29
There is a slim crack where the cabinet doors don’t quite meet and I angle myself into the corner, so I can see the office door. The Minister Prime is pinning Hart to the wall by his throat, squeezing with his fingers and pressing his forearm hard into Hart’s chest. I remember Porter telling me his real name, Bathix, but the thought makes me shiver. Hart is feebly swinging his legs, before Bathix turns and throws him to the floor then calmly closes the door.
Hart is on all fours coughing loudly and I feel myself wincing as the Minister Prime runs at him, kicking him brutally in the chest. The crack of boot on bone reverberates around the room, leaving Hart gurgling in pain.
‘Shut. Up,’ Bathix says, punctuating each word, before running a gloved hand through his thin black hair. He turns around and picks up a chair, then places it in the centre of the room next to where Hart is crawling around and sits on it, glaring at him.
‘What were you doing in my office?’
Hart mumbles something I can’t hear but I’m not sure they’re complete words anyway as Bathix stands and kicks him again in the ribs. Hart rolls over in pain, spitting out a flurry of blood, groaning and holding his chest.
Bathix’s eyes scan around the room, darting past the cabinet I am in before he notices the thinkpads. He runs out of my view and I hear a clattering of equipment followed by a loud bang. Hart is struggling for breath, his chin drenched with blood as the Minister howls in fury before dashing back into view and pinning Hart to the floor. I can see his knee angled, pressing hard into Hart’s chest. Hart whimpers in pain as the bigger man pushes down on ribs that are likely already broken.
‘What were you doing in my office?’ Bathix’s face is only a few centimetres away from Hart’s and I can see flecks of spit splattering over him.
Hart’s lips are moving but no words are coming out; instead there is a gurgle that becomes a vicious cough. The Minister Prime stands and wipes the splashed speckles of blood from his face, before leaning over and punching Hart across the face. First there is a crunch of fist on jaw and then a second, more sickening, splat as Hart’s head bounces off the floor.
Bathix stands over the unconscious teenager and stares towards his desk, unmoving. Underneath him, a puddle of dark blood begins to pool as Hart’s head flops to the side. I feel tears in my eyes, knowing his plight is entirely down to me. If I had been quicker and not spent so much time being fascinated by the elephant’s head, or taking information I didn’t come for, I would have been out of the door and in the laboratories by now and Hart wouldn’t be unconscious.
I feel so annoyed at myself and so upset at Hart’s predicament that I have to bite my lip to stop myself crying. Bathix is drumming his fingers against the borodron encasing his arms. The steady rhythm reverberates towards me. He turns and strides back to his desk out of my view, from where I hear his muffled voice talking to someone.
I try to hold my breath as much as I can as my mind drifts to my own dilemma. Hiding in the cabinet was the easy part – getting out undetected isn’t going to be so simple. There is only one door into the office and, even from where I am, I can see the small dark scanner on the wall, which means that when it is locked properly, not only is the Minister Prime the only person who can get in, he is also the only person who can get out. My thoughts are interrupted as the door bursts open. A Kingsman hurries in and Bathix hisses at him to close the door.
‘Am I taking him to medical?’ the Kingsman asks.
The Minister lunges across the room. ‘Of course you’re not taking him to medical, you imbecile.’
‘Sorry, Sir.’
‘Take him to the dungeons and dump him there with some bread or something.’
‘You want me to leave him food?’
‘Are you questioning me?’ Bathix’s tone is of absolute rage and the Kingsman cowers away from him.
‘No, Sir.’
‘He can’t die, not yet, I need to find out exactly what he was doing.’
‘Shall I inform the King?’
The Minister steps forward and brutally backhands the officer. ‘Don’t be a fool. If I wanted the King to know, I would have called him here myself.’
The revelation that the Minister Prime keeps his own secrets startles me as I assumed both he and the King worked together for the same cause. It does make some sort of sense; if Bathix thought Hart had found important information on his thinkpad, the last thing he would want would be for the King to find out he had been careless by leaving his office unlocked. That makes it all the more likely I will not get another chance to access his files again, assuming I can get out of his office in the first place.
The Kingsman straightens his back and apologises once more. For a moment, I think the Minister Prime is going to hit him again but he lowers his arm.
‘Just get him out of here, take him downstairs and, whatever you do, keep your mouth shut.’
‘Yes, Sir.’ The Kingsman hauls Hart up to his feet and then places him over his shoulder before carrying him towards the door. ‘I’m going to need a bit of a hand here,’ he says, clearly struggling.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Bathix grunts in annoyance, then crosses the room and opens the door.
‘I’m not sure I’m going to be able to carry him all the way to the dungeons.’
‘Well, I’m not carrying him.’
‘I could call for someone else …?’
‘You will not. I’ll help you to the stairs and then you’re on your own. Throw him down there if you have to.’
The Minister Prime grabs Hart’s feet, the Kingsman his head. Together they edge out of the room. I hold my breath, thinking the guard is going to pull the door closed but as he removes a hand, Hart slips and he scrambles to recover as Bathix berates him.
As soon as he disappears from view, I open the cabinet’s doors and rush to the exit, skimming around the pool of Hart’s blood that has congealed half on the hard floor, half on one of the rugs. I know from Imrin’s maps that the stairs are barely thirty seconds away but it will take them slightly longer to get there because of Hart’s weight. I count to fifteen and then press the button on my thinkwatch to stop the cameras for the second and final time today. I poke my head around the door to check there is nobody there and then I run for it.
I know I am being reckless, but it almost feels like I have forgotten Hart’s advice – ‘be plain and blend in’ – as I tear through the passages, dart around the cameras and race to the far end of the castle. I have no idea if anyone has seen me as I arrive breathless at the entrance to the kitchen.
