"I assure you, this is really not necessary," Nigel said as he was roughly guided out of the cell he was being kept in. "I'm sure we can work something out. I can be quite agreeable when I need to be. If you'd only tell me why I'm in here."
The men escorting him didn't bother to even acknowledge his words. Nigel didn't resist – the men had guns and looked as though they wouldn't mind using them. And even if he was able to get away from these men, there were more standing guard outside the building, which was exactly where he was being dragged to.
"Outside? Yes, outside is good!" Nigel said cheerfully, thankful to be away from the smell of his jail. It reeked of human waste, and decomposing bodies, things Nigel didn't want to examine too closely. The sun's rays shone brilliantly in the sky, forcing Nigel to squint as he looked around. Instead of being released as he had been hoping, he was led towards a post. Knots formed in his stomach as he was made to stand in front of it. A whipping post.
"I really don't think –"
"Shut up," one of the guards said roughly.
Nigel fell silent. Where the hell was Sydney? He hadn't seen her since she had run after a man who had stolen their map. He had been grabbed by a couple of men before he was able to follow, and despite asking why he was being held was told nothing before being thrown into the aforementioned cell with its foul stench.
"This man attempted to degrade one of our women," a man shouted to a growing crowd who jeered at Nigel.
"What?" Nigel exclaimed, his voice an octave higher. "I did no such thing!" He had fallen against a woman in the initial scuffle between the stranger and Sydney and had apologized as he had started after the chase, and had been grabbed a moment later. "It's all just a misunderstanding." No one took any notice of him, his voice was drowned out by the crowd.
"We will punish this man for his crimes, with 10 lashes."
Nigel suddenly felt cold despite the heat of the sun. He struggled against the men as they started to pull off his shirt, wrenching at his arms. One of the men punched him in the stomach for his troubles and he doubled over in pain, the men using the moment to pull his shirt off fully. He was pulled into a standing position, and his arms were drawn around the post and tied with a rope leaving his back exposed. A man with a bullwhip approached him, a scowl on his face.
Sweat beaded at his temples and his heart was skipping in his chest. The noise of the crowd seemed to fade into the background as he tried to focus on a way out. He'd put this particular experience right up there with almost being quartered in Bekkastan, or the waterboarding in Bali.
Crack.
Nigel let out a yell at the contact. The pain was immense. It felt as though his skin had been split open. He gritted his teeth and tensed as he prepared for the next lash.
Crack.
He yelled again in pain. His back was on fire. He rested his head against the post and closed his eyes, wishing for the torture to end. He braced himself for the next one, his arms shaking and his stomach roiling; he thought he was going to be sick.
"Fire!" a shout went up through the crowd. Nigel dared to open his eyes and turn his head to see that the man on the platform was staring over Nigel in the direction of the jail, his mouth agape. Nigel watched as the man jumped off and rushed towards the jail. Struggling past the pain, Nigel realized he could smell smoke.
"Ah!" Nigel flinched as he felt hands on his shoulders.
"Shh." The hands disappeared from his shoulders as a figure stepped in front of him. Nigel sighed in relief as he recognized Sydney. "Oh Nigel," Sydney said softly, using her knife to cut at the rope binding his wrists. The muscles in his back shifted as he dropped his arms and he hissed in pain. "Come on," she said sympathetically, bending down to grab his shirt, "let's get out of here."
