Balance Of Power

Integrating new denizens. That's the favourite part of my otherwise thankless job. There's a selfish, positive and uplifting feeling of accomplishment watching Mobians formerly bound for the Roboticizer to laugh, cry and prance; free in their new homes. I know it's dangerous and self-serving to accredit such success to myself. But it's the only form of positive feedback I get.

Immigrants usually came in dribs and drabs. No more than two to five. Individuals were dangerous. They could be collaborators; working for Robotnik. Large groups were dangerous in their own right. They were usually marauders; seeking loot and plunder. To top it all off, most genuine immigrants were destitute, often arriving with little more than the clothes on their back. It's no surprise really. Those who had the means of travel often had little reason to do so. Consequently, some who came were criminals and exiles.

Owing to their negative connotations, immigrants were typically looked down upon. Though perhaps that would have been the case even if they didn't arrive with implicit stains on their records. Immigrants were naturally outsiders, unfamiliar with Knothole's customs, possessing vernaculars that marked them as foreign. Assimilation happened slowly. But the process was inevitable. Eventually, no one would remember that the immigrant hadn't been there all along.

The Pack were a different matter entirely. They were large and culturally distinct enough to sustain a community of their own. A community which would resist assimilation. Worse still was that in spite of the ordeal they had endured. They maintained a leader in Lobo. A figure who would provide guidance and solidarity in a time of crisis. It might have been one thing if he were kind, amicable and gentle. But it was clear Lobo was none of these things.

He surrounded himself with sycophants and flatterers who stoked the insatiable fiery appetite of his ego. He spoke harshly and decisively, sparing no kind words for outsiders. If the refugees were a rotten fruit of a problem; Lobo was the hardened pit at the centre. "I do not much like your organization," he noted to murmurs of affirmation. "There's no clear chain of command" he complained to encouraging nods from his fawners. I was used to barbs and jabs. But Lobo behaved like a drunkard. The type typically escorted out well before they became a nuisance.

If I had hoped to find the Pack in my debt, I was left sorely disappointed. A more cynical me would have taken up Lobo's earlier offer; turning the Pack loose with a modicum of supplies. The trouble was my conscience, which would not allow the Pack to face yet another dangerous trek through the wilderness. On his part, Lobo was well aware of his precarious position: that of a poor relation forced to kowtow to a rich relation, lest he be cut off. Consequently, his criticisms were muted and his venomous rhetoric couched behind calls for solidarity.

It was for this reason the tour was kept short. I showed them only the bare essentials; the latrines, the mess hall and outlined the vague and ever in flux boundaries of our home as defined by the truce. At the conclusion of the tour, I spoke as respectfully as I could, having no desire to remonstrate with Lobo. "While I admire your earnest feedback, I have other pressing appointments to attend to. If it is not at all opposed to you, I'd gladly arrange a suitable time and place where we may weigh the relative merits of our different forms of governance," this earned me a dismissive grunt.

Undeterred by the tepid reception I opted to press home my request. "I'll need a favour of you. While I'm widely read, I'm sure there're canards I could address were I to confer with someone from the Pack, privately." At my request, Lobo harrumphed, leaving Lupe to arrange an interview with Lyco whom I was assured was the more out-going among the twins.

With my interview secured and the monumental task of finding room and lodging for the Pack delegated to competent hands, it was now midmorning. Hot sunlight streamed from the sky. Flickies chirruped gaily in the trees, butterflies flitted amongst the wildflowers, and a light refreshing wind blew. In all respects, it was a normal day, save for one important thing: the war had taken an indefinite hiatus.

Antoine had gone down to the creek, apparently to sulk, and Bunnie followed presumably to console. My head hurt and thanks to sleep deprivation - a blurry film obscured my vision. Swaying back and forth. I trudged to the water pump taking a sip, raising my arms and letting the rest of the water trickle through my hair. It would be a long, hot day. Unless I figured out a way to hurry through my next unpleasant appointment, I would be forced to take my lunch there away from Sally's friends. I can't help but think that might be a good thing after all. As last night, Knothole saw a historic watershed moment in its storied history. Bunnie announced her wedding plans.

Geoffrey jogged up just as I had gathered my lunch of freshly picked corn from the fields. He stood before me, clearing his throat to gather my attention. "I find the ways you do things troubling. All too often, you allow others to overstep their bounds" he commented. It was a rebuke, but a private one given among friends.

