Young Writers Society

Chapter 9

~1084 words

When Jay came to, he realized he was in the interrogation room of a movie director’s nightmare. It was all there, the dim lighting, the rope binding him to the chair, and the shadowy figure smoking a cigar across the table. Jay wouldn’t have been surprised to see a trench coat and fedora concealing the man’s identity, but instead there was a grin that shined even in the dark room, and a red cape…

It had to be Cabot. There was no mistaking his perfectly wind-blown hair. The cape that had seemed like it had been dyed the very soul of sunset now seemed to be blood red. Jay was disgusted. He had admired the grace and efficiency of Cabot, but a kidnapper he could not respect. Jay’s eyes were drawn to movement to his right. He spied Fleta’s silhouette struggling against the rope bonds.

“You’ll never get away with this,” she growled. Again, it struck Jay how oddly like the movies this was. Haven’t they ever seen a murder mystery film? No, they haven’t. They don’t have movies here. I can’t blame them for being cliché, he thought.

“Why are you doing this, Cabot?” Jay’s voice sounded more confident than he felt, more demanding than he could even pretend to be.

A low and disdainful laugh escaped from between the bars of Cabot’s pearly teeth. “Why does anyone do anything? To gain something.”

“And just what would you be gaining by capturing us?” Fleta said, mimicking Jay’s assertive voice.

“The world.” The voice seemed to take on the scythe-curve of its man. “Tell me children, how does one kill an immortal?” Fleta and Jay were silent. “Oh come now, what do you think? Take a stab in the dark.”

The room echoed “stab in the dark.” Jay felt the hairs on his neck rise like a platoon of soldiers. He spoke just to stop Cabot’s voice from reverberating any more through the room. “It is impossible to kill someone who can’t die.”

“Exactly!” Cabot pounded his fist into his hand, and Jay got a ridiculous image of a business man trying to sell his idea to a large corporation. “One cannot kill an immortal, merely imprison them forever. That is a fate much worse than death. But if an immortal can live without being captured, he is the most powerful man in the world. And no prison holds forever: rocks erode, metal rusts, magic wears out…” Cabot trailed off.

“But why are we here?” asked Fleta. “What do you want with us?”

“Have you ever seen a golden dagger gilded in jewels?” Cabot asked unpredictably.

Fleta shook her head, but Jay nodded. He had seen such daggers used as movie props.

Cabot looked wide-eyed at Jay, a hint of fear creeping into his expression. “Where?” he breathed.

“I’m not… this world isn’t my own. I saw a weapon like the one you described back in my home world.”

The fear in Cabot’s face intensified for a moment, the dropped away. “A world jumper then? Such things are rare.” He examined Jay closely. “ And what world would be your home world?”

“Er…” Jay looked to Fleta who shook her head.

“Earth you say?” Cabot asked slyly. Jay’s jaw fell open. “How did I know? You seem the type, with those… things you’re wearing.” Cabot gestured to Jay’s disheveled track pants. “This tells me much of what I need to know. Finally, who is the man you call Shep?”

Jay smiled to himself. If Cabot didn’t know who Shep was, he couldn’t know about his mission. This man acted superior even though he truly knew nothing.

“He’s just a wanderer who wants to see the wonders of Trevon,” Fleta offered.

Cabot’s smile widened. “Of course he is. And how many sheep is he up to now?”

Cold fear spiked through Jay. Truly this man knew everything. “Why did you ask if you already knew?”

“Sometimes a lie can tell you more about the person than the truth. What does it matter, he clearly hasn’t found them all. There is time, and while there is time, there is hope.” He laughed his cold laugh.

“Aren’t you just a font of wisdom,” muttered Fleta.

Cabot either didn’t hear or pretended not to. “I have no further use of you. Kill them!” The two figures that Jay had mistaken for statues started forward, both swinging battle axes that looked heavier than it was possible to lift. But then again, the guards looked bigger than it was possible to be. Jay closed his eyes and hoped that it would be over in one swing.

But then the lumbering footsteps halted. Jay peeked through one eye. A delicate hand was raised, it seemed almost nonchalant. It was the hand belonging to Cabot. There was a glint in his eye and his smile shone like the moon shining down on a crime scene. He spoke, “actually guards, I think it would be best if we let them live. You’ll hinder him more than help him, and you’re more likely to let a few secrets slip. Guards, if you would, escort them out.”

A blindfold was tied roughly around his head, and Jay was pushed roughly out of the room, down a hallway, up some stairs and into the warmth of the sun. Then he was pulled down a street, spun around, and deserted. By the time he got the blindfold off and his eyes had adjusted to the sun, the guards were gone. Fleta was beside him, blinking at the sun.

“It’s rising,” she said, the edge of panic creeping into her voice.

“Yeah… so?”

“When we were taken, it was sunset! We’ve been gone a long time.”

“That would explain why I’m so hungry.”

“Don’t you understand? Shep must be hysterical with worry!” Fleta was spinning around, trying to get her bearings. Nothing looked familiar. She couldn’t even tell which way the ocean was.

There was a shout somewhere down the street, “There they are!” Two sets of footsteps echoed off the buildings, and two familiar red faces came into view. “We’ve been lookin’ all over for the two of you!” Gilfred shouted, joy on his face.

“You in deep trouble for wandering away like that,” scolded Godfrey.

“We’ll explain, but can I get some food?” asked Jay, “And where’s Shep?”

“Back at the inn, but-“

“All in good time,” soothed Fleta, “Lead the way, I’ve had a rough start to my morning, and I’d like a good breakfast.”