All the rules I have made for myself over the past few weeks are tossed aside as I knock on the door. My heart is pounding, partly because of the running, but mainly because of everything that has happened in the past few minutes. I can’t stop thinking of the blood I had to step around. When there is no answer after a few seconds, I knock again, harder the second time. Probably luckily, when the door is opened, Faith is standing there. ‘Silver?’
‘Is Imrin in there?’
‘Imrin?’
‘Yes.’
‘The Indian guy?’
‘Yes.’
She looks at me confused, as if about to ask how I know him, but then she tells me to wait a minute.
When Imrin does appear in his kitchen uniform, he is furious – rightfully so.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, desperately trying not to raise his voice. ‘It was your idea never to acknowledge each other.’
‘I know. It’s Hart, he was hurt and caught and taken to the dungeons. The Minister Prime beat him unconscious.’
I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but Imrin certainly doesn’t seem to share the concern I have. ‘What do you think we can do? We don’t even know what it’s like in the dungeons, let alone if there’s a way to get him out. Did you get what you needed?’
‘Yes, but I’m not going anywhere without Hart.’
Imrin slams his hand into the stone wall. ‘What are you on about? It’s going to be hard enough making this work as it is. I risked loads for you this morning already. We wedged the dorm’s door shut from the inside with this scrap of wood we chipped out from one of the bed frames. When the Minister Prime showed up, he was furious. We were shouting through the door that we couldn’t open it as he was bellowing and kicking it. Eventually, I grabbed the wood and pocketed it, then he burst through. He whacked one of the Kingsmen for being weak and then told us all that if he found out any of us were responsible, he would personally rip our arms off.’
I touch him on the shoulder but he shakes me off. ‘I can’t go without him. It’s my fault he’s there.’
‘You know you’re putting everyone at risk?’
‘I know.’
‘These should be things we’re deciding together, not something that you go off on your own to do.’
‘Hart is going to die if we don’t do something.’
‘We don’t have to do anything – going to the Minister Prime’s office was your idea. We could already have been out through the medical bay.’
‘You know why I went to the office.’
Imrin is pacing, exasperated and furious. I have never seen him like this. He takes a deep breath. ‘Do you think the King is going to kill him?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s not the King, it’s all the Minister Prime. He doesn’t want the King knowing Hart might have been in his office, checking his files.’
Imrin stops walking back and forth and looks towards the door. ‘I’ve got to get back before I’m noticed.’
‘I know – but you’re going to stick to the plan, aren’t you?’
Imrin shrugs and, as I lean forward to try to kiss him, he pulls away, his eyes full of hurt and mistrust.
He opens the door and steps through, before poking his head back around to say one final thing: ‘You ask too much, Silver.’
I trudge away thinking through his final statement but it’s hard to argue that he’s wrong. It should have been our plan, not mine. Instead, I have ploughed ahead doing what I wanted to. He’s also right that we could be out of the castle by now. If nothing else, there are enough sheets on the beds in the medical area to hastily put something together which would enable us to lower ourselves halfway down the wall until we can drop the rest. I make my way through the castle until I am at the laboratories but I can remember next to nothing about the rest of the day, except that Porter doesn’t make a fuss about me being slightly late.
In the dorm that evening, I lie on my bed trying to think about what I can do with the information I now have. I want to examine the list of Offerings I took from the Minister Prime and find out as much as I can about the person listed as ‘AWOL’. Is it someone who escaped? If so what happened to their family and where are they now? As my mind drifts inexorably back to Martindale, I wonder if perhaps Imrin had the right idea – maybe we should have simply made a run for it and chanced the fact our thinkwatches would come to life outside the castle walls?
I feel tired as the door opens and Ignacia walks in. She tells us not to bother getting changed but to follow her as we are off to the hall again. It is not banquet night and I have only bad memories of the last time this happened, with Lumin humiliated and beaten in front of us. I don’t even know if he is dead or alive; Porter has not mentioned him since that day.
Everyone seems to be sharing my unease as we move through the corridors in silence except for our footsteps until we reach the main hall. Inside there is no large table and the area is clear except for a row of benches. The boys are already lined up and we take our places. The Minister Prime is standing on the lower part of the floor with us, flanked by four Kingsmen. The lights are dim and the seats that stretch above us are as empty as the King’s box.
The Minister Prime exchanges a glance and a nod with Ignacia as the hall’s doors slam shut and he starts to pace in front of us, speaking crisply. ‘Many weeks ago, I reminded you that there are rules we must abide by and I told you that any untoward behaviour must be reported.’
He stops striding and turns to face us, running his eyes along the line. I feel certain he is about to reveal Hart and ask us what we know but instead he begins walking again, his words sharp and over-pronounced.
‘Now, before I need to force it, would any of you like to step forward and confess?’
At the far end of the line, among the boys, there is a shuffling but nobody stands. I have the overwhelming feeling that I am looking particularly guilty and can feel a bead of sweat tracing its way down my back and force myself not to shiver. The Minister Prime stops when he is back in the centre, again looking from one end of the line to the other, trying to make eye contact with us all. I match his gaze momentarily before he moves on.
As he reaches the end, his eyes narrow menacingly. ‘That was a very, very bad decision one of you just made. Luckily, somebody took my advice and stepped forward to report inappropriate and unpatriotic behaviour.’
I had been thinking Hart was to be paraded but instead the Minister Prime focuses his attention on the boys’ benches. His next words make me shudder so badly that the bead of sweat turns into a waterfall.
‘Stand up, Imrin Kapoor.’