"Delegation is an important skill as a leader, you told me that." I retorted. It wasn't the first time I had quoted something back to him and it certainly wouldn't be the last. If he were more cunning, he would have counterattacked. But we had been through enough of this song and dance to know that invariably my silver-tongue would end up winning.

Just in case, I had potential arguments planned out. Had he claimed delegation arose without orders I would reply that any position implied delegation when unforeseen events arose. It was, for this reason, Sally argued why rigid adherence to written policy was unimportant. In her view, people weren't interested in policy, but rather someone who would engage with it on their behalf.

No more questions came through, and that appeared to be that. With Geoffrey on the scene, my role was diminished to that of a figurehead. Still, I had achieved my goal of achieving a physical presence. All in all, I was pleased Hamlin had taken the initiative to draw up a census. Not just their needs but also the lay of their organization and the people within his orbit who could be deputized. Hamlin's work still left much to be desired. But he had tried to the best of his ability to account for their physical conditions and prior occupation. This was invaluable information which would refine our integration plans.

"We need to arrange temporary housing" I informed.. "It's standard procedure to reimburse a portion of the upkeep of a guest, just so it won't be a hardship on the hosting family"

"Yes, though it might be unworkable given it's the largest influx we've had in years. Besides, Lobo seems really upset with you. Any theories as to why?" Geoffrey asked while perusing through a set of handwritten notes.

"It's an erosion of his power" I postulated. "There'll be a diaspora, separating the members of the Pack from their chief. But it'll only be for a time."

What was key was loosening Lobo's unwelcome stranglehold over his people. The most direct means of accomplishing this being by approaching them while they were at their most desperate and vulnerable. Alone, in a foreign land with offers of citizenship. Their signatures would then by the alchemy of bureaucracy morph then into regular residents without Lobo's interference. But such underhanded tactics were distasteful to me. Besides, a smooth transition would only be possible with his support and I had a plan that might appeal to him.

He wasn't hard to find. In my absence, Lobo had seized his opportunity to give an impromptu speech on an overturned crate which formed a makeshift podium. The Pack listened but there were citizens of Knothole among them as well. "We've have been beaten," he declared. "But we'll be stronger from our scars. We've been broken but we'll be mended, stronger from our experiences. We've been exiled. But we'll be stronger from the journey." It was a speech of martyrdom.

Lobo had cast his people not just as survivors but as righteous victims of a cold and uncaring world. Yet, the message was not one with a silver lining. Within his speech, were criticisms of Knothole's 'decadent' ways. It was a poignant distinction to draw. After all, the Pack would be hit every time they spoke to anyone outside their inner circle. My people might take offence, but they weren't the intended audience. Lobo's narrative would be the ideal to which his Pack would follow whenever they had interactions with the larger community. While I was certain most wouldn't be infected with the same zeal as he, a rift had developed which he would no doubt exacerbate.

Had I been playing from a position of strength a speech of my own would be called for. The proper strategy wouldn't be to counter any specific points but to highlight unity. After all, our cultures were not altogether alien from one another and we stood in common against the dictator. At the moment, I made a snap decision not to reach for the mimeographed copy of his citizenship papers which were left sitting in my vest pocket though it would have been a decent enough time to segue.

"I entrust you have the situation is well at hand," I asked, turning to my aide.

Geoffrey yawned, stretching his arms over his head. It seemed he too hadn't slept a wink. I had never seen him look so tired. One minute he seemed strong and sensible and the next he looked exhausted. His eyes were red, blinking constantly. It seemed he was worn out just from breathing.

"I can handle it, Sally. Anyway, I think what you did yesterday took courage"

"Did it?" I asked. "Courage or stupidity? Or stubbornness?"

Suddenly he sagged. "I don't know and I'm sick of trying to find answers. You decide."

Only then was I struck with a supposition of dubious veracity. Geoffrey didn't have some epiphany I didn't. He believed Sir Charles too. He was holding on out of a sense of duty because he believed that going down fighting at the near-certain odds of defeat was better than settling for a very small success. This sort of thinking is why casinos used to make so much money in the old days.

He hadn't been alone in his thinking. Sir Charles's plan reminded me of our past. When the Acorn Kingdom's own industrial revolution was progressing forward by leaps and bounds we didn't know we were losing the environment till it almost became too late. The first thing you do when you're trying to protect the environment is to try and halt the degradation: But there's a point when it stops working, the only way to preserve species is to take as many of them as you can somewhere safe. Perhaps our home really was doomed. It was a bitter pill to swallow. But saving a few would be better than none.

