Author's Note: Ah, poor Frank couldn't wait any longer for me to post some more and get him out of some trouble, course being me, that will probably only get him into more of it. Oh well. My thanks to everyone who is reading, I'd love to hear from you. Special appreciation to Cherylann Rivers, Paulina Ann, and ErinJordan. Now back to the same bat station, same bat channel...

CHAPTER 11

What? Leave me alone, Joe, I'm sleeping… Joe… Come on… how often am I the one asking you for five minutes?…. Seriously, quit…

Crud, he wasn't this pesky when he was three…

Frank started to aim a half hearted swat at his brother when pain arced through his shoulder, dragging him back to a quite undesired realization - whoever was pawing at him, it wasn't Joe.

"Keluarkannya."

He willed the confusion to overwhelm him again, biting back a frustrated moan when it refused. Unwanted awareness slipped through the fog he'd cultivated over the last three days; exerting less and less effort to stay grounded in a reality composed of confinement, a cramping nausea, and chills. The throbbing arm returned to the here and now first, as it had the last few times he'd awakened. Sharp pain sliced through an underlying burning ache that seemed to originate somewhere in his ribs and travel through to his wrist. Frank reluctantly parted matted eyelashes, gaze settling on his bloody wrist and dusky colored hand. Huh, ought to be able to feel that….glad I can't….

He opened cracked lips, waiting for the dipper of putrid water to reappear between the bars. When it didn't, he tried to focus on the iron barrier of the cell, only then connecting that if he could feel his jailer's hands, then the grate had to be open. He was still trying to process that when his limp right arm fell to his side. A milder pain scraped down his chest as he was drawn over the lip of the stone and onto the ground above, a fine layer of skin left behind.

"Bangun sekarang!"

Frank's befuddled mind started to clear as the breeze chased away the stale sickness of the cell. Remembered voices from that first night in the mud outside the hotel wafted through. That was four nights ago now? Or five, maybe? Bangun… wait, I know this one… 'Get up'…. Too bad I can't….

"Bangun!" Fingers dug into the bruise of his shoulder, prying him from the ground.

"Trying." Frank almost couldn't hear his own croak and had no confidence the man above him had. Still, the other retreated a fraction, giving him the space to brace his left elbow beneath him. Frank managed to get to a semblance of all fours, unable to bear any weight on the mangled right hand.

"Kami akan mesti memajukannya."

Frank hadn't noticed the second militant until the first spoke to him. A sweaty forearm wound around his middle, stinging the newly abraded skin as it yanked him to his feet. Each soldier draped one of Frank's arms over a shoulder, walking him away from the stunted cells.

The odd-gaited trio was half way across the courtyard before Frank got his knees to unbend enough for his feet to touch the ground. He tried to focus on taking a step, anything to shift the weight off his arm. Didn't really think it could hurt more than it did in that manacle…

They made their way to a smaller building bordering the outer wall, the hewn tan walls broken by slits pretending to be windows. The first soldier paused by the outer door, ducking out from under Frank. Apparently sensing the futility of speaking to him again, he chose instead to position Frank by hand, placing his palms against the wall before kicking his feet a wide apart and cutting away the filthy shorts.

The first bucket of water sluicing over his head nearly unbalanced a panicked Frank, by the third he didn't care. The other man haphazardly dried him off after the fifth drenching; chuckling a bit when he realized the boy was once again catching what water he could with his tongue.

Frank supposed he might have been marginally cleaner, as much the result of a fresh pair of white shorts as the water. They tugged him through the ancient door, entering a simply furnished anteroom. Faintly cream-colored stucco walls met the natural stone floor. A single dark wood chair and tiny table were located outside a second door in a curved inner wall, hammered iron hardware the only adornment. The second of his captors shoved Frank in the seat, bending to bind his ankles to the rear chair legs.

Yeah, that's important, 'cause I'm gonna sprint out of here. Of course, maybe it's to keep me from falling off of the thing.

The initial soldier stood opposite Frank's chair, leaning across the table to balance lightly on tented fingertips. He smirked vaguely at the youth's lolling head before extracting a pair of sticks from a uniform pocket. He laid them on the stained boards before tipping Frank's chin up, allowing him a moment to look.

Each of the cylinders was about a foot long, the smoothly sanded wood four inches in diameter at each end. A section the width of a palm in the center had been whittled to a thickness of an inch and a half, a thin length of leather dangling from the sawn edges like ribbons on a miniature dumbbell. Frank couldn't fathom any particular purpose for the implements.

