The White Fox (35 page)

Authors: James Bartholomeusz

“Mr. Steele. It’s been a while.” The Emperor received no reply, but the boy did glance up. He was in his late teens, very thin and tall for his age. His skin was barely distinguishable from his dirt-encrusted clothes, but his green eyes were alert and fierce. “How are you?”

This time the boy answered, spitting the words out in a hoarse gasp. “What do you want?”

“Merely to talk to you. A cooperative chat could serve us both well.”

“Don’t patronize me. Why are you here?”

“Well,” replied the Emperor with a mirthless chuckle, “we are in my prison cell, in my dungeons, in my fortress, on my planet …”

“But what could you possibly want with me?” Alex’s reply was edged with sarcasm.

“As I said before, a
cooperative
chat.” The Emperor stared into Alex’s fiery emerald eyes.

Alex stared back into the darkness of the hood. “I don’t trust you.”

“Perhaps a gesture of goodwill. I am not what I appear to be.” The Emperor pulled the hood off his head. A fairly young man, skin midnight blue, stood before him, one side of his bald head etched with a series of archaic symbols. The eyes, however, were the most striking—set like twin globes in hoods of deep space, they blazed molten gold with the heat of a thousand stars.

And he told Alex something that Alex himself had told no one—something that no one but Alex could possibly have known.

Alex was petrified by the knowledge of what was really standing before him and the cataclysmic implications of it. “B-but,” he stuttered, “that’s impossible … How could you know? You can’t possibly be …”

“I know what I am not very well,” snapped the being, glancing down the corridor. For the first time animosity and—was it possible?—panic were clear in his voice. “But that is not the point. You have something you may use against me if you so wish, and I have you imprisoned. We are now on equal footing.”

Alex said nothing. He was trapped in a loop, reeling over what had just been revealed.

“So, what do you say?” The Emperor looked intently at Alex, who avoided his gaze. “You accept the terms? You will, if nothing else, cooperate?”

“Yes,” Alex said finally, uncertainly.

“Excellent,” replied the Emperor, replacing the hood over his face. Reaching to the wall on his right, he turned the key back twice. The chains around Alex instantly loosened, clanking to the stone floor. Shrugging them off, he stood up straight, wincing and massaging his wrists and neck.

“Come up to the Cathedral, and I can get you some new clothes. We can then discuss your fate.” He turned and stalked out of the cell, Alex in tow. He strode down the corridor.

Alex paused. Now was his chance. Checking he was out of the cell so as to not activate the alchemical restraints, he gathered the last of his strength and pointed at the Emperor’s back with his two forefingers. Two bolts of silver lightning sprung from his fingertips towards the black-cloaked figure. They diverged, about to strike …

Alex didn’t know how it happened, but the Emperor turned at the last possible millisecond. Raising his arm in one swift motion, he reached out for the lightning bolts. They deflected off the black orb he had conjured around his fist and were flung back at Alex. They clutched at him like claws, hugging him with their torturous embrace. He gasped and collapsed to his knees, hundreds of volts running through every fiber of his body.

“In the future,” said the Emperor, “I don’t expect to have to defend myself from
you
.” He marched down the hallway, leaving Alex to stagger to his feet and follow.