I chocked, trying to take a deep breath. "And what am I supposed to do about Bunnie?!"

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

I threw up my hands in total exasperation "How can I even think about something that unimportant. Don't I have bigger things to worry about? The fate of Mobius resting on our shoulders?"

"Different things bother different people," he explained patiently. "I too understand being saddled with the burden of mutually exclusive goals. Besides, you're Princess -"

"NO! I'm not some monolithic entity rising over the common rabble. I'm scared, okay?! I'm scared of what almost happened to me in Robotropolis. I'm scared just knowing that place exists and the more exits I see for our predicament, the more scared I get."

For a long time, neither of us said anything as we stood amid a patch of tall golden corn stalks. The air was warm, but every so often, a faint breeze, cooled by the moisture of the forest floor, prickled skin. "You know how much sleep I got?" Geoffrey asked rhetorically. "An hour, I'm jumpy, scared and stressed. I'm starting to believe Bunnie's rat analogy holds water. I think I'll want to change my vote "

"I refuse to believe that we've reached that point. That we should just give up." I insisted.

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean we should assume others hold the same sentiments we do. I have doubts whether it's the right thing to do; keeping this affair entirely to ourselves. Besides, the truth will out itself whether we want it to and-"

"I'll manage it" I finished. "Surely you're aware bringing the truth to light at the wrong time can be disastrous. Rest assured it'll revealed it in time. All I ask for is a day to enlist Snively's help on getting a de-roboticizer going and to assemble a plan ... the skeletal framework of a plan" I stipulated. "We'll convene again in the evening to hash out the details, as promised."

"I will reserve my judgement till then. But the odds are definitely against you. Nonetheless, I wish you best of luck in your endeavours. In the meantime, I can only hope the others have the discipline to keep this to themselves..."

On a small knoll crowned with the Great Forest's ubiquitous tree cover. The venerable Tree Fort sat, keeping watch over the rocky pass. Up I came over the long winding path; past 'Sally's trainees' who stood guard over the narrow passes. All were on high alert for any potential interlopers and they stepped aside respectfully at my presence without fanfare.

Down, I descended into a musty storeroom. Light, warm and inviting spilt through the bars of latticed windows; washing over the wooden floor. Illuminating an otherwise dimly-lit cell in the far corner. Of course, it wasn't actually a cell. Merely an unused storeroom. But it was the best that could be mustered under the circumstances.

There seemed little point quibbling over where the second-most dangerous person in Mobius should be kept. Though Snively's mind was the near equal of his infamous uncle, he lacked in the physical department. Besides, for all the gloomy interior, damp floor, moss-covered walls and cobwebbed ceiling, there was one crucial quality that Snively's new accommodation afforded. Namely, it was the one place that the near-omnipresence of his infamous Uncle would not be able to reach.

"Hamlin Pig" I nodded to the porcine warden standing guard over the 'cell'.

He snapped to attention, handing me a thick bound book. "For our records, I'll need your signature," Hamlin said imperiously. I frowned, he was a stickler for rules. But I signed without protest.

"How's Snively been?" I asked.

"He hasn't tried escaping if that's what you're asking. To be honest, we're more here for his safety than stopping escape attempts. You know, It was pandemonium outside; folk crying out for vengeance."

"But he wasn't harmed at all throughout the commotion."

Hamlin puffs out his chest in pride "No Ma'am, I would've given my life ensuring no one would breach his cell without your say so"

"Thank you, you've certainly done a good job of handling the Pack as well. " Hamlin beamed with pride, before deciding to broach the unspoken question on everyone's mind.

"Forgive my piqued curiosity, but may I know what the little monster's execution method will be? I've been a little out of the loop. But I've heard that a gibbet would be set-up for a public hanging in the village square," Hamlin asked excitedly, almost as though he fantasized wringing Snively's neck himself. It would seem my people's mind was already made-up, revenge. It would seem like rational and reasonable thinking save an important fallacy. Snively was in a very real sense our one trump card against a violent and rash reaction by the dictator.

"We can't have a summary execution without trial," I replied

"A trial?" Hamlin staggered back nonplussed. "We both know we can afford none of these sentiments. The guilty verdict is clear. His sentencing is a matter of mere formality."

