The Ember Thief

Chapter Twenty - A prison without walls

His one eye flickered, before opening to a slight crack. The blurry wooden ceiling above rocked gently. He pawed at his face as his dry tongue dragged against cracked lips. The throbbing in his head made the veins in his temple pulsate. He tried to sit-up, but a thick collar of metal around his neck jolted him rigid. The room slid from left to right, sending a wave of sickness through him, forcing him down to his elbows. He curiously dabbed the dried patches of reddish-black stains down his chest and rubbed it between his fingers. Grass and hair had been matted into the congealed mess of blood that ran the length of his body. 'Water,' he rasped, his voice so horse it was barely audible. Before he could speak again, he broke into a fit of dry coughs.

'Oh, you're awake again?' a surprised voice came from the other side of the room.

All he could see were patches of harsh lights through the slits that his eyes made. 'Water, I need—,' before he could finish, a wooden ladle was pushed against his lips. He gorged himself on the cool water which spilt down the sides of his face and across his chest.

'Not so fast,' the voice cautioned.

Raide spluttered and choked on the water, sending him into another fit of coughing.

'You see what happens when you guzzle,' the man over him said.

Raide pulled himself up and leaned back against the wooden wall. He stared through the crevice between his eyelids, revealing the shape of a young man with a shaved head, kneeling over him. He smiled back at Raide through crooked teeth. The man wore nothing, but some tatty scraps of linen, which had been tied around his waist.'

'More water,' Raide hacked.

The young man shuffled off and came back with another ladle which he put by Raide's lips. 'Slowly this time,' he added.

Raide took a big sip before spitting it back out over the floor. 'What's wrong with the water?'

'Not just water, Blackwater,' the young man said, pushing the ladle back to his face. 'You'll like it.'

'Real water, please,' Raide said, batting away his arm.

The man's expression dropped. 'Can't, sorry,' he said, shaking his head vigorously. 'One ladle a day. Otherwise, Grub gets punished. Me. Grub,' he stuttered, tapping his chest. 'Drink some more. Tastes better after time,' he said, pushing the ladle back.

Raide wrinkled his nose at the pungent dark liquid. 'What is it?'

Grub gave another crooked smile. 'Blackwater,' he said wide-eyed. 'Sailors love it. Makes you sing, fills you up and is good for cleaning wounds.'

Raide pushed his fingers against the side of his head. 'Does it cure headaches?'

Grub chuckled. 'No, but if you drink enough, you won't even care.'

Raide eyed the small wooden room carefully. Several barrels were stacked at the one end, he lay at the other, on a pile of dirty straw. A small dollop of wax on a side table gave the only sparse light to the room. The wax had dripped down the leg of the table and pooled on the floor. The only exit was a chunky wooden door near the barrels that seem to rock like the ceiling. 'Where am I?' he groaned, trying to stop his head from spinning.

'The Sepulture,' Grub said, taking a sip of Blackwater without looking up.

'I need to get back to the shop, Grub,' Raide grumbled, grabbing on to the man's arm. 'Gideon's antique shop, tonight. I need to tell them what's happened.'

'No shops round 'ere,' Grub said, looking at the ceiling. 'His grace wouldn't let you leave anyway.'

Raide pulled at the heavy collar around his neck. 'Do you have any food?' Raide mumbled, licking his lips.