The queengripped Cyrus’ ring finger.
“How did youreally get past the witch? Did she send you here? Are you in her service?”
Tears streameddown Cyrus’ bruised face.
“In herservice? Are you insane?”
The queensnapped his second finger.
“Nooo!”
Cyrus kickedagainst his bonds, trying to run from the pain. He attempted to move hisfingers back to their original form. The sting and throb of bones and tendonsgrinding together nearly broke his will.
“I’m not inher service,” he coughed, “And we didn’t outwit her. We just got lucky. It’sthe truth. Her ship is burnt, at the bottom of a faraway bay. I swear.”
“No one elsehelped you?” the queen asked, grasping Cyrus’ middle finger.
Cyrus was afraidto speak. He shook his head no. The queen held tight to his finger, searchinghis eyes.
“I will lookinto these claims,” she said, “If I find even an ounce of deception in yourwords, it will not be your fingers I break next.”
Withoutlooking back, the queen rose up from the chair and crossed the room. Sheglided, like a spirit, up the stairs and walked out of the chamber. Cyrus satshivering and sobbing in his own freezing sweat. His body felt battered andbroken.
Agulha motioned to the three klops. They hobbled overfrom the fire and began to unstrap his shaking limbs.
“We have allthe time in the world, boy,” Agulha said, strokinghis whiskers, “No one can help you here. She’s going to crack your skull, thenbreak your soul.”
Chapter 30
THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN
THE THREEKLOPShauled Cyrus out of the torture chamber and down the hall. Each step was agonyon his twisted ankle and bone-bruised shins. They shoved him through thedungeon’s door. Rats scurried underfoot. Moro sat waiting within.
“We’ve broughtyour little friend back, good as new,” the short fiend said.
The klops opened the cell door and shackled Cyrus’ neck to thebars.
“We’ll beseeing you again real soon,” the chalky klopssneered.
His lipswrinkled like worms.
The three klops locked the cell door and exited the room.
“Are you allright?” Moro asked.
Cyrus lookedup from under his brow. His nose was swollen and his body freezing. He lookeddown at his purple crooked fingers.
“How long isthis going to go on for?” he asked.
His voice washoarse.
“As long asthey want, I’m afraid.”
Moro peeredabout the shadows. Then she picked her collar with a steel wire.
“I found it inthe hallway,” she said, holding the wire, “But I can’t seem to open the celldoor.”
“You look better,”Cyrus whispered.
“A benefit ofmy kind,” she said, moving to unlock his shackle, “But you already knew that.”
Moro collecteda dusty, wool blanket from the corner and shook it out. Two rats scattered frombeneath the cloth.
“This shouldhelp ward off the cold,” she said, wrapping Cyrus’ blistered body in theblanket.
The woolsmelled of dust and rat droppings. Cyrus sneezed.
“Rest awhile,” Moro said, “Recover your strength. You will need it.”
She sat besideCyrus, hugging his body to her chest.
“Thanks,” Cyrussaid.
He leaned intoher warmth, fighting back tears. They sat on the stone floor for some time.Moro gently rocked Cyrus, rubbing his arms to keep him warm.
“Did you tellthem all that they wanted to know?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“I hope so,”Cyrus said.
He tried tomake a fist. His left hand was swollen stiff.
“I am not thefirst froskman you have seen,” Moro said.
Her voice wassoothing.
“Anotherwatched over your island.”
Cyrus did notanswer.
“You do nothave to confide in me, but if he did help you arrive here, maybe he can help usescape.”
Moro brushedCyrus’ hair from his damaged face and placed his head on her shoulder.
“What I meanto say is, maybe we can help him to help us escape.”
“What makesyou think you’re not the first I’ve seen?” Cyrus asked.
“Froskman are a very rare and unique breed,” Moro replied,“Yet you were only surprised by my presence, nothing more. You even knew what Iwas by sight.”
“Nothing surprisesme much any more,” Cyrus sighed, “Even if there wassomeone out there that could help us, what could we do? We’re trapped.”
“I am not surejust yet,” Moro said, “It depends on where the froskmanis, and if there are any others with him.”
Cyrus saidnothing. He could not trust Moro. The klops mightbeat the information out of her.
Severalmoments passed. There were footsteps at the door. Moro threw the blanket aside.She cuffed Cyrus, then slipped back into her own shackle.
Agulha entered the room first. General Mortefollowed. The large general led a yeti by a chain and steel collar. It wasTier, hunched and disheveled. Her legs and wrists were bound in iron.
The general jerkedthe chain hard. Tier stumbled down the stairs. The fur around her face wasbloody and matted, and she walked with a limp.
“What havethey done?” Cyrus asked.
“It seems the samething they’ve done to you,” Tier replied.
She looked toCyrus, then to Moro. Tier’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the froskman. Cyrus subtly shook his head no.
The generaldragged Tier to a strange wooden table resting near Cyrus’ cell. The table hadchains, pulleys and a crank shaped like a ship’s tiller. He forced Tier to liedown on the contraption, her feet facing Cyrus. Then he cuffed her wrists andankles and turned the mechanism’s tiller-like crank. The machine stretchedTier’s long body to its full extent. Agulha drew along, slender knife, dripping with black oil, from his robes. He held it to herneck.
“Ungur mentioned another,” Agulhasaid to Cyrus, “Who was the other in your party?”
“Ungur turned on her own people,” Tier said, “She’s a traitor,you can’t trust anything she says.”
“Shut up!” Agulha said, slapping her across the face.
The councilorturned back to Cyrus.
“Is the otheran alveling like yourself?” he asked.
The old klops stared unblinkingly into Cyrus’ eyes.
“Or a froskman perhaps?”
Cyrushesitated. The queen was on to them. She had guessed too much. Cyrus had to tryto confuse the situation.
“There wasanother alveling with us,” he said.
Councilor Agulha drew his whistle from his cloak and blew it. Amoment later, the three small klops entered the dungeoncarrying Fibian’s tanned furs. Cyrus’ blood turnedcold.
“We foundthese in the traitor’s tent,” General Morte snarled.
Agulha selected a glove from the pile. It was Fibian’scustom-made glove.
“Do alvelings have webbed hands?” the councilor asked.
Cyrus did notknow what to say. They were toying with him. He just sat there staring at theglove.
General