Of course, had I so desired I could easily have given legitimacy to a Kangaroo trial followed shortly thereafter by wringing Snively's neck in the gallows. But someone had to play devil's advocate. "Have you forgotten your defence at Antoine's trial? Surely, you value the sanctity of law which states that the accused are innocent until otherwise proven with sound evidence"

I knew we had had mounds of evidence for conspiracy and treason against the crown. No doubt had the due process run its course it would have taken years to expose every last heinous crime. Years which Knothole didn't have at the rate Robotnik was progressing. Hamlin's smug expression seem to falter before morphing into a frown.

"It's alright Hamlin. Now if you don't mind I'd like to be alone with the prisoner please."

"I'll watch out if I were you. He's one slippery character," he added, bowing respectfully before stepping outside, leaving me alone. Alone with Snively.

There are days in our lives that we all long for: days when we finally get opportunities we've waited for years and when dreams sometimes decades in the making finally come true. It's a feeling of utter peace and tranquillity, one that I've rarely felt nowadays.

NICOLE and Sir Charles were able to dredge much information from Robotnik's own archives but there was so much left unexplored. Certainly, it was useful tactically to know whether the contents of a particular Hover Swat contained either prisoners bound for the roboticizer or worthless ores awaiting refinement. But there remained plenty of unwritten strategic information. In particular, those involving the Dictator's inner workings. All of which Snively's willing co-operation would be able to provide and then some. It would be a long shot. But I would be a fool not to give it a try...

The storeroom's sole occupant sat in the exact center. He was as skinny as a rake; skin yellowed and leathery from jaundice. Like his infamous Uncle, he was mostly bald save a few stray strands which sprouted forth like a collection of unruly weeds. Inwardly I told myself he could feign innocence with ease, his soul was utterly corrupted and his thoughts harboured nothing but a deep-seated desire for all beautiful things to die.

His scrawny stick-like arms were extended and bent out to the side as though manacled though nothing of that sort held him in place. But it was plain to see he did not possess the inclination to escape. His bone-thin shoulders were visibly slumped and his scraggy fingers dragged on the floor. As I studied his features I noted that in spite of the look of shock; his expression remained hard, flat and rigid, giving no quarter in displaying the inner workings of his heart and soul.

Then he looked up. At once, every detail of his eyes came into focus. It was complex and conflicted. Despair, confusion, denial, anguish, self-loathing, hatred and above all a complete and utter helplessness. It was as if a pale of defeatism had descended over him. But as his eyes locked onto me, his expression rather than morphing into fury and a deep-seated desire for revenge as I anticipated was replaced instead with cold apathy.

"Well," he growled. "Have you come to gloat at my misfortune? My fall from grace? What do you want; to laugh; to extract your pound of flesh? Get in line."

"No Snively," I corrected. "If there's anything I've learnt over my short life is that it's never too late to change. That's why I'm here. To help you."

Snively seemed to choke from disbelief before he composed himself "You've done enough" he spat before staring at the floor once more. "I'm nothing now you see. All my plans have been rendered moot by your insipid meddling." It was hard to tell to what extent Snively's words were the result of inner self-loathing, frustration and what was due to feelings of worthlessness he felt.

Standing up straight and with as much authority in my voice as I could muster "It's no trick," I stated. "You may not exactly be trustworthy now," I cautioned. "But you'll find a place in our community. A place where you can atone for the damages you've caused. The others ... while they're not exactly pleased with this arrangement will do as I say. I'm the leader here, and they follow my judgements."

Like a dark suffocating blanket ripped away to let in the light of day an ugly look crossed his face; replacing his apathy. He flexed his stiff digits spasmodically. No doubt having gone numb from prolonged inactivity. Slowly, he sighed, seeming to deflate like a balloon as his shoulders sank into his chest. "Spare me your platitudes and false promises. Where did you inherit that attitude from? If these kernels of hope are all you have to offer me then I don't see what's so attractive about your offer versus rotting in prison" Snively spat, before an unconvincing veneer of sympathy entered his voice: "My deepest sympathies for the doddering fool, your naïve father."

That stung more than I thought it should. Maintaining a stoic, unchanging expression, I shook my head. "I don't expect things to go smoothly or easily but so long as you agree to certain guidelines and I'm sure you're aware of which ones. I believe we can come to a suitable arrangement."

Not shanking us while we sleep is a good first step.

Snively remained silent. Taking this to be a sign of receptiveness, I continued. "Not many others will get the opportunity you do," I warned. "Those who have collaborated with Robotnik will spend the rest of their lives in an oubliette, never to see natural light. Never to know freedom again for the rest of their days" I paused.

