Invisible Chains

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Chapter Two

Adam awoke suddenly in the night with the impression that he was falling. However, unlike most occasions on which he found himself jerked out of sleep by such a sensation, he landed.

He sat up sharply. This was not his bed. This was not his room. This was, in fact, no place he'd ever seen. The walls were bare and blank, constructed of a light-colored softwood. The bed he lay on was low to the ground and very narrow. The only furnishings visible apart from the bed were a rough-hewn table and two straight-backed chairs.

A low, eerily familiar laugh sounded behind him and he turned to see - he blinked confusedly - it looked as if he, himself, was standing about four feet away wearing an overlarge guard's uniform. Coming up out of deep sleep like he had, it was extremely disorienting. But by some sense or other, he knew he wasn't dreaming. The whole feel of things was wrong for a dream. An uneasy feeling began to stir in his stomach. ** What is going on here? ** There was an intent look on that familiar face and Adam shivered slightly. Looking at this copy of himself wasn't like seeing He-Man in the cell at Snake Mountain. He'd barely ever seen He-Man's face, after all, when the need for He-Man cropped up, there wasn't a lot of time for looking into mirrors. But this was the face, and the body, he wore every day.

"Hello, Prince Adam," the - the - whoever it was - drawled in Adam's voice. The sound of it made Adam's flesh crawl.

"Who are you?" Adam demanded.

A creepy smile spread across the imposter's face. "Would you believe I'm your twin brother?"

Adam stared at him in shocked horror. ** A twin? No, it couldn't be - could it? **

The imposter laughed again. "Why, I do believe you might. That might have made a better ploy by far - but your mother would certainly remember if she'd had twins."

Adam only realized that his heart had been racing when it slowed. "Then, who are you?" he reiterated.

"Does it matter?" the fellow asked drolly, ruffling his hair. "When I return to the palace, everyone will think that I'm you."

"But why? Do you want to be king?" Adam knew what the next step would be if that were the case, and he prepared to dodge.

"That headache?" the double exclaimed. "Your father can have it. No, what I want won't take too long if that mechanic you spend so much time with is as good as his reputation claims."

"I don't understand. You want Man-at-Arms to make you something?" The copy nodded. "Then why not just petition my father? I'm sure something -"

"No, boy. Your father already turned my proposal down. Now it's time to take steps." Adam leaned forward to say something else, but his double waved a hand. "Enough of this. I must leave. Remove those pajamas."

Adam sat stupidly for a moment digesting that request, then said, "Why should I help you?"

The imposter shook his head condescendingly. "Let me put it simply for you, boy. How many people back at your palace could I just walk right up to looking like this?" Adam stiffened, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. "Especially if I paste one of your inane smiles on my face. One of those so-called 'Masters' of yours? That little red-haired creature? Your mother?" Adam's heart was in his throat. If this was leading where he thought it was. . . . The imposter walked over to one of the chairs by the table and rested a hand gently on its back, murmuring unintelligible syllables as he did so. The chair sparked very briefly, then collapsed into a pile of cinders. Adam gulped. "I just lay a hand lightly on a shoulder or an arm and 'poof!'" He grinned maliciously. "If I caught them all at private moments, who knows how many I could eliminate before anyone caught on." The imposter paused, measuring Adam with his eyes. "Your mother will be the first if you cross me," he said with a sinister smile.

Adam took a deep breath and clenched his teeth. Slowly, reluctantly, he removed his pajamas, one of several monogrammed pairs that his mother had made him while he was stuck in bed. The impostor watched him closely while he undressed, which made him acutely uncomfortable. He drew the cover from the bed across his lap before he pulled off the bottoms. The imposter raised an eyebrow and smirked. Adam felt himself redden. "So, what are you going to do with me?" Adam asked, tossing the clothes on the floor. He sort of hoped that the imposter would bend to pick them up. Man-at-Arms had taught him a couple of tricks that would enable him to knock the villain out in that position. Without a weapon, that was his best chance.

