Chapter Ten
Anger was bubbling in Cain's stomach as he stormed down the hall to the conference room. So many things had gone wrong right under his nose, and Cain was left scrambling to collect what pieces of information he could to help Ambrose.
He shoved the conference room door out of his way, dimly noting that it bounced off of the wall with a crack. To their credit, none of the men and women in the conference room jumped, everyone tense and awaiting further instructions.
Cain strode to the head of the table and looked around, meeting the eyes of every guard, Tin Man, and soldier present. He nodded at the guards from the neighboring kingdoms who had arrived, as well as the palace staff who had volunteered to help with the search. The room was full to bursting with people who wanted to find their advisor and bring him home. The only people missing were the few that Cain had asked to stay and protect the royal family in case someone used their current situation as an opportunity to target them. DG had been furious about being confined; as it was, only Raw and Azkadellia had been able to convince her to stay in the palace.
"Thank you all for coming so quickly," Cain began, his voice deceptively calm. "And thank you to those of you from Pharos, Saltz, and Elosia. We are grateful for your help."
"What do we know, Cain?" Matthew asked.
Cain took a deep breath, feeling his temper flare at what he was about to reveal. "This morning, at around ten, Ambrose was abducted from the palace by a man dressed like a Tin Man."
The Tin Men in the crowd gave a start, each looking at one another in outrage that someone had infiltrated their ranks.
"Lord Aviano is nowhere to be found," Cain continued. "His son and daughter claim not to know anything about their father's actions. I believe them."
The guards in the room glanced at one another, but remained silent.
"I went to question the prisoner we took last night for more clues about where Aviano may have taken Ambrose," Cain said. His voice softened very slightly. "He was dead in his cell sometime after breakfast. His food had been poisoned."
Kerrin had been informed right after Jeremiah's body had been discovered, but the sickly pallor to his face had yet to fade. He clenched his jaw, his eyes never leaving Cain's.
"Based on information that the kitchen staff shared, it was Eliza's turn to bring food to the prisoners," Cain went on. "Eliza states that she ran into a Tin Man who knocked over the water jug she was carrying, and he helped her to clean it up. It's possible that this man put something in Jeremiah's food at this time."
"What are you saying, Cain?" one of the Tin Men called out. "You think one of us is responsible?"
"No," Cain replied. "I think Lord Aviano hired someone who disguised himself as a Tin Man to kidnap Ambrose and tie up any loose ends. Dressing as a guard would have been too obvious, as I would have noticed any new faces right away. Disguising himself as a Tin Man would have given him access to the palace with very few questions asked, and because we're still hiring and building the police force, a new face was plausible."
The Tin Men seemed to settle a bit at the explanation. One of Ambrose's night guards, George, raised his hand.
"Where do we start looking?" he asked.
"I sent runners to the gates of the city," Cain said. "No one fitting Eliza's description of the Tin Man or Lord Avian's description has been seen, so we think they're in the city somewhere. We need to split into teams with copies of their pictures and canvas all the neighborhoods. Hopefully, someone will know something."
It was a long shot, and everyone in the room knew it, but no one wanted to bring to light the doubt that hovered over them like a dark cloud.
Cain nodded at the grim determination that settled over his men and began calling out the teams.
"Enough."
Liam paused, his fist drawn back. At a wave from Aviano, he stepped back and grabbed a dusty cloth from a nearby crate, wiping the blood from his hands.
Aviano crouched in front of Ambrose until he was at eye level with the barely conscious advisor. "The key, if you please?"
Ambrose was breathing heavily, his right eye swollen shut. Blood streamed out of his broken nose and into his mouth, staining his teeth. His left eye was hooded, tracking Aviano's movements warily.
"The key," Aviano said again.
Ambrose turned his head and spat a gob of blood on the ground. Turning back to Aviano, he wheezed, "My . . . lab. Blue . . . box, button on the bottom."
Aviano smiled. "There, now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" He straightened. "Of course, if you're lying to me, I'll make sure your death is slow and painful."
Ambrose simply glared at him wordlessly.
Aviano turned to Liam. "Go back to the palace and bring me that box. I'll wait here in the tavern for you."
Liam threw the bloodied cloth aside and left without a word.
Aviano turned back to Ambrose. "Rest while you can. Once I have the key, you'll be leading me to where the treasure is kept."
Not expecting an answer and not waiting for one, Aviano tuned and left Ambrose alone in the room.
Ambrose immediately straightened in his chair and began pulling on his bonds. He wasn't sure how far away from the palace he had been taken, but he didn't want to be around when Liam returned with the spare key to the storage closet in his lab.
Unbeknownst to his captors, Ambrose had been repositioning his hands and stretching different rope strands. With each blow that Liam had delivered, Ambrose used the force of it to weaken the ropes around his hands, loosening them.
Twisting his right hand, Ambrose finally managed to coax one loop over his hand. Once the first loop gave way, the rest soon followed. Nearly ten minutes passed before Ambrose finally slipped free, wincing at the strain in his shoulders as he brought his arms forward to rub his raw wrists.
Standing on shaky legs, Ambrose lurched to the door and tested the knob. Finding it unlocked, he carefully opened it and peered outside.
A hallway stretched before him, leading to a set of stairs that went up. There was another door to the right, slightly ajar. Ambrose waited for a sign of life, but hearing nothing, he moved into the hall. Shutting the door behind him, he crept down the hall and went up the stairs.