Outwardly, his expression remained unchanged but I heard his heart race. "You may be angry now. But prison will destroy anyone and everything in its retaliation. It may not happen right away. But soon, instead of the rage and anger, you feel now, there'll be numbness. Like a part of your soul is ripped away, leaving a great emptiness that can never be filled. It's like you'll never feel happiness ever again. There, dreams go to die."

Snively's head jerked-up locking his unnaturally cold eyeballs with mine "As far as I'm concerned you can walk out. Get out of my life and never come back. I'm nothing. You've taken away everything from me. So why don't you just end my pointless existence," he spat, his lip curling into its typical sneer.

"That's where you're wrong, Snively. You can still do great things. Assist me in my endeavours and I will be ingratiated for your actions."

The suggestion seemed to have planted its seeds. Since Snively could not disguise the bemused expression on his face. Although just what sort of tree would grow from this and its harvest would remain a mystery. "Quit speaking in riddles, princess. What do you mean?"

"I require a council, courtiers to administer the realm. I can't do it on my own. Assist me and you'll find a place among them" I hated dangling the proposition before him since it reeked of an agreement founded on the basis of duress with the unhealthy patina of mistrust on its surface. But there was no other choice whatsoever. Not if I wanted a chance at the veritable treasure trove of knowledge.

"A girl after my Uncle's heart," he grimaced, then tilted his head. "You sound a lot like Robotnik a lifetime ago".

I knew what he meant. What he feared. In spite of his apathy, he must have heard the jeers, and bays for his blood. I knew all too often, Snively caught the bulk of his Uncle's abuse for the damage wrought by Freedom Fighter raids. In time, broken bones could be set but shattered minds like his were a different matter entirely. Perhaps for a psyche, as grievously scarred as his., there could be no healing.

"Any position?" Snively pondered whilst coiling a strand of hair around his rail-thin finger. "Just so long as it's not the Minister of War," he surmised with an inoffensive smile

I have him! Mockery was a good sign.

I grinned impishly "Yes, anything but that. Within reason, of course. There're still great things you can do."

Snively tried to look scornful but somehow failed "I'll think about it. But I'll promise nothing."

Moving back to the door, I considered it safe for the first time to turn my back on him. "You may not believe this right now. But I'm glad that you'll consider my proposal. I'll get you your meal."

Behind me, I heard Snively shift followed by an audible popping of joints as he stretched. As far as I knew, that might have been his first movements since his incarceration.

"Just so long as it's that gruel you made."

"It's corn," I maintained as I peeled back the husk, revealing golden kernels glittering inside. Next, I removed a pin from my pocket and punctured one, causing white corn milk to ooze out before slipping the whole ear through the bars to the famished prisoner and munching on my own

"This isn't corn," Snively noted between chews. His face scrunched together, but it was clear he did not find the taste unwelcome. "It's sweet, like sugar almost." He commented as he devoured his meal. "It's really good, but it's not corn."

"It's regular sweet corn, it's just fresh," I elaborated as I slipped another ear of corn through the bars "Fresh corn is actually really sweet when first picked but it dries out after a day or so. Then it becomes like the corn we used to buy in stores."

"So, all this time, what I actually had was stale corn?" Snively asked, perplexed.

"It's not stale, it's just after you pick it, the sugar inside starts turning into starch, so it gets less sweet," I explained, pricking another ear of corn before passing it through the bars. "That's why you usually boil it before eating it, but since this corn is so fresh, you don't even need to cook it."

"Well, I don't like it," Snively complained, picking kernel bits from between his yellow-stained teeth.

"That's alright, some of the older folk like leaving theirs out to dry. We also use those to make popcorn on special occasions" he perked up at the mention of that. I returned my attention to my meal as Snively finished his. He wiped his mouth with an olive-green sleeve, taking to his feet and leaning on the bars of his cell. My ears perked up, swivelling at the disturbance. I knew I was probably being paranoid as even in her bruised, battered and exhausted state Sally was more than a physical match for Snively.

"Thanks for the meal" he grinned, bearing some of that old wickedness. "Let's talk some more. You know, we never formally met, not even during your formal debutante. So, let's start afresh then. I'm Colin Kintobar. I used to run Robotropolis with my uncle fraught with his constant abuse."

