I woke up in somewhere other than my bed at the inn with a major headache. After the various times I'd woken up in a strange place, I was scarily used to it. But where was Fisk?

"Fisk didn't teach you anything, did he?" Someone asked. The voice bounced off the walls, piercing my aching skull with stabbing pain. I couldn't see anyone, but when I tried to stand up I knew I was A) tied up and B) concussed.

That voice was familiar. Where had I heard that voice?

Memories of the last occasion flashed in my brain. A dark carriage pulling up beside me and Fisk on a muddy road; a rain-soaked cliff; my slippery, wet fingers clinging to ledge of a wall of stone. It couldn't be.

He walked out and stood over me with his head tilted in disdainful, detached curiosity. "For the better, I suppose. You see, you and your… squire severely annoyed my employer. And, even worse, myself."

"You're Jack Bannister." I said, remembering the various life lessons Fisk had bitterly referred to over the years. "Or rather, you're the man whose name isn't Jack Bannister."

"Is that what Fisk calls me? That's quite the lengthy title."

"It's usually just Jack."

Why was I talking? I wanted to leap to my feet and attack him. I wanted to call him words I scolded Fisk for using. I wanted to find Fisk.

"I'm just surprised he confided in you."

It was hard to say which word was meant to have inflection. Was he surprised that Fisk of all people had confided in someone, anyone? That he'd confided in me in particular? Or both?

I settled for a much more important question. "Where the hell is Fisk?" I asked, trying to show as much hatred as I felt in the words.

"Your squire is safe and sound asleep in that squalid inn. It would be illegal to kill him for no reason. And as confident as I am in my ability to disappear, I doubt that the hired men would keep their traps closed for me. There are only so many places that don't have warrants out for me, and this is one of the very last ones."

"So what's your plan now? You're going to take your anger at Fisk and I out on me only instead? Or drive him to one of those places where you're already a criminal?"

"Neither. He's going to come here, break into my house, and I will kill him in self defence."

"Why?"

"Why? Because of that little escapade on the cliff. You cost me and my employer a lot of money."

"No, why would Fisk come here?"

"To save you, of course. He's grown soft in the past years. I saw him on the cliff, all heartbroken because his employer was dead. If my employer was dead, I'd spit in his face and rob him. There was a time when Fisk could say the same."

"He'll never come. He's too smart for that."

"Really? So, the Lady Cecil incident was a one-time thing. I suppose the brilliant escape from the ship was a one-time thing too. Over and over he's come to save you. Why not now? Why not when he hates the person holding you captive with a passion?"

"He'll think I'm dead."

"No. He won't."

My captor returned with a quill, ink, parchment, a newspaper, and a knife.

"What's the point of kidnapping me if you plan on killing me?" I asked tiredly. 'Tis amazing how exhausting lying on a stone floor with your arms and legs cramped uncomfortably due to being trussed up like a pig awaiting slaughter.

He slashed through my bonds. If I'd thought lying there was painful, being able to move without warning was worse.

"Take a look through this newspaper. Write something about a recent event on the paper. Then you can write whatever you want, within reason. Meaning, don't tell him my plan or what this place looks like."

"I won't write anything. I'm not leading Fisk into your trap."

"This chivalry thing is truly tiring, Michael Sevenson. Write him, or I'll visit Seven Oaks personally. It so happens there's already a warrant for me out there, from a con I did several years ago. So whatever I do there doesn't matter to me."

"Even you wouldn't kill innocents like that!"

"Look me in the eyes and say that again." He told me.

I couldn't. He would, and in a heartbeat. Whatever my family had put me through, it wasn't worth their lives. And Kathryn especially didn't deserve it.

So I picked up the newspaper and flicked through it. There. An ad for a horse. I copied the advertisement, word for word, onto the paper while Jack watched me carefully. Under it I wrote:

Dear Fisk,

Jack Bannister is sitting here watching me write, holding a knife. I've got a head injury and I can't do much to escape. He says if I don't write this, he'll kill my family. I have to.

If you were ever going to listen to me, this is the time you need to. Don't come. Tis a trap, as you very well know. If you come, he wins. It's as simple as that.

"That's enough. Sign your name." Jack interrupted.

—Michael Sevenson

Jack gathered everything, stood up, and left. Apparently I was allowed to more around now.

Not that it would do me any good. I was in a dimly lit cellar with one exit, a hatch that closed behind Jack and soon had some large piece of furniture moved over it.

I was screwed big time.