Last time in Daniel Land, our hero (our protagonist, at least) had a secret meeting with Rae Thiessen, who begged for his help in safely escaping the city and Jumpy's new regime...

Daniel 9 -Who Do You Serve, and Who Do You Trust

The tower is the same, but the guard has changed. It has likely been renamed as well, probably to the Raffordy Tower. Jumpy has left no relic of the Sinister reign unchanged. The mystic who has replaced Serpent lounges up against the side of the door, glaring at Mr. Thiessen and myself with all three eyes, his fingers drumming slowly on the hilt of the large broadsword strapped to his side. His hair is grey, and he has stubble to match. After another moment's consideration, he answers.

"Another meeting, eh Rae? I don't remember your name on the list, but, " he grins, showing a mouth of yellow stained teeth, "You know my memory. Sometimes it needs a little reminding."

"Look, Mitch, we've been through this." Thiessen's testiness is probably a result of the anxiety he has been displaying since he came to pick me up. "This man is supposed to go and see Don Raffordy. If he hears you didn't let him in, he'll probably-"

"Probably what? Maybe he just never showed up, right? It's not my fault. Maybe he skipped out. Maybe you forgot to get him, and you'll be the one who gets it. No second chances here, Fingers." Again, Mitch leans back, smugly. Thiessen, more riled but clearly still in control of himself, fetches out his purse from a pouch in his belt, and dumps its contents, about seven or eight gold pieces, into the doorman's hand.

"They don't pay you too much, do they, Fingers? Maybe you should be doing a better job." He sneers again; he is missing two teeth from his lower jaw.

"Shut up and let us in, asshole." Thiessen, shoving his purse and his hand in his pocket self-consciously, continues to glare.

"Door's right there, buddy."

Shrugging back at me, Thiessen pushes past the doorman, who ignores him and looks me over disinterestedly. Ignoring him in turn, having already made my assessment of him, I enter the tower. The character of the place has changed. The cultivated atmosphere of respect and dignity has evaporated, and something new is growing in its place. It is as telling in the attitudes of the people who occupy the space as in the decor. There is fear, and blind ambition, and though these things were present under the old Don, they are no longer tempered by his leadership skills. There is no respect for the people; there is no respect for the institution that the family has become.

The man who meets us inside seems to be in a similar state of mind to Thiessen. His clothing looks like some sort of uniform, though it may only be a style I am unfamiliar with. There is a sword at his waist also, and his red jacket contains several unnatural bulges. He is very pale, with white blonde hair in a brush cut. Rae passes him a letter, which he reads, then nods to us both.

"I'll bring him up Rae, just stick around this floor and I'll find ya later."

Thiessen nods curtly, still annoyed by the confrontation outside. "Sure, Trent, " then to me, "Come find me when you get out, I'll be around, right?" Now that we are inside, he seems more anxious, though not so much as at last night's meeting. Both hands stuffed staunchly in his pockets, he stalks off further into the tower.

"You've been here before Mr. Graves?" Trent reads over the letter again quickly, not apparently expecting an answer, and nods to himself. "Mind if I search you, then?" Again, he doesn't seem to expect an actual answer, and just proceeds to pat down my sides. I left all my equipment stashed back at my room. Jumpy, or Don Raffordy, is much less likely to return it if he should deem it threatening and despite his paranoia, this meeting should not get so out of hand as to make me regret not bringing my weapon. Trent seems a bit suspect that he has found nothing, but makes no comment. "You know your way up, then?" This time, he does seem to expect a response, so I nod. He seems a bit suspect of this also, gives me an appraising look, then shrugs dismissively. "Better get up there, then."

He lets me lead, likely to test whether I was lying or not. My sense of space once again proves reliable, as we arrive after a short walk and an elevator ride in front of the door to the Don's office. This time, I have the opportunity to actually see the path travelled, instead of following blindly. Trent knocks twice on the set of closed double doors, and we wait. After a moment of hushed mutterings, the doors are opened outwards by a tall... nearly twelve feet tall in fact, dark skinned man. He bears no arms, but he is hiding something, and is definitely dangerous. Past him strides a woman.

My first impression of her is of darkness, though in truth her skin is very pale. Her hair is black, yes, but there is something else about her that colours my perception, some sort of resonance. She reminds me of the Fallen Ones, the Nephandi, corrupt deviants in all senses of the term, whose agendas and crimes against reality surpass the depths of mere human imagination... I force myself to remain impassive, to shield my thoughts, but not obviously raise my guard. She turns towards me and smiles, a spark of menace in her ice blue eyes.

