Into the Fire
"Shoot me."
Andre sighed in his dank and lightless cell. "I'm sorry, Bevier, they took my guns." Andre answered, "And I could make the point that I would have to see you to shoot you." "Now?" Bevier responded incredulously, "Now you want to be logical? Why couldn't we be logical before we were thrown into our respective cells? Here. In Castille." "It could be worse�" Andre said, reflecting that it actually couldn't get worse. But he did feel responsible for their current situation, so if he had to listen to his friend rant about it, he would do so. He sighed. His search for his son was not going according to plan. After entering his home country, he did in fact, gain more information about the gentleman bearing the Soldano blade and his comrades, the Avalon, the Vodacce, and the Eisen. For one thing, he had some names. The Castillian was a Montoya, one of the Avalons was named William McCormick, and the Eisen, Reinhoff. "It could be worse? I can't believe that you said that!" Bevier answered, "We're going to be executed tomorrow. Tomorrow. Damn it all." Unfortunately for Andre and Bevier, they weren't alone in their quest to find these individuals. "If you would have listened to me, this would have never happened, Andre." "It's going to be a public execution, Bevier�" Bevier huffed, "Yes, I know. I was there when we were being sentenced. Unless you forgot." "I didn't forget." Didn't forget. How could he? Shortly before rounding up a vital clue, a group of armed swordsman pacified them in a dark alley. It seemed that the individuals that he was looking for, DeRicci, McCormick, Montoya, and Reinhoff, had run afoul of the Inquisition. Recently. "So this is how it works in Castille? They just throw people into jail for no reason?" Bevier continued. "If you give people a reason, they just argue the point. If you just throw them in jail, you cut out the argument." Andre said. Andre could just hear the Montaigne throw up his hands in the adjoining cell. He smiled in spite of himself. There was a charge, but it was a general charge of impeding the Inquisition. The recent events concerning the four had been fairly embarrassing to the Inquisition, and Andre deduced that very little had been produced since their 'departure' from the country. He and Bevier had simply been in the right place at the wrong time, asking the wrong questions. Bevier continued to rant, "It's a conspiracy. It's a conspiracy against my people. Against all that are not Castillian, isn't that right Andre?" Andre closed his eyes (not that it made a difference), "We'll never tell." He said smugly. He heard a click in between the pause in the conversation. He opened his eyes and looked where the door should be in front of his cell. Blackness. "I'll probably never know, will I, Andre? They'll probably execute me first, so that I'll never know." Andre did not answer. Another click. "What was that?" Andre asked. Bevier sighed, "I said, that they would probably execute me first, so that your damnable conspiracy will not be exposed. To the damned, I mean. Sort of poetic, isn't it?" Andre shook his head, he felt the food slot in the front of the door. It was still closed. He looked to the bottom of the door for any sign of light. There was none. "Yes, it is rather pretty, Bevier. Poetry, eh? Damn, I don't know how the Castillian people are ever going to defeat yours. I mean, with poetry like that�" Another click. Andre pressed his ear to the door. "Careful, Andre, your scruples are showing�" Bevier answered. "Sorry." Andre said off hand. A deep, if silent boom, followed by another click, and another boom. Andre frowned. It sounded real close, but the thickness of the door and the walls made it difficult to pinpoint. The sound of a match being struck. A light underneath the door. "Bevier?" A solid click. And then the door fell away from Andre. His amused features framed by golden locks, Bevier stood above his friend, torch held high. "Well?" the Montaigne asked looking on down on his friend, "Is this piety or service? Either way, money needs to start changing hands�" Andre shook his head, got up and dusted his pants off. "Not a Montaigne spy, my�" Andre started. "Marginal facilities, horrid service, bland food, and poor security�"Bevier nodded, inspecting his dirty nails, "I've stayed in better." "We're not out yet, Bevier." "I thought I was supposed to be the complaining one." Bevier smiled, "But as for our escape, I have a plan�" "Indeed?" Andre asked. "I suggest that we spread our good fortune." "You can't be serious." "I am." Bevier answered. "These are hardened criminals, we can't free them�" "We certainly can't pick and choose, we don't have the time." Bevier argued. "The guard will be here in minutes." "Your plan is a prison riot?" Andre asked incredulously. "You're right," Bevier gestured toward the door, "You're just going to have to wait until I come up with a better plan." "We're getting executed tomorrow." Andre objected. "I'm glad that you've fully grasped the situation�" Bevier delivered with dripping sarcasm. "There's got to be another way." Andre said. "There isn't. If it makes you feel better, I doubt these people deserved this�" Bevier said. "How do you know?" Andre asked. "Did you?" After a precious moment, "Good point." "I'm glad that we finally agree. The quicker we get out of here the better. We'll find your son yet�" An amused chuckling filled the rancid air. The pair looked at each other. Neither was the source. "'Your son?' I would like to hear a bit about this 'son' of yours," A shadow appeared just beyond the torch's reach. Bevier paled. "Who are you?" Andre asked. The stranger smiled in response. A wicked sort of grin, accented by his piercing malevolent eyes. Andre had to suppress a shudder. "Captain DuChevalier." Snapping his head around, Andre realized the response had come not from the newcomer, but from Bevier, and dreaded what he saw. Fear! Not a consuming fear, but just enough to draw a little color from his face. In all the time that he'd known Bevier, Andre could not recall him ever being afraid. It was then he noticed other shadows closing in. 'Why is it," he thought to himself, "that I feel as if we've jumped from the frying pan and into the fire.'Return to Uncommon Valor