze. He, too, stopped and stared. His mind tried to reject what his eyes were telling him. “That’s not him.”

“I’d know Kare anywhere, and that’s him.”

Lichio looked at the prisoner standing beside Beck. Silom was right, there was no one else it could be. He took in Kare’s hair– pure white now, not black– and thin frame, so thin he looked barely able to stand. His eyes were cast down, no brilliant green defiance in place any longer, his neck encased by a–

Lichio spun to stop Silom, but he was already striding down the quarry path, his eyes fixed on Beck.

“Silom, no!” shouted Lichio, following. He caught up and put his hand out to stop Silom, but the bigger man shrugged him off and advanced on Beck, who waited with a sneer on his face. Two guards grabbed Silom and held him back.

“Kare!” called Silom, but Kare didn’t lift his head. Lichio stood in silence, too stunned for thought. Beck walked over, and Lichio moved to stand beside Silom. He was dwarfed by the other men, but defiantly held his ground.

“I’ll explain it once,” said Beck. “Your friend took a long time to submit. He can’t take any more pain; his mind will do what it must to limit it. The best thing you can do, if you really are his friends, is ignore him, let him go.”

Lichio looked at Kare’s scars, recognising what had caused some of them. He wanted to shake him for not submitting earlier but he guessed even if he did, Kare wouldn’t know him. The idea of Kare not knowing him, not knowing Silom, seemed unreal– what did you have to do to someone to get him to that point? His fists clenched in helpless anger.

“You sick bastard,” snarled Silom. “How much did you enjoy hurting him? Torturing him until you ruined him?”

Silom threw off his guards and punched Beck, solidly. Beck reeled backwards, but as Silom moved forward, more guards arrived and pulled him back.

Lichio yelled as a whip came down on his shoulders and its initial flare of agony started to grow and blossom. The guards pulled him to a whipping stand, Silom to another. As each lash fell, wrenching his skin apart in hot spears, his screams mingled with Silom’
s. Through it all, the vision of Kare remained, reminding him there were worse things to face than a lashing.

***

Sam walked into the small room at the medical centre, and put a jug of water on the cabinet beside a bed. He wrinkled his nose at the stench in the room and looked at Beck, who was lying on the bed, groaning.

“Your stomach?” Sam asked.

Beck nodded, and Sam rifled in his medicine bag before he took out a needle, carefully filling it with some clear fluid. He pulled Beck’s sleeve back and injected him.

“That will help with the pain. I can’t do anything else until I know what’s causing it. Did you eat anything?”

Beck shook his head and groaned.

“We’ll have to quarantine you,” said Sam. “What will I do about Varnon? Send him to the quarry?” Another shake. “Keep him in lockdown?” This time Beck nodded. “Right, I’ll arrange it. Where are his meds?”

Beck pointed to a small cabinet beside him. Sam opened it and pulled out a small package.

“I’ll arrange a guard,” he told Beck, “and give them these. In the meantime, let me give you a drink.”

The big guard rolled over and Sam looked at his pale, sweating face. He noticed the bruise on his jaw, and decided when he met Silom Dester he must shake the man’s hand. The story had gone round the quarry, the resident guards proud that one of their resident tough-nuts had shown Beck it paid to be careful around the inmates of Clenadii Quarry.

Sam offered Beck a straw and he took a sip.

“Keep drinking– lots,” Sam said. “I’ll get a nurse down to you and they can clean you up. In the meantime, I’ll order some tests.”

At the sound of more filth voiding the torturer's body, Sam left, stopping briefly at the toilet before walking to the guardroom.

“Who do I talk to about getting a replacement? Beck: he’s sick.”

The captain of the guards turned to him. “We don’t have guards to replace him. Tell Beck we’ll keep a close eye on his prisoner, but he won’t have a personal guard.”

“He’s supposed to have continual supervision. Plus, he has medication he has to take. Unless you want to face a very pissed-off psycher.”

The guard laughed. “I don’t think Varnon’s going to keep us awake at night. He’ll be dead in a week down here. But we’ll keep an eye on him and you can give him his jabs.”