| As Long As There Is Hope: Part 10 By Jemmiah |
Obi-Wan spent most of that night tossing and turning in his bed. Most of all he wasn't sure he liked the idea of who or what had previously occupied it, his mind imagining all sorts of things he was sure that Qui-Gon would not deem particularly healthy for a fourteen year old boy to be thinking about. Try as he might he could not get comfortable, not even after hours of plumping up his pillows to see if that helped give him some ease - and then bashing them flat again with his fists when they did not. This place gave him the creeps. In his heart of hearts he knew he should try to relax incase he was required to keep his wits about him but his mind was far to awake and lively to do anything other than fret. He was so desperate that he even contemplated meditation! Somehow the bed was just too soft, the mattress too springy and the sheets to silken for his own tastes. When he'd first lain down on it the multiple giant pillows and cushions had almost engulfed him in a cocoon of velvet tastelessness and Obi-Wan was afraid to sleep lest he suffocate during the night… Then there was the horrible feeling that unseen fingers were trying to reach for him, claw at him, turning his skin into shivering gooseflesh awaiting the next invisible touch. He wanted to be back at the temple, sleeping in his own hard yet comforting bed, with its normal, unpretentious sheets and unyielding springs. He yearned for the boring grey-green of his bedroom walls. He even would suffer a week's worth of galactic history with old Master Grunt if only he could fly away from this place… At least Obi-Wan knew they could escape (at least he hoped it was so) if they wished to. He and Qui-Gon and Master Ashdal…but what of the poor wretches they were leaving behind? Sometimes he wondered what use it was being a Jedi when they were not able to help those who desperately needed their aid, and even though he acknowledged that his master's natural curiosity and maverick streak had occasionally gotten them into trouble in the past he knew that in instances like this one he would probably do what the council wished. For someone who would "do what he must" whenever his conscience demanded, Qui-Gon could be mighty unshakable. The council said they were not to get involved, which meant that unless Qui-Gon took it into his head to disobey them they would be leaving behind all the people who had no hope left to them at all. That included Jemmiah. He'd found his thoughts drifting back to the Corellian girl several times during the night, always cursing the unfairness of the situation, knowing there was little he could do to help. Each time his mind kept telling him that Qui-Gon would help: Qui-Gon would protect her… if only he could get them to meet. At the temple on Coruscant Obi-Wan always felt safe and secure. Here there was no security, only misery and darkness. He didn't want to imagine what it was like to have to live here all the time as a slave with no hope, no self-respect, and no chance of ever escaping. Jemmiah had missed out completely on things that most children would think of as normal: schooling, friends, even just living without fear of being hurt by her "jailers". Worst still she had done nothing to deserve the treatment she suffered. None of them had. If only I could show her what Coruscant is really like, Obi-Wan sighed as he turned over on his side, trying to ignore the multiple braids that hit his face as he moved, brushing his cheek like the scurry of tiny insect legs. I would like to see her face as we approached the planet. Then she could see if it was really like how she imagined it would be… It was out of his hands now. Whilst Obi-Wan wanted nothing more than to leave, he didn't want to say goodbye to Jemmiah. It would simply be the biggest injustice he had ever experienced. Tomorrow had turned into today and the light that had seemingly just began to fade now started to return to the sky, little pockets of light blue and dingy orange peeking out of the gloom. Maybe he could talk to Jemmiah this morning? Perhaps he could help engineer a meeting between his master and the young girl? He knew what Qui-Gon was like with waifs and strays, so perhaps if he could just play on that a little… Forcing his master's hand like that wasn't very fair on Qui-Gon, but leaving Jemmiah behind was even less fair. Thus resolved, Obi-Wan rolled onto his stomach and forgot the invisible, wandering fingers on his skin and finally succumbed to the long-overdue tendrils of sleep. ********** Jemmiah had been thinking too. She was certain she had made the right decision, or at least one she could live with…but always at the back of her mind was the rather terrifying thought she wouldn't have to live with it much longer. Suddenly these people - kind and real and concerned unlike any of the 'visitors' before - had arrived to complicate matters and nothing was black and white. Death was now a very frightening thing, where once she had accepted it without much thought, just like breathing. "Don't you see? You will die here! Vernice's words floated back to haunt her. "I know." Jemmy mumbled, sliding out of her bed. She couldn't sleep no matter what. The darkness felt like it was choking her and she swatted at the light source by her bed. What was the point of sleeping, anyway? In a few hours she would have to get up and start the day all over again, just