Hey, guys. Just a warning - this chapter might be a little dark for some of you, so watch out. But actually I had a good time writing this one. It was quite interesting to explore the mind of an angry robber...

That's enough for now, I suppose. Thanks for reviewing, peoples, and hope you enjoy this chappie!

P.S. Do you think I might want to raise the rating to T from K ? Tell me your thoughts in your reviews!

Chapter Seventeen: Hatred

It was getting light again. Suddenly Mo remembered the words on Dustfinger's note - By the sunset of three days from now... That was tomorrow. Tomorrow. The Castle of Night seemed even more intimidating than when Mo saw it last - but perhaps that was because he was no longer burning with fever. There were the gallows, standing in the courtyard - but now Mo knew that he wasn't going to be killed by those dangling ropes.

"Put the Bluejay and his daughter in the dungeons!" the Adderhead called out to Basta and some guards. Mo was hauled off the horses by the guards, Meggie by Basta. Mo felt his fist clench involuntarily as Basta dragged Meggie into the castle, although the guards weren't very gentle with him, either. Meggie glanced at him and tried to smile, but failed miserably. Poor child.

The dungeons were even colder and damper than the one Mo had once been imprisoned in with Meggie and Elinor. There were prisoners in the other cells, too - their moaning and groaning voices reached his ears. Meggie cringed each time she heard a particularly unpleasant voice or saw a bony hand reaching through the bars. Mo held her close, somehow, ignoring the spears that the guards jabbed at him. Meggie's warmth felt so good in the cold dungeon.

They shut him and Meggie inside a small cell, and locked the door. Before they left Basta said - "Enjoy your stay, Silvertongue, because this is going to be the last hours of your damned life. I'm looking forward to your execution..." with a wicked laugh Basta left, leaving Meggie and Mo in the darkness.

Mo was glad that Meggie was here.

The two barely spoke. There was no need to say anything. Mo stared at his injured hand, which was barely even visible in the darkness. Meggie had told him how Basta had taken her to the Adderhead, and how she had written the paper airplane note. Mo explained that he and the robbers had followed her to the inn, and reluctantly, how he had lost his finger. Sobs shook Meggie after that.

Mo had lost track of time by the time the executioner came with a torch in his hand.

"Mo!" Meggie whispered, grasping his uninjured hand tightly.

"No, I can't kill you yet, Bluejay," the executioner looked sullen as he unlocked the cell. "Unfortunately."

"What do you want?" Mo asked quietly, standing up. Meggie was holding onto his arm so tightly that it hurt.

"The Adder has requested that we... ask you for some information."

Two other guards came in and pried Meggie from Mo's arm.

"Meggie! I'll be all right!" Mo hissed. "They can't kill me yet!" But they can hurt me, thought Mo. Meggie obviously knew that.

Meggie sobbed harder than ever and called his name as they shoved Mo outside the cell. Mo noticed that they didn't take him very far - to a small but clear area deeper in the dungeon. Probably Meggie could hear, and possibly, see, everything that was going on. Bastards.

Without a word the executioner made Mo strip off his shirt. A cold feeling overtook him as he slowly realized what they were about to do to him. The guards held him - one at each arm. As the executioner drew out a wicked-looking whip Mo knew that his guess had been correct. He had read far too many books that spoke of whippings in the medieval ages. Mo felt a strange sort of numbness as he stared at the weapon. Not fear, but hatred.

"So, Bluejay," the executioner growled, "where are your robber friends?"

Mo gave a hollow smile. The only fear he felt was fear for Meggie, and fear for his fellow robbers. The guards exchanged confused glances. Obviously not many people smiled before getting whipped.

"If you think I'll utter a single word about my friends, I'm afraid you don't know who you're dealing with here."

As soon as the words left his mouth there was a shattering crack. The whip caught Mo brutally across the face. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling them water from the pain and shock.

"Where are they?"

Mo didn't say a word.

Another crack, and Mo fell forward, feeling a line of fire running down his bare back. The guards yanked him upright again.

The lashing had just begun.

