Forrell. No matter how you try to worm your way out of this, the king will hold you as responsible for his son’s torture and death as me. And you know it. That is why you were so shocked by the news that a Starlaw might be the man I killed. That you weren’t actually in the marketplace won’t matter. You’ve cooperated with me the entire time my brawlers and I have been present on this worthless dung heap. You wanted wealth and power; I gave it to you.” He snorted, then sneered. “I’ll remind you again of what will happen if you cross me.”
Adaman swallowed hard, clasped his hands together, then wrung them. If he didn’t stop Prometheus, things would quickly go from bad to worse. “Listen to me … if you go through all the households looking for a man who is likely dead, people will know something is wrong. Rumors will start as to who you’re looking for and why. We could have another rebellion on our hands, and your brawlers might have to work the mines themselves instead of depending on the forced labor of our remaining miners.”
Prometheus quickly turned away. “I
will
find out what happened to the enforcer. If it were possible for him to survive, he’d be seeking medical help. Someone with knowledge of healing would be necessary.”
Adaman thought for a long moment, and then a bit of trivia came to mind he’d not thought of before. “There was once a Wiccan healer helping the people. The family name was Drayton. The mother took up helping the sick and injured after I refused to buy incubation units. Her husband was Bellos Drayton. But you had them killed, didn’t you?”
“I remember humans with that name causing us trouble. If they
were
dissenters, then I had my brawlers seek them out.”
Adaman shrugged. “Bellos Drayton’s wife was the only healer we had. She was the only person with any kind of extensive medical knowledge at all. If she’s dead, there’s no one to whom an injured person can go. That’s why so many die and end up in the pits.”
“Were there no neighbors who might have worked with his woman? Someone she may have trained in the Wiccan ways?”
“No,” Adaman told him. “I can’t remember anyone helping her.” He sighed and shook his head in denial. “There simply isn’t anyone an injured stranger could rely on. I tell you the king’s son is dead. The only incubation units for the sector are those aboard your own vessels. The man has to be rotting somewhere. None of the remaining colonists would go to his aid, risking their life in the process. My constables say you had this man tied to a post, and that you didn’t miss. He’s in whatever afterlife he believed in,” Adaman insisted.
Prometheus snarled and clenched his hands into fists. “Still … my brawlers and your constables couldn’t find his body even as they located Codge’s. The enforcer and my dead minion were taken to the pit together. I don’t care what you say, Forrell, something isn’t right. I know a Starlaw is out there.” Prometheus turned toward the window again. “I will find him. I won’t rest until I see his cadaver.”
• • •
Marcos’s vision finally cleared, and he fought remnants of the nightmare. His body was covered with open wounds, but he was no longer in the marketplace or the rock pit where he’d been dumped. Then his fogged brain pieced together the events. He’d been rescued by some kind soul.
He gazed around as flickering tongues of flame leapt from a small fire. The cave in which he found himself was formed from pure red clay. The whimper of a small animal drew his attention. There was a furry mammal of some kind scooting around a small form at the base of one wall.
Then he remembered
her
.
“Creator’s blood!”
He stretched one hand toward the woman and almost touched her left arm. “Please be all right. I had a nightmare and thought you were one of the slugs.” He’d lashed out and remembered her attempts to hold him down. “Please say you can
Adaman swallowed hard, clasped his hands together, then wrung them. If he didn’t stop Prometheus, things would quickly go from bad to worse. “Listen to me … if you go through all the households looking for a man who is likely dead, people will know something is wrong. Rumors will start as to who you’re looking for and why. We could have another rebellion on our hands, and your brawlers might have to work the mines themselves instead of depending on the forced labor of our remaining miners.”
Prometheus quickly turned away. “I
will
find out what happened to the enforcer. If it were possible for him to survive, he’d be seeking medical help. Someone with knowledge of healing would be necessary.”
Adaman thought for a long moment, and then a bit of trivia came to mind he’d not thought of before. “There was once a Wiccan healer helping the people. The family name was Drayton. The mother took up helping the sick and injured after I refused to buy incubation units. Her husband was Bellos Drayton. But you had them killed, didn’t you?”
“I remember humans with that name causing us trouble. If they
were
dissenters, then I had my brawlers seek them out.”
Adaman shrugged. “Bellos Drayton’s wife was the only healer we had. She was the only person with any kind of extensive medical knowledge at all. If she’s dead, there’s no one to whom an injured person can go. That’s why so many die and end up in the pits.”
“Were there no neighbors who might have worked with his woman? Someone she may have trained in the Wiccan ways?”
“No,” Adaman told him. “I can’t remember anyone helping her.” He sighed and shook his head in denial. “There simply isn’t anyone an injured stranger could rely on. I tell you the king’s son is dead. The only incubation units for the sector are those aboard your own vessels. The man has to be rotting somewhere. None of the remaining colonists would go to his aid, risking their life in the process. My constables say you had this man tied to a post, and that you didn’t miss. He’s in whatever afterlife he believed in,” Adaman insisted.
Prometheus snarled and clenched his hands into fists. “Still … my brawlers and your constables couldn’t find his body even as they located Codge’s. The enforcer and my dead minion were taken to the pit together. I don’t care what you say, Forrell, something isn’t right. I know a Starlaw is out there.” Prometheus turned toward the window again. “I will find him. I won’t rest until I see his cadaver.”
• • •
Marcos’s vision finally cleared, and he fought remnants of the nightmare. His body was covered with open wounds, but he was no longer in the marketplace or the rock pit where he’d been dumped. Then his fogged brain pieced together the events. He’d been rescued by some kind soul.
He gazed around as flickering tongues of flame leapt from a small fire. The cave in which he found himself was formed from pure red clay. The whimper of a small animal drew his attention. There was a furry mammal of some kind scooting around a small form at the base of one wall.
Then he remembered
her
.
“Creator’s blood!”
He stretched one hand toward the woman and almost touched her left arm. “Please be all right. I had a nightmare and thought you were one of the slugs.” He’d lashed out and remembered her attempts to hold him down. “Please say you can
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