like the day before and the day before that… It was a never-ending cycle of drudgery and Jemmiah knew that the only way to break free of it was to die. "If I left then maybe it would be different…" she sat on the edge of her bed. "Maybe I wouldn't have to do all these chores all the time. Perhaps I could learn to draw and sing and go to school like other kids do…not math though. I don't want to do math." She frowned at the thought. "And then when I was older I could learn to ride speeder bikes and drink gin through a really long curly straw! Yeah, that'd be good." She smiled at the image, lost in her world of make-believe. "And when I was older still I could go to lots and lots of parties and have lots and lots of boyfriends. Someone nice. Not like the men here. Someone who won't hit me coz it makes them feel good." The idea faded somewhat when she remembered exactly who she was and where she was. The offer Vernice had made had been really tempting, so much that it had almost hurt her chest when she had refuse to take her up on it, but it was impossible to go and she had to make her mind up to the fact and not torture herself over it… A noise woke her from her reverie: the sound of the handle on her bedroom door being turned and rattled. Unlike the guests the women had absolutely no privacy whatsoever. There were no electronic locking systems on their doors and basically anyone could get in and out their rooms whenever they liked, which was frequently. Ever since Levinstowe had gone Jemmiah had taken to placing a chair behind her door just as a precaution, jamming it against the handle so that it couldn't be moved. She was fairly sure it had stopped Keleskladt from getting access to her room on a few occasions, and judging by the sound of the way the handle was being twisted around in sheer agitation Jemmiah was almost certain he was the person on the other side of the door… The handle continued to rattle for half a minute more and Jemmiah likewise continued to hold her breath. Even though silence finally returned Jemmiah continued to strain her ears for any sound, just to be on the safe side. Well, there would be no further attempts to sleep tonight, of that much she was certain. She placed her foot gingerly to the floor, testing it to see how well it coped, and to her surprise she found that there was very little pain although her skin had turned a rather frightening shade of blue/black. The jedi lady certainly knew what to do with that force stuff of hers. Again Jemmiah began to wonder what the galaxy was like outside of her little world. How did the Jedi live, she wondered? What did they do? How were they able to use this 'force' of theirs? Did they have families? Did they have any kind of normal life at all? The tears were almost back in here eyes again as she thought of the prowling Keleskladt. He hadn't got in tonight but if he was really determined… "All he has to do is take the furniture out of my room." Jemmiah shivered, knowing the way his mind worked. "Just coz he's stupid doesn't mean he won't work it out." Was this what she wanted? To be waiting up night after night wondering if Keleskladt would get back into her room? And even if he did, she couldn't do anything about it. All she had to do was find Vernice and say yes… "I can't." she told herself. "Not without Nadine." She'd give it an hour or so and then she would wander down to the kitchens to hide away, just like she usually did. People would be asking for their breakfast trays soon. Then there was the little matter of cleaning Merdan's office, something she never attempted without trepidation incase she did something he didn't care for, like polish the desk too much or scratch the furniture. That in itself was heart stopping enough without what she had promised to do on top of that. Turning down the chance for freedom in return for getting her head blown off for spying. Now she knew she was going round the twist… ******** "Jacen." "Hmmm." "Wake up." "Wh-whaaa?" Obi-Wan mumbled, trying to get away from the all too real fingers that were shaking at his shoulders. "It's me. Your devoted uncle." Qui-Gon replied, studying the recalcitrant lump under the sheets for a moment. "I'm afraid, dear nephew, that it is time to get up." "Huh?" Obi-Wan sat half up in his bed; his features still all screwed up on the side he'd been sleeping upon. "What do you mean? It can't be?" the padawan sounded as if he were still half asleep, passing a weary hand infront of his eyes and rubbing at them with balled fists. "I only just got to sleep." "I'm very sorry about that." Qui-Gon was not only up and about but also showered and dressed already. "I take it you didn't sleep well? It must be the sign of a guilty conscience." Obi-Wan just about managed to recall the thoughts he had before drifting off and indeed as Qui-Gon suggested a touch of guilt surfaced. He had no right to demand that Qui-Gon took the Corellian girl with them when they left. The idea of leaving her pained him very much but there was nothing he could do without being blunt or offensive to his master… "As it happens I didn't sleep very well either, padawan." Qui-Gon tried to calm his clearly upset apprentice, using as gentle a tone as possible. "I suppose I spent far too much time thinking over the many problems we might face when we try to leave." The master stood up, leaving Obi-Wan to follow him with squinting and bleary