Chapter 8

Tory collapsed wearily into the bench seat, holding his head in his hands. Tonight was the last night of the festival and they still weren't any closer to freeing Daphne. In fact, if anything, they were further away from that goal—sadly due to the information they'd gained over the past few days. The man had killed five experienced heroes already. What hope did he have of beating him?

Chirurgen—that was the name Daphne gave them that set everything in motion. Tubal was horrified to hear that Sir Erno Sebesz was actually the Surgeon—a mercenary and bounty hunter of the fiercest reputation. The stories the smith passed along were chilling. Obsessed with knives and poisons, he left quite a trail. And if was he on yours, your only chance was to run for a port, hop a ship, and disappear.

It was Sofie, by way of her maids, who found out about the dead heroes. Evidently Garrick and Tomas were more than a little loose in the talk, especially after they'd been drinking and were around women they wanted to impress. Five heroes and two damsels, plus Daphne's father and mother—that death toll had Tory's full attention. Evidently this Chirurgen was looking for one hero in particular—hence the thugs up at Wolf Creek keeping watch on the bank for him. Problem was he didn't have a name, only a description, and Daphne was the closest thing he had to a damsel he could find for bait.

The biggest puzzle, though, was why none of this showed up in their planning sessions back on Crossroads. How could both Elizabeth and Tasha have missed all this? Tory sat up and leaned back in the pew with a despondent sigh. Not that those answers would help him now.

Glancing around, he took in the white plaster coated walls and high arched ceiling. The acoustics of the space were astounding, which was why Sofie had shown it to him, but the room itself made little sense. Even she didn't know why it had been built into the castle. The story was that the original builders many centuries ago built it simply because it was supposed to be there. What exactly that meant, no one knew.

It was a long, somewhat narrow room with hand carved wooden pews divided by an aisle. At the far end, the room ended with a slightly raised dais in a windowed apse. There were three windows total—two of the long arched variety and a third round one beveled into the wall at the top of the apse.

The space was actually quite lovely, and if he had been back on Earth, Tory would have assumed he was in a chapel. Given where he was though, that thought was ludicrous. Best he could tell, the people of Chaos had no organized religions of any kind. In fact, they seemed to give little thought to such things. What a paradise—a whole world living out John Lennon's fantasy.

Tory snorted at the thought as he stood up. "Imagine that," he remarked out loud.

Walking to the apse, he ran his fingers over the plasterwork. A tune came to mind and he unthinkingly began to hum it, preoccupied as he was with the whole Daphne dilemma.

What an awful world this was, he mused. As bad as things on Earth could be, this place—in all things that counted—was far worse. The plight of women alone here was damning enough. As far as he could tell, this Chirurgen had broken no laws by what he'd done—so outing him to the Duke was a non-starter. Women and children were little better than property here and "might makes right" after all. As awful as it was, at least what happened to his mother and sister back home was illegal. Here on Chaos it would just be considered unfortunate.

All of the sudden, Tory realized what he'd been humming. And he was struck by the thought that he was now living in a world without Christmas. His mother had loved the holiday and something she had said once, made him wonder what kind of religions they must have back on Cassandra. It was from a few years earlier, when they were walking home from Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. His parents were holding hands, and his father had asked her what she liked so much about Christmas.

"It's the giving," his mother had said. "People are always taking. But at Christmas we stop and sing songs about a God who gives, rather than takes. I don't think most people realize how special that is."

Tory was finally beginning to understand what his mother meant. Lifting his violin to his chin, he softly and sweetly began her favorite Christmas carol. The late morning light streaming through the windows lit the tears falling down his cheeks, as he finally let himself start to mourn.

"But we have to do something!"

Miri agreed with Sofie but was at a loss as to what that something was. She was at least glad that Tory wasn't going to try and confront Chirurgen. Pavel was right, that was suicide.

"Well, I'm open to suggestions," her brother muttered in frustration, running his hands through his hair. "At this point, we have nothing. Tomorrow she'll be heading back to that rat's holding and be completely out of our reach."

"Can't we just sneak her out of the castle," Miri asked, looking earnestly at her brother and Pavel, "or grab her in the Market Square and run for the bank?"

"That's no good," came a deep voice from the front room. Turning in their seats at the table, they watched the forge master come into the kitchen and sit down. "He's got men watching it. You'll never make it to the front door."

"Really?" Miri asked, crestfallen.

Tubal glanced her way and nodded. "After you mentioned that rabble up in Wolf Creek," he said, turning to look at Tory, "I've had two of my smithy boys running errands back and forth past the bank. Near as they can tell, there's at least three that are always hanging around nearby, from the moment the bank opens until it closes."

Desperate to do something for Daphne, whom she really liked, the petite girl offered another idea. "Couldn't we just sneak her out of the city? We're good at hiding and we could try another bank somewhere else."

Her brother looked at her for a bit, considering it, but then shook his head. "I don't think so, Mir. Even if we manage to get out of Judgment Falls, I doubt we'll find it any different at another bank somewhere else," he explained.

"But we've..." Sofie was about to say it again, but Tory laid his hand over hers on the table and she stopped.

"I agree," he told her quietly. "Which means we have to confront and beat him somehow."

Miri, herself at the point of tears, was about to object when Pavel spoke up.

"Maybe we're looking at this all wrong," he said, looking from person to person.

"What do you mean?" Sofie asked.

"Look, up to this point, we've only talked about things from our end, our point of view."

"So?" Tory chimed in.

Tubal, however, shushed him. "I think I know where he's going with this. Let him talk."

Pavel nodded to the smith and then continued. "The important thing here is not coming up with some way to defeat Chirurgen. It's about freeing Daphne. She needs to be separated from that man. So, what are all the ways that could happen?"