"Mister Graves... I do hope your meeting will go well, and that you will take the Don's advice into consideration."

In response, I simply nod, as I do with most people. She glides past me and Trent, who looks quite ashen himself. The giant still holds the doors open, though his face is impassive. Behind him sits Jumpy, Don Gil Raffordy. His face is pale, his slicked back hair more grey streaked, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. He no longer seems a paranoid man, but rather a terrified one. The room itself has changed also. The carpet remains, still rust coloured, with some amorphous darker stains visible to a sharp eye. The window the old Don was pushed out of has apparently been replaced, as has the large oak desk and the chairs on either side of it. The family portraits are gone, and the bare walls makes the room look larger. I step inside, and the giant, probably Raffordy's personal bodyguard, follows and closes the doors behind him.

Raffordy rises as I enter, and I bow to him, as I did to Sinister. This seems to surprise him, and he bobs quickly in turn then falls back down into his chair in one stilted motion.

"Mister Graves, " he manages after a moment of cautious, silent, staring. He gestures irritably at the empty seat in front of me with his left hand, and returns it quickly to his lap. "Haveaseat."

The air he has assumed now seems both practised and forced. He hopes to cover his fear, which most likely stems from his previous meeting, with a display of impatience and annoyance This is clear to me, but I have been trained to notice such things and his pwn people may be more easily deceived by the display. Still, Raffordy's emotional instabilities make him a dangerous man to intimidate, so I sit. The chair on this side of the massive black wooden desk is not designed for comfort, and is probably intended to add to the intimidation factor of the situation. He glares at me, the combination of complexion and dark clothing giving to the perceptive the appearance of someone who has not slept in days.

"Sotellme, then, Graves, after you betrayed us to work for the Paper Factory, why did you come back here?"

Coming back to Evergreen was a mistake in retrospect, but I had other things on my mind than potentially volatile political situations. Once I arrived and was scheduled for a meeting, it would have been just as dangerous to skip out. At this point, I need to convince him that I am not a threat.

"That temporary alliance was not outside of the terms of my original contract." This is true, more or less, but it could be debated. It remains to be seen whether Raffordy is aware of those terms. He knows I was sent to track down Arsante for the Factory, in fact he was the one who gave me the mission, but wether he would think that I was supposed to come directly back, or know the true reasons our arrangement was made in the first place, is another matter. He wipes his eyes self-consciously and picks up a leaf of paper from the pile on top of his desk, skimming it quickly. He is holding it tightly enough that the sides are wrinkled slightly, and his lips slice a thin white gash across his already ashen face. Once he reaches the bottom of the page, his eyes glance up, past me to the doors --or his guard --and then back.

"So you've come back for more then? You did very well tracking down Arsante, your talents could be very valuable right now." He sounds suspicious, and desperate, and is trying to force his voice to be steady. The page he was reading is quickly shoved under the bottom of the stack. Once again, his eyes glance past me, but there is no motion from the giant, or even any change in his regular breathing.

"I am sorry to say that that is not the case." The trick now is not to make him suspicious of me, but at the same time secure permission to leave the city without being questioned further. Using an established procedure would greatly facilitate this, but I do not want to risk it because of the proximity of the guard. If Raffordy were to become aware of the influence on his mind, it is not likely that he would be very lenient with the perpetrator. As it is, his eyes bulge slightly at my comment, and he makes a concerted effort to control his breathing. His nervous energies are directed towards the objects on his desk; he rearranges his pens and shuffles the stack of papers, trying to seem casually annoyed. He scowls as he responds.

"Then why?"

"I wished to pay my respects to your organization, and also to inform you in person that since the death of Don Sinister the terms of my employment can no longer be met."

Raffordy nearly chokes at the mention of Sinister's name, and his knuckles whiten where he has gripped the arms of his chair. It would probably have been better not to bring it up, but this is the only way I have been able to come up with of possibly having this situation work to my benefit.

When I met with Raffordy before his sudden promotion, I learned that it would be wiser not to comment on his nervous habits, so I simply wait for him to recover. The guard behind me makes no comment or motion, either. After a moment, his fists uncurl. He stares down at his desk and tries to take a deep breath quietly. When he looks back up, his tired eyes seem slightly dimmer, and his hands shake for a moment before he splays them flat on his desk.

"I'llofferbetterterms."