eyes. "Breakfast is ready." Qui-Gon stated. "I think we should make the most of it. "We have a really busy day ahead of us." "Did you order breakfast, master?" Obi-Wan asked, wondering if his master had spoken to Jemmiah at all. "No. The strange thing was that there were a couple of knocks on the door and then…" Jinn spread his hands out in a vague gesture. "It seems history has repeated itself. When I got there and looked down the tray was sitting there. It seems like you have made a good friend." Obi-Wan picked at the gold braid on one of the pillows, desperately wanting to cry out that whether or not she was a good friend he was still going to be forced to leave her behind, but he kept his words to himself. Shouting at Qui-Gon would change nothing, if anything it would make matters worse than they already were. He knew that his master considered him occasionally quick tempered and reckless and there was no way he wanted to add grist to the mill. "You like this girl very much." Observed Qui-Gon, impressed with his padawan's restraint. "Yes, master." "Supposing," Qui-Gon hovered uncertainly for a moment by his padawan's bed, "that a chance came to take her out with us. Would you approve of that?" Obi-Wan felt as if he had been stunned. It hadn't been what he had expected at all. "Yes, master!" Kenobi smiled. "Yes, I would very much." "Don't get your hopes up too much." Qui-Gon warned him. "I'm not entirely certain how feasible it is. The sheer number of men Merdan has in this place makes it awkward to even contemplate smuggling out someone from under their noses. I've been debating the stupidity of the idea for most of the night, and it IS a huge risk…" he saw some of the sparkle fade from Obi-Wan's eyes and relaxed his tone again. "Our first priority is the Chancellor's mission. However, if we can send someone back to free these people I think we will have achieved something of far greater importance. For that we need a witness." He looked at Obi-Wan thoughtfully. "Do you think your friend will be able to help us?" "I'm sure she would." Obi-Wan nodded a little too ferociously, with the result that he felt something twinge in his neck. Qui-Gon smothered his smile. "Well, in that case we will have to see what we can do. Maybe you can talk to her again, hmm? But discretely…I don't want a repetition of yesterday in the courtyard. I am going to speak to a lead that Vernice has given me." Qui-Gon started to walk away. "I suggest you eat something, padawan. Your icedvanilla is getting cold." "M-my what?" Obi-Wan blinked. "Your breakfast." Qui-Gon remarked dryly. "It seems your friend thinks you have a taste for it. I can't imagine where she got that idea." "But master, who has icedvanilla for breakfast?" Obi-Wan ran his fingers through his rapidly lengthening hair. Qui-Gon stopped by the partition door. "Apparently, only you." He sighed, shaking his head. "Now eat up before it gets warm." *************** Jemmiah finished loading the washer with the breakfast dishes as quickly as she possibly could, wanting to make an early start on Merdan's office. His rooms were cleaned twice a week plus any additional dusting he wished doing on top of that, and it was not unknown for him to make occasional forays to the kitchen to personally seek her out. Jemmiah hated those times more than anything. Fooling the guards that she was fit and healthy was one thing but keeping it from Merdan was quite another. One of these days he would look at her and pick out the symptoms: the weakness in her legs, the wasting of her muscles and the brightness of her eyes that would all point in tell-tale fashion to the illness that was slowly beginning to consume her small body. What happened then was completely in Merdan's hands and if past history was anything to go by… Merdan was never in his office when she went to clean it. There was a special key code she used to gain access to his room that only she and Merdan knew about. It wasn't so much a case of trusting Jemmiah with his possessions but a clear matter of knowing what would happen if anything DID go amiss. That threat alone made certain Jemmiah was highly efficient at what she did. What surprised her most was that for all his ruthlessness and cold, scheming ways Rufus Merdan had never once laid a finger on her. He'd never beaten her. Never taunted her with words like some of the guards. She imagined that was because it was beneath him, or that he felt he was in some way being magnanimous to bolster his ego. Then one day word got back to her that he actually thought she was a good worker. It made sense, she supposed: who would purposefully injure their own property whilst it served a useful purpose? Even so Jemmiah never relaxed in his presence. To do so would be to invite trouble she could well do without. Wekkren was the third day of the week, and it was one of the days when Merdan would be away from his office until mid-morning. Technically she should not make a start on cleaning the room for well over another hour, but knowing that she needed all the time she could get to help Vernice obtain the proof she needed regarding the envoy lady - and also in the hope of maybe speaking to that Jacen boy with the strange locks - Jemmiah decided to make a conscious effort to get to work as soon as she could. Armed with a small wooden footstool so she could reach the key on the outside of the door, Jemmiah set off along the plush