"Tangan." The man before him didn't wait for Frank to respond, gripping Frank's left hand and settling it into the hollow carved in the stick. The brown shoestring leather laced through minute holes he hadn't previously spotted, firmly binding his fingers to the wood. Five minutes later the right one was complete as well, both oversize pegs encased in a tightly sewn fist.

Enclosed in his hands, Frank still didn't see the point of the sticks. If he'd had the energy to throw a punch, well, then he might have put them to good use, although he doubted that was what the militia member skulking behind him had in mind. An hour later, the dipper of water made reappearance and then he was unlocked from the chair. Somehow the newly amused glint in his guard's eyes wasn't reassuring at all.

"Datang."

They stopped at the threshold of the inner door, affording Frank the time to survey the circular room. In another place, it might have been beautiful. Sunlight filtered through an ornate grate in the ceiling, casting an intricate shadow pattern over sandstone floor. The perimeter of the chamber consisted of five wide concentric ledges stair-stepped into the amber stone, surrounding a lower ring maybe a dozen feet across. A simple plank desk and chair were located toward the edge of that circle. Heavy wood timbers formed the central feature of the depression, iron supports holding the massive beams upright as a sort of doorframe minus the door. Nothing in the scene looked like it couldn't have been there a thousand years. Maybe it had been.

The nudge forward shouldn't have been a problem, a mere tap to direct him down the steps from someone who had little other means to communicate their intent. After three and half fevered days forcibly coiled into a pit, however, his feet couldn't manage the momentum. A couple of thumps and groans later and Frank sprawled at the base of the desk, the beleaguered right arm pinned beneath him and a trickle of blood meandering down his cheek.

"Kami mesti membangunkannya."

"Saya sangsi kami bisa."

"Kami bisa membunuhnya sekarang."

"Bukan. Saya akan membuatnya bangun."

The conversation volleyed between a pair of soldiers, slowly seeping into Frank's returning hearing. Realization that it wasn't the same two as before and that they were supporting him between the wooden posts while a third secured his spread feet to an iron rings in the floor came a number of painful breaths later. The utility of the thick dowels bound in his fists became evident as one of the trio stepped onto a short stool, fitting each peg into waiting slots on opposite sides of the wood frame. Frank blinked a few times in confusion, registering his hands stretched high above him and the twenty-odd stern faced men now seated on the tiers of the chamber. The desk chair remained empty.

When did they all get here?

A heavily muscled guard crossed in front of Frank and then out of his line of sight, but not before Frank spotted the thin pole in his hands.

Wonderful, Rao's joined the festivities. Guessing he means to hit me with that…

Five blows later there was no longer any guessing involved as Frank panted through each hit, head dropped to his chest in a futile effort to stay silent.

"Lakukan anda suka bahwa, anak laki-laki?" An older soldier stood planted before him; firing questions he had no hope of answering.

Gah, hurts… stop…. Please…stop… "I… I don't understand…"

"Jawab saya!" The hulk behind him punctuated his cohort's demand with yet another strike.

"I…don't…un…understand." Stop….not gonna yell…won't…

"Tak bergerak harga menjadi seorang pengkhianat?"

The air whirred a second before Frank felt the skin on his back split apart, along with his determination. "Ahhh! No… please!… I… I don't…I d-don't...please…"

"You don't understand the question, Mr. Hardy?"

Frank's head snapped up at the unexpected voice, eyes narrowing as a man stood in the rear of the audience and began to make his way down. Clipboard…

A gesture from the older man sent the original inquisitor to sit at the desk.

"I will ask you again. Did you, or did you not, understand the question, Mr. Hardy?" Clipboard repeated each sentence in his native tongue for the audience.

"No." Frank struggled to keep his tone calm, eyes darting as he searched for the Rao and his cane, the unseen presence palpably skittering down his spine.

"Allow me to translate for you. He asked if it is still worth it to you to have been a traitor."

Traitor? What? "N-no."

"No? It is not worth it? I see that I did have you pegged correctly after all, Mr. Hardy. You are a coward to abandon your undertaking so quickly." A clipped nod led to a lighter series of hits along Frank's sides.

Frank clenched his teeth, determined to complete his answer. "N-no. N-not what I meant." He stopped for several harsh breaths, then lifted his head again. "Can't be…traitor…to country… that's not mine…"

"Semantics? Are you quite convinced this is the time to argue the finer nuances of word definitions? I rather doubt that, but I shall reword the questions for your apparently delicate sensibilities." Clipboard paced slowly around the framework, admiring the welts. "How long have you been in the employ of the Moluki administration?"

"Never."

"And how long had your father been in their employ?"

Had? What's he mean?... Not has? Don't read anything… into that… Dad's not… not… liar…"He's not."

