Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [46]
When Alec was certain they were gone, he went back to his appraisal of the room. Those metal rods could probably be used as weapons, and where there was an anvil, there must be hammers. If he could just smash off the lock before anyone came back—
The chain was about only an arm span long, though, and try as he might, there was nothing within reach. The anvil was far too heavy to drag. Still listening intently, he got down on his hands and knees, looking for something, anything that he could use on the lock.
The floor was made of wide, bare planks, and he ran his fingers along each crevice as far as he could reach, hoping to find a loose nail. He’d nearly given up hope when one fingertip snagged on something sharp. He picked frantically at it, peeling a fingernail back in the process, but at last pried out a thin metal needle file as long as his hand.
Thank the Lightbearer! He crouched by the lock at the anvil and inspected the keyhole. It was large enough. This could work!
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then set to work. He examined the padlock closely, looking for any sign of wards or traps. Among those he’d been made to practice on, some had holes where spring-primed needles could jab out, coated with some nasty poison. He saw no signs of those, though, and set about probing delicately into the works with the sharp tip of the file.
The lock was large and heavy, but of a simple design—probably no more than three tumblers to shift. The file was a crude pick, but it was enough. One after the other, the tumblers clicked back. Alec pulled the hasp loose and unhooked the end of the chain.
The sudden sound of clapping startled him so badly he dropped the lock and the file. Yhakobin stood in the open doorway, applauding him. Alec hadn’t heard him approach. The alchemist was dressed in a long, embroidered robe today, and had the short horseman’s crop tucked under one arm.
“An excellent demonstration of your talents, Alec,” he said, stepping into the room, followed by the two guards.
Alec grasped the loose end of the chain in both hands and tried to swing it at the men as they came for him, but they caught him and threw him to the floor. One sat on his back. The other yanked his feet up in the air and held them together tightly.
“I guessed that you were clever, but never imagined you’d be this brash,” Yhakobin told him. “Under different circumstances, I’d reward such a performance. But alas.”
The guards held him tighter as Yhakobin brought the crop down hard across the soles of Alec’s bare feet.
The pain was unbelievable—far worse than the whipping he’d had before. The first stroke stole the breath from his lungs, and by the third he was screaming. He couldn’t keep count, but just when he thought he’d go mad from the pain it stopped.
The men yanked him up to his knees and held him by the hair and arms. The alchemist tossed the crop aside, then went to one of the tables and picked up a tiny glass flask with a funnel-shaped mouth. Using this, he carefully collected the tears from Alec’s cheeks.
Alec gritted his teeth, hating himself for his weakness and for being such a fool as to tip his hand so easily. Seregil would never have made such a blunder. He held very still, keeping his eyes averted until Yhakobin finished.
“There, nothing wasted,” the alchemist murmured, corking the bottle and setting it aside. “It gives me no pleasure to discipline you. I do it for your own good. If you actually had escaped and were caught by the slave takers, even I could not save you from the axe man’s block. We have laws here, and they must be obeyed. I hope in time you will come to appreciate my leniency. Now, what have you to say to me, Alec?”
Alec drew in a hitching breath and bowed his head. “I’m sorry I tried to get away. Thank you, Ilban, for your…kindness.”
“Hmm. Someday I will begin punishing