carpets and gaudy painted walls towards Merdan's private room. She was astonished to find she hated the costume she was forced to wear. It had never really occurred to her before to feel ashamed of her clothing but since Vernice had revealed her true identity she had spent a lot of time feeling self-conscious about the distinctly daring and adult nature of the dress she was currently sporting. In the kitchens she could wear the comfortable trouser pants and tops that most kids anywhere in the galaxy might own. Out of sight: out of mind. Merdan didn't care. However, whenever she was in plain sight of any of the guests he insisted that she wore the same rather degrading short dresses that the other women put on. Nadine called it a tacky gimmick, but until the jedi had arrived Jemmiah had not considered it one way or another. It was simply what she wore. She had liked the bright colors and the trimmings. She liked the little splits at the side seems and the child sized thigh boots Merdan had got her. It just seemed right for her, somehow. Now she wondered if it didn't make her look like a red lampshade. If Jacen had wondered why she had simply knocked on the door and run away (not once but twice) it was because she didn't want to picture his face when he saw her in these extremely suggestive clothes. Vernice would be no happier either. Now, as she approached the door to Merdan's room Jemmy simply wanted to hide. She knocked on the door just to make certain that Mr. Merdan wasn't there but as expected there was no reply from inside the room. Hardly surprising really: Jemmy was fairly sure that Merdan would be spending his customary Wekkren morning with Suzette, the thirty something lady from Ymprana he had received as payment for a gambling debt some two years ago. Placing the stool against the wall, Jemmy stepped up and slide the key coder in the slot, swiped it along and listened as the door began to unlock itself one bolt at a time. After some twenty seconds of the usual clicking and whirring, the door slowly slid backward and allowed Jemmy to go in. By way of a signal to show that she was cleaning Merdan's room Jemmiah always left the little wooden stool outside so that people would know she was in there and so not to bother disturbing her, but on this occasion Jemmiah did not want anyone to know she was there. She wasn't yet supposed to be in the office and the fewer people who knew it the better. As she stepped down Jemmiah began to feel her legs start to buckle underneath her and made a convulsive grab at the wall to steady herself, trying to stop her head from spinning as she did so. She thought it rather odd that such a little height should suddenly prove so problematic for her and began to wonder how successful she would be inside Merdan's rooms clambering about to reach the shelves. Jemmy took a deep breath, then another and waited until the little black spots ceased to float about infront of her eyes before picking up the stool at the top and unsteadily entering the office, duster and polish in her small shoulder bag slung across her body. She made for Merdan's desk. That was where she always started just incase he needed to get back into his room in a hurry. At the very least he would have a clean and polished desk to work on. Other than that it was a case of polishing all the wood surfaces, the gilded picture frames, the shelving, replacing the dust filters and generally making sure everything was tidy. That wasn't particularly difficult because Merdan was not an untidy person by nature, infact just the opposite. He had an intense dislike of clutter and mess. Jemmiah noticed that Merdan's desk drawer was locked and knew there was no way she would ever get anything useful from within. No doubt Merdan's journal was safely locked away, although she doubted there would be anything that would incriminate himself in it, or if there was it would all be in some kind of code that nobody could read. Merdan was a clever man. Someone like Levinstowe would no doubt gloat over all his terrible deeds in his diary. He WAS stupid enough to leave evidence against himself. She hoped it would hang him one day. Okay…the drawer was a no-go. There was nothing lying about on his desk that she could see. The only other thing lying about on Merdan's desk were a series of square weights for holding down flimsyplast in various colors and what appeared to be an inkwell. Often she had wondered why Merdan would have an ink well on his desk when he never ever used ink. She had supposed it was either for decoration or it was some expensive knickknack he had acquired from somewhere. Never before had she dared to examine it, usually dusting around it and leaving all Merdan's personal things well alone, but today she dared to pick it up and have a closer look. It wasn't an ink well at all. The top came away in her hands and for one ghastly moment Jemmiah imagined that she had broken it! It was with shaking fingers and a considerable amount of relief that she discovered that the precious item was supposed to dismantle, and Jemmy nearly sank to the floor with gratitude. Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou…she heard herself mutter as she sought to regain control of her mind. Trying to piece the two parts back together, Jemmiah found a rolled up piece of flimsy curled inside the bottom half of the well, and very carefully eased it out between her still trembling thumb and forefinger. Jemmy squinted at the hand scrawl before her in what was undoubtedly Merdan's own writing. Numbers. A long sequence of numbers. To anyone reading just the figures (especially someone like Jemmiah who had an aversion to mathematics) the numbers would have made absolutely no sense on their own. It might as well have been that code Jemmiah had thought about earlier in reference to Merdan's journal…until she folded down the top bit of the paper and saw a very, very interesting line of words preceding the numbers. This was not the evidence that Vernice had asked her to find but something told the Corellian child that it might very well be of importance, and so she tucked it away down the front of her dress where nobody would find it. She hoped. Damn, her swollen ankle was most uncomfortable when shoved into tight boots, she lamented as she scowled at the injured foot. Replacing the inkwell with one hand and bending down to rub at her foot with the other, Jemmiah heard a sound that made her blood run cold. The door locks were opening one by one! For a moment she stood disbelieving and stunned like a Nerf in a headlight as the bolts slid back until there were only three left. Jemmy suddenly got a grip of herself and hid behind the desk, grabbing the stool and the polishing equipment and lugging it after her. If it was Merdan she could just say she was polishing the chair legs, although how he would react to seeing her there in the office when she shouldn’t be made her sick with worry… The last bolt snapped back and the door opened to reveal a pair of black boots. Infact three pairs of black boots, none of which looked like Merdan's at all. It was only when she heard the voices speak that Jemmy realized she was in more danger than she had first imagined. "Where's the armory?" One man asked gruffly. "You said Merdan kept it in here." "The key is in here someplace. It's just a case of searching for it." A disagreeable voice replied that Jemmiah easily identified as that of Keleskladt. What was he doing there??? And how had he got in??? "You said this would be easy." The other guard replied. "You said that with the weapons we could take over this place for ourselves." "We already have weapons." The second guard snapped. "Why do we need more?" "Because Merdan still has men loyal to him." Keleskladt whispered angrily. "Unless we control the guns we are going to find ourselves shot to pieces before we can even begin to defend ourselves! And Merdan is a VERY tricky customer." He let his voice calm slightly, trying to draw them in. "This is possible. We can run this place for ourselves and keep all the profits! Merdan won't even get wind of it, but I want to be prepared. I don't want my head blown off my neck! Now split up and look for the key!" Jemmiah swallowed. It was only a matter of time before she was spotted. *********** Qui-Gon had left Obi-Wan to himself once more, letting the padawan entertain himself in the games room whilst he continued with his own quest to find out something about the missing envoy. The master had been puzzled at Obi-Wan's insistence that he went to the recreation area and was even more confused when he saw the boy pick up a long Febbalo stick and set to work on potting the various colored balls on the table into the tiny pickets at the edge. Obi-Wan, he knew, expressed a dislike for those kind of pastimes which was why he seemed astonished at the gusto with which his apprentice was currently attacking the game. He'd also had cause to wonder about the almost blithe way in which he had left his room - almost in high spirits - and the manner in which he had hurried to his present location. I know he is pleased that in theory we have agreed to taking this girl with us, but even so that is not the after-breakfast, bleary eyed, go-away-world-leave-me-alone padawan that I know and admire, Qui-Gon found himself sighing as he thought of Obi-Wan's hurt and heartache if they could not get the child out after all. It would be very, very bad for him. All sorts of scenarios had cropped up in his head during the night. Most of all Qui-Gon dreaded another incident like that of Melida-Daan. The boy been forced to choose between his friends and master on that occasion too…and Qui-Gon had lost. It won't happen again, Qui-Gon persuaded himself to concentrate on what he was about to do rather than what might happen. Think positively. He'd been more forward with his specifications regarding his partner this time, actually naming the woman that Vernice had suggested. When he mentioned that she had been recommended by one of her 'colleagues' the person at reception had laughed and made sure that Qui-Gon knew the rules about not personally giving credits to the whores, as it sounded like they were trying to drum up some trade for themselves on a "you mention me - I'll mention you" basis. Qui-Gon gave the man a cold smile and informed him that he didn't make his money by throwing it all away by mixing with undesirable types. The barb was not aimed at the women but rather at Merdan's guards yet still the insult sailed right over the man's head, who sent a call through to contact Qui-Gon's chosen 'date'. Some ten minutes later and the slender if suspicious figure of the woman known as Nadine made her regal entrance at reception, eyeing Qui-Gon from head to foot and taking his measure. "I believe we have some business to