After The Council in the Star ChamberIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | After The Council In The Star Chamber
Mandor smiled thinly. "I trust a visit will lead you to conlude they're so efficiently defended that attempts at escape would be impossible." Morgan smiled widely. "I have no doubt at all that I'll take one look at them and decide to be a good and dutiful boy for the rest of my long and peaceful existence." He led the way through some of the stonier passages of the castle until they reached a staircase that allowed them to begin their descent into living rock. And they began to spiral down ... "He's being held on one of the higher levels," siad Mandor. Although the way was dark, the Prime Minister had thoughtfully provided two glowing balls of gentle golden light that floated above their heads. "I saw no reason for the guards to have to descend into the sort of Stygian depths that Eric incarcerated Corwin at. I do find a certain tendency to literalism in your family that is quite amusing." "It is our way," Morgan said solemnly. He stopped before a wooden door. "He is chained," said Mandor. "I dount whether he'll recognise you. As far as he's concerned, it's been many years since you met. Long years, filled with repeated betrayals by the those he loved and trusted." "Happily, that description doesn't include me." Mandor smiled. "I cannot speak as to the nature of his delusions." He signalled to a guard standing near ... and slowly the door swung open. Morgan waved merrily at the guards. Johann hung from the wall, his face seemingly that of a man a decade older than the one who had confronted Mandor. There were bags under his eyes, his hair and beard were matted and covered in sweat, and his eyes flitted about at things only he could see. His spittle-speckled lips worked, murmuring barely audible words which made no sense, were in no language Morgan had heard. Where the chains met shackles at his wrists and neck, there were welts where he had strained until the metal had bit back. Morgan turned his attention from the guards to Johann, regarding him impassively. "Looks secure enough physically," he said to Mandor. "I assume this cell is guarded against sorcery. What about Trump? Is there a way to block that?" Mandor reached inside his jacket and withdrew a slender case. It appeared to be made of demonhide. He flipped it open and, after a moment, withdrew a single card which he passed to Morgan. "You're welcome to try and contact him, if you wish." "I love a challenge," Morgan answered with a smile. He accepted the card. He felt the sensations of contact ... and then ... Then he closed his eyes, and turned the card face down in his hand, breaking the connection, before opening them again and looking around the cell. "Does that answer your question?" said Mandor. "Nicely done," Morgan replied, turning to face the chained prisoner once more. "If Prime Ministering doesn't work out for you then you can always turn to prison management as a second career." Johann still hung against the wall, now looking more fatigued than when Morgan had begun. His head was downcast, hanging from the chain about his neck, and his brow was rimmed with sweat. Periodically, wimpers issued forth. He smiled and turned away from Johann. "Anything else you wanted to show me?" He offered the demonskin card back to Mandor. "Do you want to see more?" Mandor asked. There was the faintest note of surprise in Mandor's voice, as though he had not expected Morgan to show even this level of interest. Morgan grinned at him. "Just because I don't bother to fake interest in the boring parts of government doesn't mean I'm not interested in any of it at all. Space pirate, remember? I've had to extract information from prisoners in my time, and break crewmembers out of a variety of prisons. So, yes, this is interesting. In a 'glad it doesn't affect me at all' sort of way." "We must compare notes some time," murmured Mandor, taking back the card. Then he fowned. "If you'll excuse me one moment ... " "You're excused," Morgan said magnanimously. He walked to the cell door and then through it. Morgan walked closer to Johann, ignoring the guards, and began examining the chains. They were of fine make. Indeed, they couldn't be made much more secure without fusing their molecules to the bones of his wrists and neck. Ligher, certainly. Each thick link in the chains which bound him was of the tough iron which was used to forge the chains used in Amber's navy. With the reduced fleet size, there was a lot of it around, but these clearly dated to an earlier era. Had their fate been different, they might have once been used to bind the likes of Random, or Corwin. The pins which connected neck and wrist shackles to the chains were not locked on, but instead forged in place with a hot pin which had been driven through. There was barely enough space for the thin band of leather which protected Johann from the worst of the bite of his bindings as he struggled, measures which were clearly insufficient to wholely forstall injury, but enough to keep him from killing himself. Only where chain met wall was there a single, massive steel lock, through the hasp of which all three lengths of chain passed. Under other circumstances, Morgan would be asured of a treasure worth his while if it was secured with a lock of that quality. It was the sort which had giving lockpicks nightmares in mind when it was fabricated, and there were doubtless a host of sliding bars to snap off picks and vials of weak acid to burst and fuse the internals of the lock into a single mass of frozen metal. "Ooh," Morgan said, examining the lock, "And they expect me to resist the temptation to screw that up?" He shook his head, then looked from the lock back at the imprisoned man. As he looked up from bindings to man to face, he could see Johann's eyes were directed at him. Whether he saw, or was unconscious, was another question... "See the difference, Johnny Boy?" Morgan asked quietly. "This is reality. Really." Johann started to sing, soft and sad. It was oddly melodic, and punctuated by the rattling of chains. "Welcome to where time stands still "Only the Abyss knows," Morgan answered, equally softly. "And I'm not planning on staring into it to find out." "Don't worry Morgan, we'll get you out of there," Johann tried to say reasuringly, whilst still whispering. Then he hummed for a bit, in tune with his earlier singing. "You've got no way to tell Mandor's fake memories from the real ones... we'll have to have you take the Pattern..." he murmured, eyes no longer in focus. Morgan shook his head. "Sorry, Johnny," he said, straightening up again. "You made your bed. And chose the wrong bed partner." He walked towards the door of the cell with a final friendly nod to the guards, stopping in the open doorway and leaning against the doorframe to watch Mandor. Mandor was speaking to someone unseen. "Trump me again in five minutes," he said. "I shall be somewhere more suitable to receive our guests then." He saw Morgan and gave a swift nod. "Our plans have changed slightly. Jurt has gathered our guests and wishes to bring them through now. Let's head for the throne room." They made their way there swiftly. Mandor did not initiate conversation. Morgan said nothing as they walked, but he began whistling a catchy tune with a calypso rhythm. At the top of the stairs, Mandor briefed a footman to find Clytemnestra, Vikund and Damien, and ask them to come to the throne room. Mandor did not take a seat but waited a few minutes. The only change in his appearance that suggested he had been trumped was a certain indefinable alertness. "Are you ready to come through?" he asked. He held out his hand.
|
