I continue following him through the corridor and into a cell.
"How do you know who Christopher is?"
I repeat my question, the edge of my voice sharper, cutting through the air this time. We finally stop, and he turns to look at me.
"He spent enough time at the British House. You'd have heard the name."
Okay. It still does not explain how he knows me. Before I ask him another question, he begins to talk. I follow, and we enter a cell, and he gestures for me to sit down.
"Your friend was tasked by the royal family to create a weapon against France," he says, voice lacking emotion. "In his research, he met Francois, and they became close friends. But Francois had a lot of secrets. He got a little too curious and, well…" I hear a low pitch coming from him and a black furry blanket comes off of something. Bloody hell. That's a corpse. The room is instantly overwhelmed by a fetid odour—something far worse than rotten eggs, a truly sickening smell. The overwhelming stench makes my stomach churn and threatens to induce vomiting. Could it be Christopher? No… but he died long before I left Earth. I'm seventeen. His corpse still has flesh, like he died a year ago.
"I used frology to preserve what is left of him," he says, my mind a book. I suspect he has an ability to convert my thoughts into a novel he reads. If so, he should have reacted, or he does not care. "They say only Stemmers hear the echoes in a silent mind." I stare at him, trying to sell my smile, and he does the same.
"Wise, kid. That is why I chose you." Chose me. For what? My heart is a sheep running from the wolf as I stand there waiting for his response.
"You should sit down," he says. I continue standing, and he sighs. "In Britain, we are aware of the situation and are motivated to take steps to improve the conditions. I require your collaboration and teamwork on this project." He says it with so much colour it is a shame I will decline. The moment I thought that, the room became warmer and his face slightly turned a shade of red. "This was never a request. You will comply." The room spreads with heat and sweat comes out of my skin, failing to cool the tension in the room. I attempt to use my voice to incapacitate him, but I cannot use the right frequency. I should stop thinking and start doing. My eyes move faster than light, searching for a weapon. He is faster than light. He grabs my arms and I attempt to move my legs in retaliation but realise he has paralysed me. Using ropes from the cell, he ties my hands to a pole. Since I am as tall as a dwarf, gravity is begging me to come to it. Pain sizzles through my arms, all my muscles threaten to fail, my bones feel like spinach before being broken.
"Darling, you just have to accept," he whispers into my ears before sending electricity through my body. I cannot accept it; this bitch cast a contract before I even came in. Tears forcibly come out of my eyes, the pain is everywhere. I am both conscious and unconscious, my mind only filled with one thought — to kill this rosbif. He continues torturing me; at one point, he stops enjoying it. Seated on the floor, he appears to be plotting my demise. He almost drowned me and then healed me. He put a parasite in me that consumes flesh and healed me when I was yearning for death. All to just get me to accept a contract. Tempting, but I am nobody's slave. I notice there is a smile forming on his face, and suddenly my hands are free from their locks and gravity gives me a hard welcome. Before I can process the events, I hear footsteps coming towards the cell. I do not need to see who they are to know someone I recognise is with them. Over there, I can see it. A tall man with sun-bleached blonde hair and deeply tanned skin stands before them. His face is slightly bruised and marked with a faint sheen of sweat. I am so fucked. If Julien gets hurt and I am blamed, I am dead.
"Maybe he will convince you," he says, holding a knife stained with my blood. Julien's hands are tied up with a rope, and there is a guard behind him, pushing him into the room. Julien looks up at the British man, eyes locked on him, intent on watching blood drain from his body. The Brit mirrors his emotions and walks with the speed of the wind towards him, but stops for some seconds. I see a spark of fear in the Brit's eyes, and he is behind me, holding a blade made of fire in his hands, inches away from my neck. Why would he be afraid of him? The Brit starts screaming in pain, and I see black hand-like shadows on his neck, taking air away from him. He uses his own spells, and Julien struggles to deal with it. I know later I will not be conscious enough to deal with him. My voice is a worn-out flute, but I use it to put a slab of wood into his torso. Gravity takes hold of his corpse, and blood oozes out of his torso like water spilled on a table. His expression is frozen, and there is no sign of life in him. He is dead.
"Marie, you killed him," he says with the voice of a passionate actor. "He is a nobleman."