conduct." She said in a wry voice that straightaway endeared her to the tall Jedi master. "But I think perhaps the foyer is not the appropriate place…perhaps somewhere more private?" she gestured the way with a sweep of her arm. "Unless voyeurism is your particular pleasure." "Lead the way, madam. I will follow." Qui-Gon nearly pulled a face at the sugary words he found himself using and could tell that they didn't impress Nadine much either by the look of it. Still, she was gracious enough to say nothing further as she set of in the direction of one of the rooms set aside for just such an occasion. The things you have to do in the name of the council. Qui-Gon shook his head as he trailed after her. ************* Jemmiah felt as though she had hardly drawn breath the whole time since Keleskladt had entered the room. From under the desk all she could see were the feet of his subordinates leaving their mark upon the rugs, deep in the pile. A distracted part of her brain thought how much Merdan would dislike having filthy carpets, followed swiftly by the realization that should she not do something about escaping soon, Merdan would have to find himself someone else to clean his carpets… "Where IS the key?" She heard Keleskladt barking to the other men. "It HAS to be here some place. Keep searching!" The Corellian girl instinctively curled herself up tighter into a ball, partly to help her hide better and partly because Keleskladt's weasel-voice had that effect on her anyway. She could sense him getting closer to where she was concealed, and closed her eyes tightly against the inevitable discovery that would surely follow, so much that they hurt. "What about the desk?" One of them asked. "It'll be locked." The third one replied. "You know what Merdan's like about security." "Try it anyway, it can't make our situation any kriffing worse." Keleskladt marched over towards the desk that Jemmiah was cowering underneath, his vague shadow visible against the wall. "I'm telling you, the only way that we can make this work is if we can get some of the other men on our side. He who holds the weaponry holds the power on Nargotria." "What about the women?" the second man asked. "A bunch of brightly painted, streetwalking trash?" Keleskladt looked back over his shoulder. "They've spent so long using their bodies instead of their brains they probably don't even remember their own names. Forget them. They're just flesh. There won't be any protests from them if Merdan disappeared…what was that?" Keleskladt broke off the conversation in such a hurry that Jemmiah felt a fresh attack of fear strike at her. She felt it rise to her throat, threatening to close off her breath completely with the overpowering sensation of terror. How could it get worse? How? "I heard something!" Keleskladt whispered hoarsely. "Everyone, get out!" "I never heard anything." The third man argued. "I'm not taking the risk…we'll come back later on when he's not here." Keleskladt manhandled one of his colleagues to the door with a huge shove that sent him flying. "Move!" Coward,thought Jemmiah in relief, so happy that she very nearly started to cry, biting her lip to stop the tears. I am sooooo happy that you are scared! If you hadn't been, I would be dead by now. The door closed behind her but Jemmiah waited for ten solid minutes before even venturing to move a muscle. Strange how safe she felt under that desk. Out there the world was bad. Underneath, hidden from sight she felt like she could shut out the world… Her legs felt leaden, as if they would never move again from paralysis but Jemmiah pulled herself out from under the desk and managed to pull herself up. She wanted to leave the room. She couldn't search anymore - surely Vernice would understand - and lock herself in the kitchens away from the likes of Keleskladt and Merdan. What was the time? She had arranged to meet with the jedi kid in the games room at eight standard time…if she hurried she would make the rendezvous before she was missed. Jemmiah stared at the chrono on the wall before noticing something else even more alarming: one of the small sculptures from the corner of the room had been pushed over and smashed! Keleskladt must have done it when he had pushed the other guard away. Jemmiah cursed as she turned the pieces over in her hand, knowing that there was no way that it could be fixed. Merdan would blame her for its destruction and then he would get VERY unhappy indeed. Her eyes fell from the broken statue to the rugs on the floor. The footprints were clearly visible, with their distinctive sole markings and scores in the heels. Jemmiah knew that when shown this evidence Merdan would not blame her for what had happened, but that meant she had to tell him - now! She left everything as it had fallen; placing the two statue halves back on the ground from where they had come. Merdan would still be with Suzette, and whilst she had no doubts that the latter would only be too happy to be rid of him, Merdan would not take so kindly to being disturbed. There was no other way around it though, not if she wanted to keep her neck. It wasn't so much courage that galvanized Jemmiah into action but the thought that one way or another the whole thing had to come to an end of some kind. It was just impossible to keep going, keep pretending for day after day. She didn't know what Merdan was going to say. She knew it wouldn't be good. |