I frowned and refused to answer him. Most probably, he wanted to point out all our similarities and highlight how we weren't so different. I wasn't falling for that. We were dedicated to our respective causes; as different as night and day. I admire that. Even though exploring the parallels made my insides churn in discomfort. "We're not friends" I stated matter-of-factly.

"But we're not enemies either, unless you want us to be" he smirked.

"So, where does this leave us?"

"Neutrals I imagine, it leaves us neutrals" Snively scratched his chin "I can't imagine why you'd be so reluctant getting to know me considering you're offering me to work for you. You were Sir Charles' pupil, weren't you? I can't imagine your slack-jawed country bumpkin friends making for deep stimulating conversion, the hedgehog for instance."

"He has depth."

"The depth of a puddle maybe," the horrid man threw his head back and guffawed.

"Last night I met someone who was strong, smart and brave -"

He chuckled. "Well, I'll—"

"But nobody knew it. They all thought he was foolish, or at least most of them did. I faulted him for it. And I still do not believe myself entirely wrong having done so." I finished my meal and took to my feet. "I've other people I need to spend time with. I expect you'll need time to ponder over my offer and I shall return later to see if you've changed your mind."

"Then why are you still here?" he asked, spreading his arms over his cell. "Why are you here, Sally? Do you like wallowing in your misery too?"

I opened my mouth to pontificate on some excuse before closing it. "Maybe," I said, in a near whisper.

He folded his arms across his skinny chest "Do you think, after the war is over you'll become a namby-pamby princess? Just like that? "he snapped his fingers for emphasis. "Do you think the last decade will just vanish into nothingness?"

"I would never let it hurt anyone I care about."

His eyes twinkled. "It'll hurt someone. It always does." He was more intelligent than me (something I admired). But his logic was twisted and selfish.

"Not the way you hurt people," I finally answered. "What I do is for them."

"The very same you're avoiding now?" he asked, strumming his fingers against the iron bars. My incendiary hate for him rose. He smirked and ran his tongue lecherously across his unnaturally pale lips before puckering them up "Clearly, we're at an impasse" he noted, sending a chill went down my spine as his cold eyes washed over my features.

I folded my arms across my bosom. "What do you want?"

"A caveat you may say to verify the sincerity of your offer. A proviso, a stipulation. You understand. There's something I've always desired from you, a kiss."

"No" I protested.

"Princess, in my day and age my salary amounted to six figures of cold hard cash. Not the cowry shells, bottle caps or whatever form of currency your primitive post-apocalyptic society uses. I offer you my consideration for a steal; a kiss. The very same you give the hedgehog, willingly. But as you're well aware, free doesn't last. So what'll it be?

I knew I could refuse. My eyes could harden into daggers, and stab just as grievously. I had silenced him, and others, with just a glance before. He knew this. That's why it came to his complete surprise when I inclined my head at him, opened my mouth and gave him permission. He reached through the bars to the soft thick hair at the back of my neck, sliding it up. His wide eyes expressed bewilderment at his unexpected stroke of good fortune. I didn't think I was breathing, even as his other hand cupped my cheek. He leaned in close, pressing his lips to mine. Maybe, I could close my eyes and pretend. No, Sonic lacked that neediness, that desperation.

Finally, after a minute, he parted his lips smiling smugly. His cheeks flushed a vibrant pink. It was unsettling to see him with colour in his skin. It made him seem warm-blooded...alive. He was easier to hate when he was pale and apathetic like a corpse. But, the satisfaction faded to be replaced with bewilderment. His mouth twitched almost as if to ask: Why did you give in? It was something a fiendish villain like him could never grasp.

"Have you returned to torment me?" I mumbled.

"What was that my princess?" he said in a gentle mocking tone.

"Did I pass your test?" I asked, flat and devoid of any emotion.

"No," he smirked, becoming at once the pompous, baleful creature I despised. "I was just insulting you."

I felt tempestuous, self-righteous contempt flaring up as he leered at me through the bars. He was goading me, daring me to retaliate. Well, it was working. It would be so easy to do it now. I could always say he tried to escape and leaving him with a few extra bruises might even prove cathartic. My fists itched with desire to cave his unrepentant skull in. I turned to leave, lest I do something I regret.

"Your brother, Prince Elias. He's alive." Snively said at last. "As you can see I'm a man of my word."

Without turning my back, I said "You'll ask Hamlin for pen and paper. Write down everything you think is relevant to the Freedom Fighter cause. If you lie, I'll know."