Meggie let the tears flow as she heard one crack after another. She had read enough to know that the horrifying sounds were whipcracks. They were lashing Mo. Lashing him. For a moment Meggie wished that she had never met Fenoglio. If it weren't for him none of this would be happening... Back in her own world Meggie couldn't have had imagined that meeting the innocent writer, Fenoglio, would lead into such a terrible situation.

There were shadows, cast by the torches the guards had brought. All Meggie could see was the flicking shadow of the whip. She thought she could feel the pain, herslef - as if it was her, and not her father, that was being lashed.

It seemed like ages before it was finally over.

The executioner and the guards exchanged some brief words. The whipping ceased. Meggie held her breath and tried to hold back her tears as they hauled Mo back to the cell. He was a terrible sight. They had taken off his shirt, and his bare chest was glistening with sweat. As Meggie's eyes travelled up to his face she spotted the bloodied line running across his face.

"Mo!" Meggie sobbed and ran forward. This time the guards didn't stop her as she drew close to her father. One of them threw a forlorn bundle into the cell before locking it. It was Mo's shirt.

He was leaning against the damp stone wall, eyes half-closed and breathing heavily. He was shaking all over. Meggie picked up the shirt and went to him.

"Mo... I'm so sorry..." Meggie whispered as she helped him struggle into his shirt. She saw the angry red welts crisscrossing his back, and felt tears on her face again.

"I'm fine, Meggie," Mo said as Meggie ran her finger over the line of blood on his face. Her finger was wet with the red liquid, afterwards, and she held it close to her heart like a love token. The pair sat in the dark dungeon without speaking for a long while.

"Fenoglio is a horrible old man, isn't he, Mo?" Meggie whispered to her father.

Mo smiled at her - it was a sad, mysterious smile that so closely resembled Dustfinger's. "Yes, I suppose so. But I must thank him for creating the Bluejay... It's a once-in-a-lifetime experience, isn't it? Being a famous robber in a world of words?"

"I want to go home, Mo!" Meggie pressed her face into Mo's chest, and listened to the heart beating inside it.

"You will, Meggie." Mo murmured, stroking her hair. "Soon. I swear."

They were silent again. Mo shifted, and reached into his pocked. Suddenly he let out a mirthless laugh.

"What is it, Mo?"

Mo held out something for Meggie to see. Squinting, she could make out that it was his cell phone. How awkward it looked in the Inkworld. Meggie hadn't seen any electrical device for two months, now.

"Does it still work?"

Mo turned the phone on. "Yes." he laughed again. "I thought I'd find a knife to pick the lock with, or perhaps something sharp. Anything more useful than this." He turned to Meggie. "Keep it, Meggie."

"Why?" Meggie felt bewildered as she took the phone.

"It might come in handy for you. The Inkworld doesn't have technology, remember, so perhaps you can use it to startle someone in an emergency..."

Meggie had to agree that this was a good idea. She slipped the phone into her pocket. She leaned against Mo's shoulder and drifted off to sleep...

Mo listened to Meggie's breathing and his own heartbeat in the dark cell. Why wouldn't those lines of fire on his back go away? Being lashed was just as painful as he had thought it would be, but it was nothing unbearable. Quite possibly the Adderhead had far more excruciating forms of torture than that would have had him screaming in agony, but obviously it would render him unable to participate in the execution. As far as Mo knew whipping was a form of punishment, not torture.

There was a sensation in his heart. A boiling sensation that was ever so hot and cold at the same time. Hatred. Mo could feel it, bubbling up inside him, making him want to draw his sword and destroy everything in sight. Hatred. What an emotion, so uncontrollable, so powerful, so... frightening. But hatred gave one strength. Without hatred Mo would have never killed all of those soldiers, and he wouldn't be alive now. Without hatred he would have given in to the lashing. What Mo had feared most during the whipping was that he would scream and make those damned guards laugh their heads off with pleasure.

Hatred. Mo clenched his teeth, holding in the roar of rage that was building up inside of him. That accursed Adderhead... Mo had vowed, each time the whip had came down onto his back, that he would kill that king, kill him and all of his servants. He would kill the Wildcat, whoever that beast was, and he would kill Mortola and Basta. He would kill.

Hatred. What an emotion.