Neal sighed in frustration as he paced about his room. Of course he and Ben had looked for the sand artist after the talent show, but he had seemingly disappeared right after his performance. No, they didn't have any proof that this was their guy, but it was just a feeling that they both knew in their guts. They had to get him to say something that would implicate him and get him in prison. And then Neal could go through with his plan – his plan would never work unless this guy was gone.
Neal paused at a sound behind him, and turned. "Mozzie?" he whispered into the darkness, wondering if he was trying to sneak up on him to try to scare him. But there was no other sound, so he shrugged it off and started to pace again.
He'd warned all of the guards to be on watch tonight, staying outside to make sure their guy didn't get in. Still, Neal wasn't sure it would help.
Just as Neal had this thought, something suddenly hit him hard on the back of his head. The room suddenly seemed bright as white flashed over his eyes, and then it was immediately dark again as he fell to the ground. He was vaguely aware of someone catching him, and then the dark mist fell over his eyes as he succumbed to unconsciousness.
WCWCWC
Mozzie was very anxious. This was a normal occurrence, really, but this time, he wasn't anxious so much because of Peter; he was anxious because of Neal's whole problem. He kept having the distinct feeling that something bad was going to happen that night, and had even gone so far as to tell Neal of his worries. But Neal just told him that he was being paranoid and went to his room to go to sleep.
Mozzie tried to do the same, but he just couldn't rest his eyes. He paced about the room, and somehow knew that right then, Neal was in trouble.
Well, whether Neal was aware of it or not, he was going to do something about it. He had to help. Now.
WCWCWC
Neal groaned as he woke up. His head was pounding in time with his heartbeat, and with each pulse it felt like someone was slamming into his head with a battering ram. He opened his eyes, and found that he was lying on the ground of a stone floor. A dim light shone through the room, courtesy of a bare light bulb in the ceiling. He winced as he turned his head, and closed his eyes for a moment. Still keeping his eyes closed, he sat up, realizing that he was untrussed. He moved his arms and legs to be sure that they were working properly. The only thing that was wrong was his splitting headache.
Neal was slowly able to open his eyes again, and he saw that Ben was unconscious a few feet away from him.
Not again, Neal thought as he slowly made his way over, so as not to hurt his head any more. He checked Ben's pulse – a little slower than normal, but strong. He sat back, leaning against the wall as exhaustion overtook him. He closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come. His heart pounded quickly in his chest, keeping him awake, but far from alert as the pounding in his head increased.
Neal winced as a door squeaked open, and opened his eyes to see a man in his late forties perhaps. He realized after a moment that it was the man who had painted the ceiling in his room.
Why would he do this? Neal wondered as he watched the man. He blinked, trying to wake himself up and calm his heart at the same time. Ben remained unconscious beside him as the man came to stand in front of him.
"Why?" Neal said simply.
The man shook his head at him, disgusted. "You royals took my wife and children away. This is merely me returning the favor to you."
Neal shook his head slowly. "But Ricardo, I didn't even know I was a prince. How could I have taken your family from you?"
Ricardo shook his fist at him angrily. "You're all the same!" he shouted hysterically. "All you care about is money, and beauty, and image! But this – this will show the people of Parasa that even their king can be beaten, and put down!"
"What happened?" Neal asked, trying to calm the man.
Ricardo snorted. "I'm sure you heard the story. I was living with my family on a neighboring island, and then that king – your king that is now dying – he requested that I come to paint the ceiling in your bedroom. I never wanted to! But I had no choice – refusing the king results in being sent to sent to prison. So I bid farewell to my family, and came here for six years to paint the damn ceiling. I finish, and I go back to the other island to be with my family again. But they are gone! I searched, I asked around, but they just disappeared. And if Wilhelm hadn't forced me to paint his damn ceiling, I would be with them now.
"I have not seen them for nearly twenty years. I don't even know if they are alive anymore. But it is the royal family's fault. Without you, the people of Parasa would be free! They wouldn't have to obey their dictator with the fear of prison if they refuse! So it is my duty, having been wronged, that I get rid of the lot of you. And then we can become a democracy, and the people of Parasa will be free finally, as they should have been in the beginning!"
Neal had realized through Ricardo's explanation that the man wasn't quite operating on all cylinders. It made him worried – those were the most dangerous kinds of people. They were inexpert and jumpy – you never knew what they were going to do next.
And, looking at this man, he was sure that it would be dangerous to be with him for too long. He needed to get out – with Ben…right now.