Chapter 14 – Rick's Revenge
Ardeth smiled. He couldn't help it. The situation was either too grim or too funny depending on the view. A situation, he reminded himself, that he alone was responsible for. Still, he wasn't totally lost. His captor had already made two very dire mistakes. Since Sidney Black was obviously a man who was used to being feared, a notion that Ardeth himself was well acquainted with, Black was expecting his menacing aura to intimidate his Med-jai prisoner. That was his first mistake. His second was leaving his captive alone for a few minutes to contemplate his fate.
Ardeth didn't know what Black had in mind when he spoke of 'persuasion' but he had no doubt he would be unable to make any attempt at what he had mind later. Deliberately, he pushed that thought aside and concentrated. He had to take this moment of stillness to try and reach his brother. They had to know who had him and that he was, for the moment, alive. Ardeth closed his eyes and reached down, deep within himself, and when he had found his center, he sent the threads of his psyche spinning into the darkness. So intent was he on trying to reach Rick he was only peripherally aware of Black's return.
The Med-jai felt the tickle in the back of his mind that he associated with his brother's unique presence. He was closing in. He felt an answering tingle of awareness as the link formed.
--O'Connell--
It was only then that Ardeth's mind became alert to the warning tug on his other senses. He pulled back, intent on breaking the link.
--Let me go!-- Ardeth's mind screamed.
Far away Rick received the warning but refused to release his hold. --I'm not leaving you.--
"NO!"
Ardeth wasn't aware that he'd yelled aloud until Black laughed. But by then it was too late. The whip was already streaking through the air.
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Rick had finally dozed off, much to Evy's relief.He'd insisted on going with Jonathan when he left to round up Lord Milton but Nadhir had taken a long look at his weary face and flatly refused. Of course, the American had resisted. No one could make him stay, he'd said. Only the argument that he'd be of much more use to Ardeth awake and alert rather than half dead on his feet made the difference. He'd been left behind with orders to sleep or he'd not be allowed to interrogate Milton when they returned. Since there was no way he'd miss that pleasure, he agreed to try and rest. Especially since they weren't sure how long the grab would take. Spencer Milton did appear at his club on a daily basis but not always at the same time.
He hadn't actually meant to fall asleep. He'd sat down in the library chair intent only on closing he eyes for a short time but his weary body had other ideas and he was sound asleep in five minutes time. Rick was just starting to ease out of a deep slumber when his mind began to prickle. Fighting the urge to bolt awake, Rick forced his breathing to remain deep and even. Only one person could produce this reaction in his brain. Ardeth!
--I'm here--, he thought, forming a picture of Ardeth in his mind's eye. --I'm here--
--O'Connell--
The word carried Ardeth's voice into his head as clearly as if Ardeth were standing beside him. The connection was made.
--Ardeth! Where . . . -- Before Rick could finish the thought, a feeling of dread screamed through the link.
--Let me go!--
The words were crystal clear. He felt Ardeth pulling away. Rick forced the connection, sending his mind racing after his brother's.
--You're not leaving me!-- Rick sent.
--NO!--
The word was shouted into his head and in that instant he felt it. The sharp slice of whip cut across his brother's back. Rick screamed and bolted to his feet.
"ARDETH!"
His agonized scream echoed through the house. Part of him was aware of voices and running feet but he would not heed them. His mind was totally focused on his brother.
--Leave me!-- Ardeth's voice commanded as yet another wave of pain sliced across his spine.
--No! I'm staying!-- Rick sent forcefully. He would not leave Ardeth to suffer alone.
Another cut crossed the other two. Rick's own back burned as if on fire.
--Please . . . leave me-- Ardeth's mind-voice was tight with pain now. --Rick . . . --
More fire raced down Rick's spine. --Not a chance, brother. Together. We do this together--
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Rick's scream echoed through the house, rending the quiet like a rifle shot.
"What's going on? What is it?" Evy was frantic. She burst into the library, Khay on her heels, their Med-jai guards only a split second behind them.
"Rick!" Evy started towards her husband. "What's wrong?"
Khay's hand on her arm stayed her. "You must not touch him. He's 'seeing'."
Evy stared at her, then at Rick. He stood rigid in front of the chair, his whole body tense, his face a mask of pain and determination. His eyes were fixed wide and staring at something only he could see. "I'm not leaving you!" he yelled into the room.