I shake my head. "There are some personal issues that have arisen recently that I need to resolve to be confident that my services would be valuable at any price." This is, as are all of my previous comments, true at least in part. My dreams have been less intense of late, but their significance is still a mystery that demands some sort of resolution from me. Raffordy stares for a moment, glances up at the guard almost habitually, and nods once, again trying to keep control of his speech and deportment.

"I really don't care about your personal issues." He picks up a pen and scribbles a short note down on the corner of a pad of paper hidden by the other miscellany on his desk. "But if you aren't gonna works for us, I want you out of my city." He underlines the message, glances timidly at the giant and menacingly at me, and continues, "To show that I'mnot inhospitable, I'll give you until morning to be gone."

I nod again myself, unsure whether he expects a response. Raffordy waves his hand dismissively, and so I rise. The giant still has not moved, and the Don stares as we both stand there, awaiting instructions. He swallows rapidly, and speaks past me.

"Agatos, see him out. Andstayoutside."

Behind me, Agatos turns to open the doors. I decline to bow again, afraid the unexpected movement may startle Raffordy, who seems tense enough to snap in two. Instead, I back slowly out of the office to the corridor where Trent has apparently been waiting. I expect that if anyone left here either is perceptive enough or knows Raffordy well enough to see how stressed he really is, they have covered it well. It is also possible that they are in enough awe of him or Xellanosha to be blinded to it.

Agatos ducks to exit after me, then closes the doors and assumes a position similar to the one he had taken up inside, staring down the corridor and apparently ignoring the two of us. Trent eyes the guard uneasily, left hand unconsciously falling to one of the bulges in his jacket, the right idly caressing the pommel of his sword. This still elicits no response of any sort from the bodyguard. Backing off a bit, Trent turns to me and smirks as nonchalantly as he can manage.

"So, you stayin' or what?"

I shake my head., and he frowns incredulously. He shrugs, eyes Agatos again, and then starts walking back down the hallway.

"No point givin' you the tour, so I'll just show you out. I'll tell Rae you had to leave."

After that comment, we walk in silence back to the elevator. I have all of my things organized back at Clarc's, and hidden well enough that anyone who searches my room while I'm out shouldn't find anything. I don't have any money, of course, but if I survived the trek across Kantir, I know I can manage. I am not exactly certain what my next move should be. I may very well return to the Paper Factory, though I dislike the organization, because of the stability it would provide. Parras is not likely to offer me the same deal that Sinister did, but I am certain that he has also taken at least a face value interest in the invaders. As for Thiessen, if he still wants me to help him leave, and I expect he does, it will be up to him to reach me now.

Trent escorts me in silence back to the main doors in the lobby, disinterested. The doorman outside, still reclining against the wall, flicks a cigarette butt at me as I pass. He misses. I can't afford to hire one of the few rickshaws or carriages hanging around nearby, and walking will both give me time to think and to test an observation I made on the way here. The woman who has been following me since I arrived in town is no longer doing so. There are several reasons that this could be, but first I need to confirm it.

The streets close to the tower are empty of any casual strollers, as usual. I start along the most direct route back to Clarc's, and check my watch for any other moving bodies. There are none. I doubt that the stalker has found any way of foiling my device even if she does realize I have it. This could mean either that I am no longer of interest to whoever she works for, or that they already know where I am going to be. My activities here haven't been particularly interesting, save for that one late night meeting, which they missed, and my patterns have been fairly regular. This should not be significant, but it is making me anxious; perhaps the atmosphere of the place is starting to get to me.

Most of the buildings in the district surrounding the tower are offices, but further out they become interspersed with other businesses, and so more people. Most of them are in a hurry, avoiding everyone else. It's as if the entire population of Evergreen has been replaced with people from New York, and by this time, I understand why. There is enough going on here that it must be hard for the citizens to find a safe and acceptable place to stand. Rumour has it that the merchant who betrayed Serpent did so because his family was threatened. I pass a young man in a green cloak, who pretends to huddle against the cool wind in a doorway. Across the street, an older mystic glares at both of us as she steps out of an office building with a brown parcel under one arm. I check my watch, to make sure they are still the only ones around.

There is something large, probably a cart or a rickshaw, moving quickly down the street, but it is not yet in view. This is the only movement on the street that I was not aware of. The mystic shuffles off down a side street, and the young man has stopped to light a cigarette. I can hear wheels rolling over the cobbled street, definitely a rickshaw, and sounds of an argument are carried on the wind from an open window a few houses away. Clarc's is still almost half a mile away by the most direct route, and it is getting colder, as grey clouds beginning to block out the sun. I don't think it will actually rain, however, as the humidity is still quite low and the wind is too strong.