"Hmm. You deny that you are here to suppress the rightful government of our nation?"

"Yes." Forming coherent answers was becoming more difficult.

The cane whipped across his chest this time, drawing a truncated gasp.

"That is not the correct answer, Mr. Hardy. It may have escaped you that this is a trial regarding your treason. If it has, I urge you to select your words more judiciously. You are an enemy of Ranei."

"N-no."

Strike.

"Your father brought you here to engage in crimes against our nation."

"No."

Strike.

"You are aware documents in your hotel room confirm your involvement with the prior illegal government. Is that correct?"

Oh no, no… what do I say?… he's seen the papers... wrong to lie in court… is it still… wrong… if the court's a sham?... what do I do?... "No."

Strike.

"It is foolish to deny the existence of documentation I have held in my own hands."

"Didn't."

"Come now, Mr. Hardy. I heard you."

At least Frank was unsurprised by the harder blow across his shoulders. Stop…st-stop…"I…did...not…. I know… papers were there….but… government… wasn't illegal.. and they don't…confirm I'm involved."

"Again with the splitting of hairs. Once more, select your words more carefully." The earlier guard helped Rao while their boss talked, each of them slipping one of the wooden pegs in Frank's hands from its moorings and ratcheting it a notch higher, blooming new pain through his torso.

"Being… care-ful." Frank couldn't hold his head up any longer, but he forced as much air as he could into finishing his answer. Kangaroo court or not, it was inexplicably important to him. "Words that…I'm going…to die for… I choose…very carefully."

"Ah, Frank, you begin to amuse me. Are you that certain you are going to die?"

"Y-yes." I don't want to die here, but…please….

"Then by all means, confess and we shall complete this delightful entertainment before it delves any further into the realm of a poor movie script."

"No."

Clipboard waved Rao backward a few feet. "You may have enough fortitude to necessitate a change in tactics. An unexpected caveat. If you are uninterested in concluding the afternoon's beating for yourself, perhaps transferring our physical attentions to young Joseph would be more profitable."

"N-no." No… you can't do this… to... not to Joe…wait… "You don't… have Joe here."

"Are you certain?" Clipboard edged closer, callused hand squeezing Frank's jaw so he could look in the youth's eyes. "Absolutely certain?"

No… not… Frank glared into the gray eyes, trying to read the man. No… "Yes."

"Your situation is not exactly as you perceive it, young man. The documents and your presence in Ranei is enough to convict you by our law without any regard to your answers today."

"Then…why?" This …is funny… to him…

"Contrary to what you likely believe, following our laws is important to me. And while I can convict you with my current information, as in your legal system, the standards are higher when dealing with minors."

A nod from Clipboard resulted in Frank's hands being yanked up another notch, a maneuver that required three men to achieve and stole the air from his taut body. An audible pop sounded as the abused right shoulder slid from its socket, finally eliciting the screams Frank had so hopelessly tried to squelch.

No…please, no…just stop…n-no…

"I see we have fully engaged your attention at last. You are quite accurate in your assumption that this is a capital offense. If, however, you were able to provide me with details of Joseph's involvement, or the other boys, and any names you are able to recall, a reduced sentence could be arranged."

Not involved…gah, let me go…this hurts…so much... please…

"I see it in your eyes, Frank. You cannot do this much longer. Giving in benefits both of us. I receive the information I need to try Joe; you receive your life. Joseph benefits as well."

Hurts…no, ignore him…liar… don't ask… lies... "H-helps Joe? How?"

"If I can convict Joseph based on what you tell me, then he need never spend any time in this room. I promise you Rao will never touch him. Now talk."

He doesn't have Joe… conviction would be paper only… if…. Ugh, my head's spinning… if he had Joe, he'd be in here…he'd threaten him…in front of me… so not here… Joe's safe…this hurts… I make up some crap… and Clipboard doesn't kill me… arghhh, stop… please… conviction wouldn't touch Joe… buy me some time to… to what?.. think… to get rescued… gah…. Spin a load of bull and I'll… live… and … and… betray Joe…

"Last opportunity, Mr. Hardy."

An opportunity…stop, please… to buy my life… by betraying my brother…

Frank desperately gathered the swimming thoughts in his brain to utter a final word, sealing his fate. "NO."

The silence stretched, Clipboard's face working through rose and crimson before settling into the first stages of violet. "Fool boy! Fine." He pivoted on a heel and reached the chamber door before he spoke to Rao.

The gargantuan man lurked behind the bloodied form stretched in the frame, the pole in his hand thumping a staccato rhythm on the floor. "Still eager, Rao? Very well, do as you please. Just be certain he remains alive for the gallows in the morning."

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to be continued...