Discussion flew back and forth, as those around the table caught on to Pavel's proposal. Options they had not even considered were now bandied about. Nothing clicked, though, until Miri spoke up again. She'd been clutching her pendant when the thought came to her.

"She's really good on the lute," she shouted, trying desperately to be heard.

"What?" The smith asked, who gestured for the others to be quiet.

"I said, she's really good on the lute," she told them. "Sofie's dad likes music, right?"

Sofie nodded in agreement, as did everyone else.

"Well," Miri continued, "maybe he could make that bad man let Daphne stay in the castle to play music for him."

Her brother seemed dubious about it and was about to say something, when Sofie stopped him.

"No, I think your sister's got something there," she told him. "Daddy's been talking about opening a music school for ages. He's even hired several musicians but all they've been doing so far is teaching my brothers and sisters and me here at the castle. Maybe it's time he did more than talk about it," she proposed with a twinkle in her eye.

It'll only be a temporary fix, though," Tubal observed solemnly. "I doubt this Chirurgen will put up with something like that for long."

Tory agreed. "You're probably right but it's the only real option available right now."

Daphne was seated at the vanity, applying makeup to cover the bruises on her face, when he walked in.

He nodded approvingly at her work. "Good. We don't need that fat cow from Greenfields asking any more questions tonight. Bad enough you jabbering away with her last night. I see that again and you'll regret it," he threatened.

The girl, knowing she'd said no more than five or ten words to the woman in question, just rolled her eyes.

The gesture infuriated the man, but Daphne was beyond caring by this point. Her voice was ice cold when he raised his hand to strike her. "By all means, do it," she sneered. "Give me a reason not to go tonight."

Stilling his hand, he grabbed her chin and eyed her coolly. "Finally showing a little backbone, I see. I like it."

"I couldn't care less what you like," she spat back at him.

"Ah, but you do, I think," he said with a laugh, turning her face from side to side. "And I know what you like."

She yanked her face from his hand and chuckled grimly. "You mean your tiny pecker? Hardly. I have to watch your face just to know it's in me."

His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared. "You will regret those words," he hissed. Walking for the door, he turned to appraise her one last time. "You embarrass me even once tonight and you will not live to see tomorrow."

Daphne just looked at him and laughed grimly. "Promises, promises."

He stalked out.

Why he was hanging on to her, she didn't know—and to be honest—she didn't really care anymore. This night would be it for her. There was no way she would return willingly to his holding to the south, where he would likely torture her at his leisure. She was going to force his hand and go out on her own terms.

The evening meal started peaceably enough. They'd made their formal entrance and she smiled suitably. Once they approached the table, though, Daphne made her first move—managing to finagle a spot next to Lady Greenfields and across the table from Chirurgen, rather than next to him.

It amused her to no end to see him glare at her as she chatted gaily with the other guests. Low, out of range whispers, accompanied by giggles and gestures in his direction served only to enflame him. She was about to take the goading and ridicule up a notch, when she heard Tory's cousin call out from the minstrel's area.

"Your Grace," he pleaded reverently, "it would appear we are missing a musician yet again."

Glancing at the empty chair and the lute propped up next to it, the Duke smiled. "I do not believe my lovely daughter's hands and lips would help you with that particular instrument, my good collier."

"Aye, Lord, you are observant as you are wise," he replied with a bow. "As much as my cousins and I have enjoyed playing with your daughter's hands and lips..." He paused momentarily to allow for the guests to chuckle and laugh. "We are indeed in the need of another young lady's services."

Daphne giggled along with the rest and watched as Pavel approached the head table. She was surprised, however, when he stopped next to her chair and extended his hand. "Would you do us the honor of playing with us this evening, Maid Daphne?"

Fearful of playing in front of so many, something she'd never done before, she momentarily thought of declining until she saw the fury in the eyes of her prison warden. With an enormous smile on her lips, she took the collier's hand and accompanied him back to where Tory and Miri awaited.

"Please don't worry," he whispered to her as they walked. "Miri picked out three of the songs you've played with her."

Daphne nodded as he listed them. They were her best ones, to be sure. She took a deep breath and smiled as Tory stepped up and handed her the lute—her father's lute. More than a little curious as to why they were even having her play with them, she gazed at the other boy with an inquisitive expression.

"You'll see," is all he said as he gestured for her to take the seat of honor.

The first song started a little rough, due to her nervousness, but she eventually settled down. Pavel and Miri harmonically weaved their flutes in and out with her, while Tory played the melody. The second provided a bit more of a challenge, in that it required her to sing as well as play. She was tentative at first, but quickly found her confidence—belting out the light ballad with gusto. Daphne was warmly surprised as generous applause followed each of the performances.

Prior to starting the third, however, she motioned for the other three musicians to be still. Standing, she turned to address the Duke and the assembled guests.

"Your Grace and honored guests," she began nervously, "before we continue with my last song for the evening, I would like to thank gentle Pavel and my dear friend Sofie for finding my father's lute for me. Words cannot express the gratitude I feel." Breathing in a deep breath she steeled herself and fixed her eyes squarely on her tormentor. "With this gift, they have given me at least a portion of all that was so viciously stolen from me."

"I know my friends up here are expecting we'll play Forester's Serenade next," she said, turning to look at them. "But I hope they don't mind if I go with something different."

She smiled as each of them bowed slightly in deference to her.

"When we were little, my father would sing a song from his homeland to get us to go to sleep. I heard it played so beautifully this morning," she remarked, looking straight at Tory before turning back to the audience. "And in honor of my father, Manfred Schreiber of Bavaria, I would like to share it with you. It is called Stille Nacht."