“The lord is of the opinion that a child of Bardsham’s might pose a threat to him.”
“How, for the gods’ sake? Bardsham was no threat to him, either!”
“The how is not a matter I involve myself with. So I shall ask you once and only once more. Where is Jax?”
Soter looked back at Diverus and in the same instant swung the undaya case at the Agent. “Run!” he yelled. The Agent must have anticipated the attack. He sidestepped the case and slammed both hands upon it. The case pulled Soter off-balance, and he stumbled into the Agent. The hand bearing the jewel grabbed hold of his wrist. He screamed in agony. Diverus hadn’t moved, hadn’t run. Soter collapsed to his knees, but the Agent held on, and held his wrist up. “Stop it!” Diverus yelled. “Let him go!” The Agent considered him.
“Well?” he said. “Tell me what I know already.”
“If you know, then why do I need to tell you?”
Soter, pooled on the floor, made whining sounds.
The Agent smiled but there was no humor in it. He released his hold and Soter’s arm dropped. Soter curled around it, moaning in agony. “So Bardsham did have a son, heh? He was a small man, too.”
“What do you want?”
“You. I want you to come with me now.”
“Why should I do that? Why shouldn’t I run as he said?”
“Oh, dear. Didn’t you explain it to him, old man?” The Agent prodded Soter with the toe of his boot. “There is nowhere to run, boy. He should have told you that at the very least.” Diverus sensed movement behind him. He turned, to be astonished by what he saw. The four Agents he’d seen cast ablaze stood there. Their bodies smoked, so charred and blackened that he couldn’t tell how much of their costumes remained, how much was blackened skin, but their gray faces, smeared with soot, were the same, as humorless, hard, and smooth as marble. “Quick,” the Agent commanded.
The four surrounded Diverus so quickly that he barely saw them move.
“You will accompany us now. We want those cases and that bag as well, all of it.” The Agent turned, opened the door and walked outside.
They took hold of Diverus, and despite their condition, their touch was ice. He went with them without a struggle. Glancing down as he passed, he saw that Soter’s forearm had turned as gray as dead coral. Soter looked up at him through tears and, trembling, gasped, “I’m sorry.”
Diverus knelt to touch him, but the charred Agents kept him from quite reaching Soter. He said, “It’s all right,” though he knew it wasn’t. It was his doom he was going to. At least, he thought, he would save Leodora from that fate—the thing they called Tophet.
Leodora awoke to a squeal of metal above her head: the hinges of the door as it swung open. She shoved herself up on one elbow, having stretched out onto her side during the night, but the door kept opening and she pressed against the wall, her head turned, eyes squeezed shut against the impact. Then the squeal stopped. She opened one eye.
Through the gap between door and wall, she watched a tall man step into the room. He carried a board horizontally and passed almost immediately out of her line of sight. He murmured something to the prisoner that sounded almost tender; then he laughed and Leodora knew it hadn’t been tender at all. Yemoja snarled. The man said something else. When he went out, his hands were empty. He left the door ajar.
Leodora eased out from behind it. The guard had placed the board in the middle of the room. On it were a bowl and cup, and a lump of bread, and although the morning light coming in was gray and wan, she could tell that both bowl and cup contained liquid. The important thing was, the cell was dark. Yemoja said something to her, making no move toward the meal. She seemed to be indicating that Leodora should eat—a remarkable gesture given their circumstances.
Instead, Leodora went to the crack of the door and eased it back. It creaked again, and she ground her teeth at the noise. But nobody came to investigate.
Cautiously, she stuck her head out the door. She looked to the right down a long and dark corridor of rough stone walls and floor and a low ceiling. At the far end of it, two men were pushing barrows. Lanterns swung from the handles