Evy's face paled. "Oh, God, what is it?"
"No! Together, brother. We do this together."
Evy could hear tears catching in Rick's throat.
Khay's eyes closed and she reached out with her mind, trying to get some sense of what was going on. For an instant she, too, felt the painful fire of the lash then Ardeth sensed her and shut her out. She took a ragged breath and clutched at Evy's arm.
Evy wrapped her arms around Khay's suddenly cold body. "Can you see what's going on?"
"No. Ardeth shut me out as soon as he sensed my presence. I can now sense only echoes of what is happening."
"Ardeth shut you out? Why?"
Khay swallowed hard before she answered. "They are torturing him."
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Ardeth's hands hung limp in their chains. He could feel the blood dripping down his back and his head spun madly. Behind him he could hear Black panting and he knew beyond a doubt that the man was furious.
Behind him Black stood staring at the havoc his lashing had wrought on the Med-jai's bare back. His chest heaved, not only from exertion but with a rage borne of having gotten nowhere. Bey had been right. He'd given the Med- jai all that he had but the man had held fast to his word. The flogging, while enjoyable, had been a waste of time. He'd told him nothing
He threw the whip to one side and cursed under his breath in German. His fuehrer wanted the information this heathen held and returning to Berlin without it could mean his life. His mind worked for a few moments as he watched the blood drip onto the stone floor, then his thin lips curled upward. Apparently, he'd have to resort to other measures. He paced slowly around his captive and, grabbing a handful of the dark hair, pulled Ardeth's head up from where it slumped against his chest and gave an exaggerated sigh.
"I don't now about you, Mr. Bey, but I grow tired of these games. Perhaps something else would change your mind." He smiled then, a macabre death's head smile that accentuated his sunken cheeks. "I understand you have a lovely little girl . . . "
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Upon leaving his club, Viscount Spencer Milton found himself the victim of a kidnapping. The surprised nobleman was grabbed from behind, a rough black hood was forced over his head and he was summarily wrestled into some kind of vehicle. He struggled frantically against his bonds while the car, at least it felt like a car, drove at what felt like breakneck speed through the city. Milton knew he was still in London because he could hear the city's noise over the roar of the vehicle's engine and, while he was alarmed, he wasn't unduly frightened. Surely someone would notice him when they reached their destination. It was broad daylight and even a nearsighted street urchin would see a bound man being dragged about and call for a constable. It wasn't until the city sounds faded into the quiet of the countryside that he began to feel the first inkling of fear.
Why was he being kidnapped? His family certainly had enough money to ransom him but there were far wealthier families in the vicinity. Was it because of his connection to Black? It couldn't possibly be. No one knew of his treason but Croft and Black and neither was in a position to betray the other. They needed each other's protection too much at this point. It wasn't until the car began to decelerate that another reason for his abduction occurred to him. Ardeth Bey.
Milton barely had time to let the idea surface when the car lurched to a stop and he was hauled out by the ropes around his hands. Whoever had him wasn't being gentle. Whoever had him had no consideration for the fact that he was of noble blood. As he was being dragged up stairs by hoodlums as if he was a common miscreant, the idea that he was being treated like one of the masses fired his indignation and he vowed he would say nothing once his captors were revealed. He would wield his haughtiness like a sword and show them the depth of his conviction! He would show them that he, Viscount Spencer Milton, was not to be terrified by common thugs and retain his dignity. And just as he finished his vow, he was dropped hard onto a chair and the hood snatched off his head.
Milton barely had time to react to the sudden light before a hard blow to his face sent it splintering into dancing shards.
"Where is he?" a man's voice spoke from somewhere in front of him.
The voice was cold, hard; frissions of fear began to tickle up the nobleman's spine. He shook his ringing head trying to clear his vision. Presently a large dark shape took form before him; a shape that blocked the light and cast a menacing shadow over his body. Milton could feel the fury and hatred emanating in slow constant waves from whoever stood before him.
"I asked you a question," the shadow spoke again, the words grinding from the man's throat like so many rough edged stones.
Milton swallowed, remembering his promise. "Where is who? I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" the voice grew colder, if that was possible. Milton felt his hands began to quiver.