I hear voices from the rickshaw, but the words are carried away instead of towards me. It is slowing down, so I turn to watch. The passenger, Thiessen, waves me over. The runner, a young-looking girl with short green hair and dressed in dark orange, slows to a stop beside me and stares at the pavement disinterestedly. Thiessen is fidgety, staring around at the buildings on either side of us.

"Get in, okay? Please?" He is nervous, and since he probably knows that I declined Raffordy's offer, it may not be without good reason. I step up and take the seat behind him, where the canvas awning of the cart offers some protection from the wind. The girl takes this as her cue to start moving again, and continues down the street. Thiessen eyes me apprehensively, and speaks up again. "I was going to your place, at Clarc's, anyway, to see if I could catch you."

I nod, at this point, to interrupt. "We can speak there." At this point, it is less likely to get either of us into trouble, and he might calm down a bit during the ride. He already seems less panicked than he did when he approached, and is probably less concerned that I might leave without contacting him. Currently, he is leaning back in his seat, trying to hide behind the awning, and watching the crowds cautiously as we enter the market. It is obvious that he is not comfortable with silence from his body language. I already know exactly what I can offer him, and how I can do it, but he will have to rely on his own resources after a certain point.

Most of the afternoon market goers do not take much notice of us except to get out of the way of our and other passing vehicles. I recognize a few individuals who are here specifically there to take note of who passes through. The woman who has been tailing me is not among them, nor do any of them seem to take much interest. They were probably not told to make note of it, and many of them will not remember who Thiessen was with, or be able to give an accurate description. This is among several factors that will work to our advantage at this point. I don't expect that Raffordy will make much issue of me at this point beyond making sure I do leave and perhaps trying to track my passage abroad, but if he thinks that I am adding to his own problems by helping deserters, his opinion is liable to change.

The runner is very fast, and in excellent shape as well. When we arrive, she is not even out of breath as she lowers the cart so that we can descend. She does take a moment to fix her hair behind her ears as we do so, and to stretch her arms. Thiessen has already produced another small bag of coins from one of his belt compartments, and opens it up to check it's contents. Apparently satisfied, he holds it out to her as she stretches.

"Here you go, Tiv. Remember what I asked, right?"

She accepts it, weighs it in her left hand, grins and raises her eyebrows as she produces a key from a pocket inside her shirt. "Thanks, Rae... I'll do good for ya." She crouches to reach the strongbox mounted along the axle of the rickshaw, and Thiessen looks around quickly before stepping inside. I follow.

Thiessen walks in past the boy at the desk, Ken, who looks up from his book only briefly as we pass. The common room is empty, but there seem to be other guests here now, so it may not be for long. I can hear movement upstairs, and one of the other keys is missing from the rack. I lead the way , and notice that the room beside mine, the one with which I share a bathroom, has a 'Do Not Disturb' sign hanging from the knob. I check my watch. Whoever was moving inside has stopped, several feet away from the door, around where the bed would be. Cautiously, I unlock the door to my own room, and carefully push it open part way. Thiessen steps inside, past me.

I realize too late that something is wrong, as he stumbles forward to the sound of breaking glass. I can see the carefully hidden wire attached to the broken globes, but can do nothing as their contents permeate the air in a thick red cloud, spilling into the hallway. I try to brace myself against the doorway, hold my breath, but my skin tingles and numbs...vision fading, I hear the door beside open.....

I'm sitting inside, indian style. Everything outside is distorted, so I can't see it right, no matter how I look. In front of me is a girl, in a yellow jumper. She's also kneeling, laughing, not looking at me. She is drifting, farther away, through the glass. Now I'm crouching, hands pressed against the barrier, watching a smear of bright colour against a background of grey moving things, monsters. They are dangerous; she's in danger. I see this, I know it is real, outside.

"Anna."

My voice is strong, the word echoes, and everything moves. I'm dizzy, falling.

She's inside again, and so am I. I'm still watching, from a distance. I have a rake in my hand, I'm wearing jeans covered with earth, and a sweater. I just came in from doing yard work, but it started to rain. She's lying on the couch in front of the t.v., half asleep, but she rolls over and smiles at me when I enter. She says "Take off you shoes, silly, I just cleaned the house." I smile back at her and say "Just my shoes?" She smiles more, and I can see where she's cleaned, because everything is so shiny, like glass...

