Page 27 of Wired Courage

Connor glanced back as he was half escorted, half carried down the hall. The Master had disappeared down the stairs again, but the ninja who had misspoken was still doing push-ups.

Connor had the feeling that he would not stop until he collapsed.

How did the Master command such obedience, even from Pim Wat?

Connor was borne along the hallway to a sumptuous apartment. The ninjas carrying him barked out orders to a guard standing by the door of the apartment, and that guard ran off as the ninja hoisted Connor through the doorway.

Connor lowered his head as if exhausted, which he was—but he also needed to take in and observe everything about this environment.This could be his only chance to escape.

Persian carpets and embroidered tapestries softened the harsh stone of the living area they entered, set with a low divan and a comfortable armchair arranged with a low table in front of a fireplace. A fire crackled on the hearth, rich with the smell of sandalwood. Priceless artworks, framed in gold, glowed from the walls.

Through one open door, Connor glimpsed a majestic bedchamber. And through another, a bare, monastic cell of a room with nothing to soften it but a small prayer rug, rolled out in front of a flickering brazier on an altar.

The master was allowing Connor to see inside not only the fortress of the Yam Khûmk?n, but his own private living space.

To what purpose?This whole situation could be an elaborate game of “good cop, bad cop” designed to gain his trust.

The ninja helping him assisted Connor into a bath chamber off of the bedroom. A stone privy with a polished wooden seat and cover hid behind a painted screen; a ewer of polished tin held water for rinsing away the waste. A huge copper bathtub dominated the room.

Connor parked himself on the privy while several ninjas carrying buckets filled the tub with steaming water.

So far, Pim Wat was the only woman he’d seen in the whole place.

Connor was nodding with exhaustion when the tub was finally filled and he was helped into warm, herb-scented water. He nearly fell asleep as his body was scrubbed and his wounds cleaned. Finally, the ninjas helped him out of the bath. They helped him onto a stone platform covered with layers of absorbent cotton cloth—a crude massage table, Connor realized, as an older ninja with kind eyes and a tonsure of hair around his baldpate entered the room.

The healer assessed Connor with gentle fingers, anointing his many bruises and scrapes—and finally, covered him with a blanket.

He slept.

Pim Wat groundher teeth as she stomped away from the holding cell. How could the Master undercut her like that before the men? Before the prisoners?

She powered up the rough stone stairs to her apartment and opened her mouth to shout for Armita—and remembered again a wound that tore into her heart.That faithless jade had taken her granddaughter and disappeared!

“Foul daughter of the devil! Offal of a rotting goat!How could you do this to me, Armita!” Pim Wat’s eyes stung suspiciously.No! She wouldn’t cry over that miserable she-hag!

Bursting with fury, Pim Wat stormed into the small antechamber that had been Armita’s, opening off of her own apartment. She flung open the wooden cupboard that held Armita’s clothing. Most of Armita’s simple wardrobe was gone, but a few nicer gowns that Pim Wat had given her for public appearances and travel still hung neatly in the armoire.

Pim Wat pulled a knife from her waistband and slashed the garments, cursing and growling. No, she wouldn’t cry over her maid’s betrayal—but she wouldrage.

Rage was good. Rage protected her. Rage felt like cleansing fire.

And just that suddenly, the rage was spent, disintegrating into the empty ash of loss.

Pim Wat stood in a pile of brightly colored silk, satin, lace, and cotton, the narrow-bladed knife dangling from her hand. Rags still clung to a few hangers. Armita’s personal scent, a gentle aroma of sandalwood and beeswax, rose from the ruined garments.

Grief and loneliness swamped Pim Wat.

She was alone. Betrayed by those closest to her. She’d devoted her life to the Master and to the Yam Khûmk?n; and what did she have to show for it?Nothing!

Her daughter was an angry, distant stranger. Her maid and closest friend had stolen her grandchild. And now her lover had betrayed her and embarrassed her in front of their men.

Worst of all was how keenly Pim Wat missed Armita. Her daughter’s nanny had been with her seven days a week for more than twenty years.

Pim Wat fell to her knees in the midst of the shredded fabric. She let go of the knife, and scooped the ruined clothing into her arms. Crushing her face into the scraps, she gave way to her tears, weeping without restraint.

“Beautiful One.” The Master’s hand on her shoulder was a point of heat in a world gone cold. He dropped to kneel beside her, drawing her close. He kissed her forehead, wrapping her in his arms. “Haven’t I told you that you must master your emotions?”

“I cannot,” Pim Wat sobbed.

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