The viscount's mind worked furiously. The deadly whisper was familiar. Milton's eyes squinted against the bright light and contrasting shadows that blocked the man's face. "Who are you? What do you want of me?"
The shadow moved forward and leaned into Milton's face. He couldn't suppress a gasp of surprise as he recognized the tall American from the street corner skirmish.
Rick smiled widely as he saw the recognition dawn in his captive's eyes. "I am your worst nightmare", he said softly, "and what I want - is my brother."
"Your brother?" Milton laughed derisively. "How in God's name am I supposed to know. . ."
Another punch landed on his jaw. "Don't fuck with me Milton," the American snarled. "I am not in the mood."
"And I am in no mood for you!" Milton shouted back. Despite his vocal defiance, he could feel sweat begin to trickle down his neck.
Rick put a strong hand around Milton's throat and began to apply pressure, increasing his grip with each word. "My brother is Ardeth Bey. And you are going to tell me where he is."
"Ack. . . your brother. . . impossible," Milton managed to squeak out past the pressure on his windpipe. "It would figure though. An... American and a . . . filthy heathen. . ."
The viscount didn't get a chance to finish the insult as the American's hands tightened even more. Milton's vision began to swim and he choked.
Rick released the pressure slightly. "You will keep your insults behind your teeth or you will lose them. You know where Ardeth is and you are going to tell me. Or..." He let the word hang.
Milton grimaced and swallowed past the tight grip. He summoned all his British arrogance and took a last, desperate chance. "Or what? You're going to kill me?"
"No," the American said resignedly, loosening his grip and stepping back. "I'm not going to kill you."
The Brit relaxed and blew a sigh out of his nearly crushed throat. He'd read the stupid Yank right, he wouldn't commit cold-blooded murder.
"Of course you won't. You wouldn't dare," he squeaked, his voice cracking in terror on the last word. "I'm a citizen of the crown! The Viscount of Asbury! The laws of this country are clear about what becomes of murderers! Especially those who would murder nobility!"
"The laws of this country are also clear about what happens to traitors."
Milton blanched. "What. . . what do you mean?" he whispered hoarsely. "You insult my honor, sir, my loyalty to England."
"You don't have any honor, Milton. You lost it when you attacked Ardeth's back all those years ago. And as for your loyalty, you sold it to Germany, remember? Oh, yeah. We know all about your little trips to Berlin. And your 'secret' meetings. You see, before we got a hold of you, we got a hold of your friend, Croft. He told us everything about the Nazi's infiltration plan. The only thing he didn't tell us is where Ardeth is. But you're gonna tell us that, aren't you?"
"And if I don't?" Milton pulled together the last vestiges of his courage and spat the defiant words into Rick's face. "You already said you wouldn't kill me."
"No, I won't kill you," Rick repeated and a menacing grin began to creep across his face. As if on an unspoken command, the London Med-jai stepped out of the shadows behind him. "These guys, on the other hand, will. And I can guarantee you won't like it and it won't be quick. So why don't you tell me what I want to know, and I'll make sure you don't suffer at their hands."
The room was suddenly loud with the quiet sound of sharp steel being released from leather sheaths. Milton could see their edges blinking in the light and he looked from the grinning American to the black-garbed men and then back to the man claiming to be Ardeth's brother.
"You wouldn't dare." The words were barely audible and the voice shook with fear.
Rick leaned close to Milton's head. The viscount could feel the man's warm breath against his face, could feel the faintest brush of lips against his ear. The words didn't matter so much as the menace they held.
"Try me."
Then Spencer Milton, Viscount Asbury, forgot his vow and told the Med-jai everything they wanted to hear. And when he was done, Rick lived up to his promise. He didn't turn Milton over to the warriors who wanted his blood. Instead he drew his own dagger from the sheath at his ankle. He let the light cascade down the length of it while he tested its edge.
"You. . . you said you wouldn't kill me!" Milton babbled, his eyes wide and terror-filled yet unable to look away from the shiny object.
The American Med-jai looked down at the blade in his hand and felt again, for a fleeting moment, the slice of the whip against his brother's back. His eyes met those of his captive and he smiled a lopsided grin.
"I lied."
Afterwards, O'Connell soothed any guilt he may have felt over the deed by assuring himself that Milton never even felt the blade that pierced his heart.
Probably.