Wrath of the Storm (Mark of the Thief 3)

"And you will not last the week." Radulf smiled at me as the boys finally led him away. He walked with a limp, I noticed, probably from when he had been dumped into the carcer hole last night. And even if his smile was as fake as those chiseled onto the statues of Rome, it gave me courage for what was coming next.

Because even if I was very lucky -- and I never was -- this escape was going to hurt. A lot.

Brutus had my left hand pinched behind my back, but it was the right arm he wanted, the one with the Malice on it. As soon as the boys had grabbed Radulf, I'd stuffed that arm beneath me, out of his reach. Brutus rolled off me and tried to twist my body enough to get hold of that arm.

"My grandfather just called you a pig," I said. "You are many things, Decimas Brutus, but not a pig."

He hesitated. "No, I am not. Thank you."

"After all," I added, "that comparison is a terrible insult to pigs."

Furious, he thrust his knee into the small of my back, pushing me even closer to the hole. I yelled out and kicked backward at him. His hand slipped from the Star, but I still wasn't free.

"I need help, you fools!" Brutus yelled. And only then did three other Praetors emerge from dark corners of the carcer, having waited all this time for their orders.

I searched within myself for any remaining magic -- surely with the Malice, there had to be something. But within seconds, the Praetors had flipped me onto my back and were holding my legs and had my arms raised high over my head. Brutus pulled out his knife.

"This can be quick, or it can be slow," he said, bringing the knife near my chest. "Pledge your loyalty to the Mistress. Choose her or choose to die."

If I really did have a choice, it would be to melt that knife into putty. And that was only a start of what would happen if I had magic.

"Tell me where you hid the Mistress," he said. "She calls to me."

I struggled again, and when that failed, I spit in Brutus's face. That wasn't exactly the answer he wanted, but when he raised the knife, I immediately stopped fighting.

"Enough of this," Brutus said. "Let me see his arm. I'll take that Malice, then take the bulla. After that, it will be an easy thing to get his vow of loyalty."

The Praetor holding my arms started to raise the right one toward Brutus, but in the same second as he reached for it, I yanked my arm away and then crashed a fist into Brutus's jaw as he bent over me. He reeled backward, landing on the Praetors holding my legs.

I rolled one more time, wrenching my left arm free and almost falling into the dungeon hole.

"Get him under control!" Brutus yelled.

The Praetors lunged for me, but it was too late; I'd made my decision. Falling into a deep hole was sure to be a bad thing. It smelled awful, was sure to cause me any number of injuries, and would be full of prisoners who'd take pleasure in adding to those injuries.

On the other hand, there were Praetors up here. It wasn't a difficult choice.

With one more roll, the bulk of my weight went through the hole, sending me in almost a dive toward the dark ground below.

I crashed on my side onto solid rock, feeling shock waves course through my body as they encountered what was likely several broken bones. It had been at least a twelve-foot fall. Dizziness encompassed me. Even on the hard rock floor, I had trouble figuring out which way was up. My breath entered with sharp gasps, and failed to release until my body was forced into it. Something warm and wet was pooling beneath my head.

"Get the rope!" Brutus said. "Lower me down!"

I couldn't move. Magic was returning to me, but I wouldn't be able to heal myself before he got down here. The room echoed with dripping water. This dark dungeon was a cistern similar to where Aurelia had held me when I'd first been lost in the sewers. That had to be the source of the dripping water now.

The moans I'd heard before had stopped when I first crashed, but they had started again and were coming closer.

Barely within my field of vision, the end of the rope dropped to the floor, landing close to where my feet lay. I heard Brutus swing his weight inside the hole.

I closed my eyes, exhausted, and in so much pain it hurt to breathe. What was this place?

The dripping water, the horrid smell -- it reminded me of the Cloaca Maxima. At the moment, it was the only place I could visualize with any clarity. How many times had it saved my life in the past? It would have to do so one more time.

"He might not have survived the fall," Brutus called up to his men. "I'll check."

He released the rope and jumped the remaining distance to the ground. My eyes were still closed, and though I heard the slap of his sandals onto the rock floor, I wasn't a part of the dungeon anymore, not really.

Instead, I was focused on the sound of the water, on the stench of the sewers, which was already thick around me. But I'd been in places far worse than this before, where it was impossible to keep the noxious odor from clinging to your skin. As soon as I had a clear picture of that place, I was there.