I will know what this place, this trap, this prison is. I have a computer set up, and top of the line sensor equipment. I'm just waiting for the data to be processed so I can load it into a modelling program. I've used this for something before, to see it, but I don't remember what. I lean back in my chair for a moment and press 'enter', and someone is behind me, their hands on my shoulders.

"You work too hard, " she says, cuddling up beside me, closing the space between us and reaching for my hand where it rests on her thigh.

"Anna, you don't even-" I start, but she interrupts. I'm very tired.

"I know, but I just worry..." We lie together, I'm falling asleep, relaxed, but she isn't. I start to move away, so she can be more comfortable, but she stops me. She burrows in closer, pressing up her satin camisole against my naked chest, and we stay that way a while. I'm still tired, but not sleeping. I listen to her breathe, smell her hair. Her feet are cold, the rest is warm. We lie together. I start to fall asleep again. I'm so tired, but I don't remember why...

"Daniel?" She asks, quietly. I mumble something, half asleep. "What if we ever have kids? What then?"

I'm back inside the glass. It's hard to breathe, but I'm resigned to this. It's hot in here, like under the sun. Suffocating, like the mouse. I can't think anything that I am not allowed. My mind is suffocating. I'm sleeping, and I'm alone.

My mind hurts, my lungs hurt, my skin burns, my mouth is dry, my eyes are itchy, and I am trapped...

Awake.

My head hurts, my lungs and skin feel like they are on fire. My mouth tastes stale, and my eyes won't focus correctly. I am tied to a chair in my underwear in a small, dark room. The floor is made of earth, and it is also damp, slimy, cold, and possibly covered in half rotten straw or reeds. There is muttered conversation outside, two male and one female voice. The walls are thick, as is the door. There is no one else here. I try to stay quiet so I can recover myself, but my lungs betray me, and I cough. The conversation outside pauses for a moment, and one of the male voices drops out. I try to move my arms, to test the ties, but my nerves are tingling too much, and I can't feel anything. The Technocracy trains its agents what to do in these situations. I recall a simple procedure to clear the mind, or at least to divorce thought from discomfort.

The room is approximately twenty five feet square, and the walls are made of stone. The air is damp and slightly musty, which may indicate a cellar. There is an empty torch bracket on the wall near the door. There is a slot at eye level on the door, but it is covered. The conversation outside has died down some, and the rodents scurrying in wall crevices can be heard. There are two possibilities for who was behind the abduction, but this is not the Tower, which means that it is less likely to be Raffordy's people. A good possibility is that it was the rebels, but there is no way to confirm anything at this point.

The bindings were done by someone who understood exactly what was needed to extremely restrict someone's range of motion. All that is possible is limited movement of the head and shoulders. Hands have been wrapped in cloth and tied or taped into fists. The chair is not secured to the ground, but it would be difficult to move it without falling and nowhere to move it to. There is nothing to do but wait, rest, and recover. When the mind is at rest, the body will relax. Relax and rest, clear the mind for whatever comes next. Relax...

and for a moment this prison is made of glass too.

I jerk back awake as something, hopefully water, is splashed in my face. I'm still in the same room, still tied, but the room is now lit by two torches, one in the wall bracket, one in the hallway opposite the open doorway. There are three people in the room besides myself, two behind me with weapons drawn and pointed at me, and in front an imp, female, with pink eyes. She is armed also, but her short sword still hangs from the belt fastened around her green short sleeved tunic at the waist. The rest of her clothes are just as functional; a leather vest concealing at least one knife, and black pants lose enough to kick in. A few stray strands of auburn hair hang on either side of her face. The rest is pulled back slick against her skull, probably braided. Her bare arms sport several scars, including two circular puckers on each side of her right forearm. She carries herself like a trained killer, and probably is one. Evincing an intimidating scowl, she drops the bucket on the ground and crouches to retrieve a glass of clear liquid from the floor.

"Drink it, Graves. You get one chance here."

She holds it up to my mouth, and I am prompted by a sharp jab in my shoulder from behind. It has no smell, but probably contains some sort of drug. The imp pours some into my mouth, and I swallow. It tastes slightly bitter, but it also relieves the dryness in my throat. She pours until the glass is empty, steps back, and drops it into the discarded bucket. My head starts to feel light after only a moment, and I have to blink to keep the room in focus. The torchlight suddenly seems too bright. I take a deep breath to try and anchor my thoughts, and she reaches forward fast enough to leave me with a sense of vertigo as she grabs my head. She stares into my eyes, probably checking the dilation of my pupils, and then roughly lets go.