Instead, the man just reached out a hand, spoke another word and the clothing rose into his grasp. He shrugged. "Just leave you here." Adam wished he had some idea of where "here" was. The room was maybe twelve foot by twelve foot and utterly blank of feature. The ceiling and floor appeared to be more or less the same as the walls. A blazing ball of witchlight illuminated the space. The imposter lifted a finger, drawing his attention. "But there are rules." He quirked a smarmy grin. "Or one rule, actually. You may not try to leave this room. If one section of the wall around you is breached, I will know it instantly."

"How?" Adam demanded.

The imposter took a menacing step toward him. "Do I need to turn anything else to ash, boy?" Adam shrank back. "If you break through these walls, I will go immediately to find your mother, and she'll be dead before you get anywhere." Adam stared up at him, unable to think of any alternatives. "There are clothes for you under the bed. They will be replaced each day, and food will appear on the table at regular mealtimes. All waste, too, will be removed by magic. You will want for nothing."

"But what then? You don't intend to leave me here forever, do you?" Adam's voice squeaked on the word 'forever,' and he clamped his mouth shut.

The double threw back his head and laughed. "No, boy, no! When I get what I want, you will be returned to your father. You are a bargaining chip, no more."

He made a grand gesture that created a glowing circle in front of him, stepped forward, and was gone.

Adam sat for awhile, staring at the blank walls of this box. Then he rose and took the clothes out from under the bed, hastily putting them on. He adamantly didn't like being undressed under these circumstances. Then he sat back down on the bed. As far as he could tell, it was still deep night, and he could think of nothing productive to do. He lay back on the bed, pulling the cover over himself, and lay there a long time, staring up at the ceiling.

****

Mekanek was surprised early the next morning to see Adam walking toward him across the courtyard. Like most teenagers, Adam tended to sleep in whenever possible. He looked well rested, though, and he seemed different somehow. Less tentative in his movements, perhaps.

It was amazing what a good night's sleep could accomplish, Mekanek reflected. That, and perhaps Stratos' little talk the day before had given the prince a boost.

Orko floated up to the prince and said something, Mekanek couldn't tell what. Adam rolled his eyes at the jester, and whatever he said made Orko stop dead in the air, slump, and float off dejectedly.

Adam kept walking, and didn't even seem to notice the Trollan's response to his brush off. When he drew near, Mekanek said, "Good morning, your highness." He nodded, and made as if to keep walking. "What brings you out of bed so early this morning?"

"I have something I want to talk to my father about," he said impatiently, starting immediately to turn away.

Mekanek tilted his head. "Get up out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, Adam? And what did you say to Orko?"

"Nothing important," Adam said, shrugging. "That little red clown can be really annoying, you know?"

Mekanek didn't quite know what to say to that. Adam walked off toward the building where his father's office was. If he spoke like that to Randor, he'd get a bit of a bee in his ear, Mekanek thought. What was up with him these days? Depression didn't cut it. Being sulky was one thing, being callously rude to Orko was quite another.

****

When the door opened, Randor looked up from the massive pile of financial statements he was reviewing, ready to growl at the intruder for failing to knock. The angry remark died on his lips, however. Adam stood in the doorway, actually smiling.

Randor set aside the tax report and stood up. "Adam, good morning. How are you feeling today, son?"

"Fine, Father," Adam said. "I hate to interrupt you, but I'd like to talk."

Randor blinked. Adam wanted to talk to him? "Of course, Adam. What can I do for you, son?"

"Is there any way we could go somewhere a little more private?" Adam looked out into the hallway. "You know, where no one's likely to walk in?"

Was something wrong? He certainly didn't seem overly glum. "Of course. We'll go to my study." Randor set a slow pace so that Adam wouldn't overtax himself by trying to keep up. Adam walked silently beside him, his eyes scanning the people around them. Randor grew worried. The way Adam gazed around gave his father the direst of forebodings. Had something untoward happened? Did he have some suspicion of somebody?

When they reached the room, Randor closed the door swiftly and turned back to face his son. Adam waited, leaning against the heavy wood table that stood in the center of the room, arms crossed and head cocked in a most uncharacteristic manner. There was a smirk on Adam's face that he'd never seen there before.