The stairs opened into a kitchen that had four people working in it. Ambrose slipped around an open pantry door, looking for his next destination.
Someone came bursting into the room from the other side of the stove, already in the middle of a rant. The rest of the room's occupants ignored him, but Ambrose listened closely.
". . . his honor is not my lord, no matter how much he flaunts his house and ring at me!" The man, near his sixties with a shock of white hair stormed to a counter near Ambrose and rummaged beneath it. He pulled out a plate made of bone china and slammed it none-too-gently on the counter. "Insulting my establishment, even after appropriating my basement. Not good enough for his lordship, but good enough for his business." He turned and barked at the cook. "Gabe! Bring me a leg!"
The chef at the stove turned, carrying a pan he had just removed from the oven laden with piping hot legs of lamb. The ranting man, who Ambrose took to be the owner of the tavern he had been brought to, took one of the legs and set it on the china plate.
"If I weren't a businessman, I'd spit on his food," the owner grumbled. He turned to a younger man who had appeared at his side carrying a platter of vegetables. Scooping some of the vegetables onto the china plate, the owner lifted the plate, took a deep breath, and carried it back through the door.
Ambrose eyed the door, then searched the rest of the room. His gaze fell on a young boy no more than ten struggling with a bag of garbage toward another hall behind the refrigerator. His heart began to race, sensing his exit was in that direction.
It took five agonizing minutes for the boy to return, but Ambrose was ready. With a watchful eye on the workers, he darted from the pantry door to a counter, using whatever he could find as cover. One of his hiding spots brought him beside a pile of dish towels. Ambrose helped himself to a couple, then darted for the hall he had seen the boy take.
The hall was barely an alcove, but it held a door that opened easily. Ambrose slipped into an alley beside a dumpster, then edged toward the street to get his bearings.
There were people everywhere Ambrose looked, naturally drawn to town due to the Queen's celebration. Ambrose felt relief that he was at least still in Central City. Glancing left and right, he recognized one of the shelters he had delivered clothing to weeks ago. Checking for signs of Aviano and Liam, Ambrose ran across the road and ducked inside the shelter.
The man sitting at the counter looked up, startled, at Ambrose's sudden appearance. He stood and moved closer to Ambrose, concern in his eyes. "Are you all right, sir? Can I help you?"
Ambrose smiled, wincing slightly as the smile tugged at his split lip. "I hope so, Xavier."
Xavier gave a start. "Ambrose? What- Are you all right? What happened to you? I'll send for a healer right away!"
"No!" Ambrose exclaimed. "Please, I need to get out of sight. Can we talk in private? No one can know I'm here."
"Of course," Xavier said. "Go in the back to my office. You know the way. I'll get Jeffrey to watch the front and bring you some bandages and a change of clothes."
"Thank you," Ambrose replied gratefully. He felt himself start to tremble, the adrenaline of his escape beginning to fade.
"Go on," Xavier encouraged. "You can tell me all about it. From the looks of you, it's quite the story."
Ambrose snorted in laughter. "You could say that," he agreed. "I'm afraid I'll need to impose on you for your help."
"No imposition at all," Xavier assured him, gently guiding him away from the door. "I'll be back in five minutes."
It nearly took the five minutes for Ambrose to sneak back to the office without being seen, but once safely behind closed doors, he sank into a chair with a sigh of relief. Using one of the dish towels he had carried from the tavern, Ambrose began lightly dabbing his face, noting that very little fresh blood came away.
Xavier arrived with his arms full, shutting the door and locking it. He set the bundles of clothes on his desk and sat beside Ambrose, taking the towel from him. "Allow me."
"Thank you," Ambrose replied.
As Xavier carefully cleaned the rest of the blood from Ambrose's face, Ambrose filled him in on his capture, leaving out any mention of treasure. Xavier listened attentively while he worked, waiting patiently for Ambrose to finish.
"I need to get back to the palace," Ambrose told him. "But I don't know who to trust. I know Aviano already infiltrated the palace; I have no idea who else works for him."
"Do you know who you can trust?" Xavier asked.
Ambrose nodded. "My friend, Wyatt. You met him on our last delivery."
Xavier smiled. "That one's a force to be reckoned with, I'll bet." He thought for a moment. "We could use the old Resistance Trail. Not being from Central City, I doubt this Aviano would know about it."
Ambrose considered the idea. The Resistance Trail was a series of safe havens located strategically throughout the city, used to smuggle people to safety. Most of the havens had never been discovered, despite the Longcoat's efforts at exposing them.
"Wyatt might not know about the Trail either," Ambrose said.
Xavier waved a hand. "You leave it to me. I'll let my contact know to reactivate the Trail. We can have you to the next haven within the hour."
Another safety feature of the Trail. None of the people running the havens knew each other beyond the points immediately before and after their own.
"I don't know how to thank you," Ambrose said.
"After all you've done for us, this is the very least we can do for you," Xavier said. "Go on and change, and leave those clothes here. I'll take care of them later."
Xavier left to make his contact, giving Ambrose privacy to change. Ambrose made a note to himself to make sure Xavier's shelter received special assistance from the palace to repay his kindness. He would see to it himself.
Once he got out of his current predicament.