"Alright, then, now lets talk. I'm going to ask you some simple questions, and you're going to answer simply, because if you don't we're going to hurt you, and answer honestly, because you can't do anything else. Got it?"

I nod, slowly, because I'm still very lightheaded, but am prodded from behind again. "Yes, " I say instead, and my voice sounds far away, disconnected. The world exists beyond a lense of non-reality, my mind is in its own world. She seems pleased with this answer, and waves a hand to the guards behind me. The points are removed from my back, though the weapons themselves are not put away.

"Who do you work for?"

I want to say 'no one' , but that's not right, and the words get stuck in my throat. In the end, any alliances formed here are secondary. "The New World Order," is what I say, because it's true, and I can't help it. I'm not sure whether the drug they used is based on chemical compounds or something else. Anything is possible here. The imp is scowling again, or maybe just scowling more, because that wasn't something she was expecting to hear. As long as I don't move, I can ignore the lightheadedness, and as long as she doesn't move too quickly, I can still see straight.

"Who are they?" She is practically growling, probably at the prospect of the involvement of an organization she has never heard of.

That is never an easy question to answer, especially when I have no control over what I can say. This is just as dangerous as my conference with Raffordy, maybe more so. "An organization. On another world...not here." Anyone with contacts inside of Evergreen could know that I am not from this world.

She glares for a silent moment, thinking. Her line of question is not apparently taking her where she wants to go. "What about here. Who do you work for here."

"No one." Once that is said, we both seem to relax slightly, which triggers another bout of dizziness. When my eyes are focussed again, her scowl is turned up at one corner, and her fists are uncurled.

"Good. You worked for Don Sinister, then the Paper Factory, now no one."

"Yes." This seems to satisfy her as well, and she nods to the person behind me on the right.

"Jumpy wanted to hire you to track someone down. Why did you refuse?"

They must have good sources on the inside. I doubt they are working for Raffordy, or the interrogation would not have lasted this long. They must be the rebels, unless there is another party involved in this particular conflict who I am not aware of.

"Xellanosha." Another truth I hadn't quite admitted. There were other reasons, but she is behind most of them as well. My interrogator was not expecting this answer either, and she taps the fingers of her left hand against her scabbard in annoyance as she glares down at me.

"What about her." She does not really have the patience for this kind of work, and it shows.

There are many reasons, but I need to find one true enough to fool the drug that will be understandable to these people. "I think she is a fallen one." She doesn't like this answer at all, but I concentrate a moment and continue. "She is controlling Raffordy. She may be with the army that attacked Don Sinister's daughter."

Immediately, she is coiled like a spring, and an expressionless glance passes between my three captors. The imp turns her gaze my way again, face blank but eyes sharp, considering. My guess seems to have been a good one.

"Alright, " she says finally, "That's enough for now." She tilts her head towards the guards behind me, and one of them slices some of the ropes that are binding me. The room swims at the jostling this causes but it loosens the bindings enough so that with time I should be able to free myself. Once my visions stabilizes, the blue skinned imp is watching me from outside the cell, standing beside a woman I recognize as the one who had been following me. The third guard is removing the torch from its bracket inside the cell. He is human, but the drug and moving light source make it hard for me to discern any details. The door is closed behind him, but the slot is now open so that the torchlight from across the hall filters in.

I can hear keys jingle as one is inserted into the lock, and the tumblers turn. I can move my arms now, but not very quickly without succumbing to the vertigo. I hear a few muttered words, probably from the imp, and two pairs of footsteps trail away. As the key is removed from the lock, the imp speaks out, raising her voice to be heard through the thick door.

"This is just until we decide what to do with you, Graves. Someone else will be down to attend to you later."

She leaves as well, implying that my cell is unguarded. I know I can overcome the effects of the drug in time, but I have no equipment or even clothing, and no idea of where I am. Waiting is still my best option, but in the meantime, I can at least free myself from this chair...

It's finished! Lots of stuff happening here, and I'm not really sure exactly how it's going to continue, though I have a few good ideas :) There's lots of stuff here, hopefully to satisfy both fans of Daniel and of the Mafia :) Yes it is really long, and I hope you will validate the time you spend reading this chapter by sending me some comments on it :D

-Heather (Daniel/Jan)

--Well I lived with a child of snow when I was a soldier, and I fought every man for her until the nights grew colder.

She used to wear her hair like you except when she was sleeping, and then she'd weave it on a loom of smoke and gold and breathing.

-Leonard Cohen, "Winter Lady"