"All right, Adam, what -"

Adam held up one finger to forestall him. "Can we be overheard here?" Randor shook his head. What was wrong with the boy today? As if in answer to his unvoiced question, the young man said, "Well, for starters, I'm not Adam."

Randor felt his eyes widen, and he stopped breathing. Had the stress been too much for Adam? Was he quite sane? Images of his son strapped to a bed, hopelessly mad, passed through his mind rapidly. He shook his head. It wasn't wise to borrow trouble. "What do you mean?" he asked, striving for a neutral tone.

Adam raised a supercilious brow. "Don't look at me that way, old man," he said in an amused voice. "I'm not crazy, but I am most assuredly not your son."

Now that he'd dropped all pretense, the young man did seem a completely different person. But. . . . But. . . . "It's not possible!" Randor exclaimed. "Unless -" a horrible thought struck him "- Evil-Lyn?"

The figure of Adam pushed himself up from his relaxed pose. Rage snapped in his eyes. "I've nothing to do with those fools at Snake Mountain! They are idiots who blunder about making things more difficult for -"

Randor's impatience got the better of him. "If you're not Adam, where is he?"

The boy broke off and gave him a malicious smile. Randor found it nauseating to see such an expression on Adam's face. "He's quite safe," the imposter drawled nonchalantly. "But a long way off. And he will stay safe just so long as you do what I tell you to do."

"What do you want?" Randor asked warily. Whoever this imposter was, he'd fooled him completely for at least that short trip through the halls. He was the very image of Adam.

The fellow grinned impudently at him. This was both so unlike Adam, yet so like him, that Randor ground his teeth. "Don't you worry, your highness. I don't want that tinsel crown you wear on your head. I don't want to be prince or even king of Eternia. What a headache!"

Randor curbed an immediate impulse to give the insolent creature a headache he'd never forget, and merely grated, "So now I know what you don't want. What do you want?"

"Always to the point. Very direct, the jolly king of Eternia." He walked with a spring in his step halfway to the window, then stopped. After a brief pause, he started moving again, now imitating Adam's slow, careful walk. The acid in Randor's stomach churned. "Mustn't give people the wrong impression, you know," he said, turning back and leaning on the window sill. Randor was glad that a tall, bushy tree shielded that window so that no one could see in to see Adam's father gazing at him with hatred in his eyes. "Now, back to business. I want you to have your mechanic build me a tool."

"A tool?" Randor asked incredulously. ** What kind of a tool can he possibly want? **

"Yes, man, a tool. Don't tell me you've been king so long that you've forgotten what one is!"

Randor felt himself reddening with anger at the fellow's impudent taunts, but he reminded himself that this imposter had complete control of Adam.

Or did he? The doppelganger had produced no evidence that he actually held Adam prisoner, for merely looking like Adam was no proof. "How do I know that you really have my son?" Randor asked. "What proof can you give me?"

"I'm assuming you want something short of a pinky?"

An image came unbidden to Randor's mind of Adam's finger in a white box tied with a purple ribbon. He found himself unable to breathe for a moment . Striving to maintain control, he raised an eyebrow. "Preferably," he grated through his teeth.

The imposter sauntered over to Randor and handed him a small object - a flat piece of river rock, about palm-sized, dark gray and polished to a brilliant sheen. Waving a careless hand across it, he said, "Activate." Suddenly the shiny surface seemed to drop away to reveal an overhead view of a small room with a table, a chair, a narrow cot and what looked to be a chamberpot.

And Adam. Clad in grey pajamas of some kind, he sat at the table, picking at a plate of food in front of him, much the way he'd been picking at all his meals for days now. It looked like a reasonable enough breakfast, and Randor wondered how it had been conveyed to him. Was there an accomplice that might be suborned?

As he watched, Adam hauled back with his fork and hurled it solidly at the wall so that it stuck there and vibrated. Randor wondered if he was imagining his doppelganger standing before him, and he sympathized wholeheartedly with the boy.

The double made tut-tutting sounds. "Naughty boy needs to control his temper," he said.

Randor fixed him with a steely glare. "Don't you touch a hair on his head!" he ordered.

The man, for Randor had realized by now that this controlled and insolent creature was no boy, just smiled back at him. "If I get what I want the way I want it, your precious Adam will be just fine."

A movement of the image drew Randor's attention back to the small rock. Adam stood up carefully and walked across the room. He yanked the fork savagely from the wall, then placed it across the barely touched plate. Then he began what Randor recognized as his physical therapy exercises. ** Good boy, ** Randor thought. ** Get your legs back under you. **

"That's enough." The double waved his hand across the image, saying, "Deactivate." He took the stone from Randor's suddenly nerveless hands. Adam had been taken - again. Right from under his nose - again. ** What kind of a father am I? What kind of a king? **

Mastering himself, he said merely, "What, precisely, do you want?"

"You're a very controlled sort of fellow, aren't you, Randor?" the imposter asked genially, watching his face. "You're going to give yourself an ulcer at this rate."

Randor clenched his fists with impotent rage. In calm, even tones, he asked, "What must I have Man-at-Arms build in order for you to return my son?"

"Oh, it's nothing too complicated, but I want it fast." He reached into his - Adam's - pocket and pulled out a somewhat battered scroll of paper. He spread it wide on the table, and Randor walked over to look at it, only to find the drawing startlingly familiar.

"But," he said slowly, his gaze rising to the imposter's face. "I've seen this before. Six months ago. That old historian from -"

"Yes, I know. Your response to my petition was very polite and to the point, but totally unacceptable."

"You -" Randor broke off, shaking his head. "But he had impeccable references. Lord Kestarion vouched for him himself."

"Actually, I lifted the papers off the nice old geezer while pretending to be one of his students. I doubt he's missed them yet.

"Oh." Randor remembered the proposal clearly. "Well, fine then. I withdraw my objection. I'll move the village, you have your permit to dig."

The imposter shook his head in mock sorrow. "It's too late for that, Randor. That plan is now obsolete. I've done a bit more research since then. You'll note the changes to the design." He gestured and Randor did see them, mostly a matter of upgrading the materials and some of the joints. "The rock there is harder and denser than I'd originally anticipated."

Randor nodded curtly. "Fine, then. Man-at-Arms can build this I'm sure. I'll just evacuate the villagers and -"

"No!" The word came out of the imposter like a shot. Randor watched as he regained his control. "No," he said again, more casually. "I don't want to draw any more attention to that location than is strictly necessary. Just leave those villagers where they are."

Randor gave the doppelganger a suspicious look, but he didn't say anything. He could always move the villagers at the last minute. He'd have to work out an evacuation plan. . . . Shaking his head, he said, "I guess I'd better send for Man-at-Arms." He reached for the bellpull, but the imposter put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Wait," the man said. Randor's skin crawled at the touch of the ersatz Adam, and he jerked his arm away. The fellow smiled lazily at his reaction. "Do you think I have any chance of fooling your closest friend and advisor, as well as Adam's mentor?"

"Fooling him? But -"

The imposter shook his head and sighed. "If Duncan is let in on this little situation, he'll manufacture a thousand delays. A secret is safest when only one person knows it."

Randor raised an eyebrow. "You and I make two," he pointed out.

"Me?" the imposter said, his voice lightening into Adam's tones. "I'm just Adam. I don't know anything!" Grinning Adam's carefree grin, he walked toward the door.

"Wait," Randor exclaimed before he realized he was speaking. The double turned back and gave him a curious look. "How do I know you won't kill Adam the minute you're out of my sight?"

"Paranoid, aren't we?" The fraudulent prince chuckled. "But I suppose I can understand why." He tossed Randor the stone. "You know the words I used to make it work. Just be careful no one else sees it." He went back to the door, giving Randor a jaunty wave. But he paused, his hand on the door knob and turned back. "Oh, and if I get the notion that you've told anyone, even your dear, sweet wife, I'll cripple him in some way that neither you, nor he, will ever forget." His eyes narrowed. "And I'll still expect my machine." With that, he opened the door and left. The door swung shut behind him, Randor sank into the chair at the end of the table. He sat there for a long time, unable to fathom what to do next, staring at the smooth surface of the gray rock.