André struggled now, futilely writhing and bucking against the bindings that locked his wrists in place. Across the deck, he spotted the white-haired captain who looked on, his face heavy. Dueys shook his head, as if in apology, but did not step forward to intervene.
“I am the commanding authority aboard this ship right now, Valière,” Murat growled, his voice low. “Take him below!” And, with that, André was swept out of the clear, sun-washed afternoon and pulled belowdecks. A door creaked open and he was tossed inside like a sack. After blinking his eyes desperately in the darkness of a windowless room, André shouted, his voice hoarse. “Let me out! Let me out, you bastards! Open this damned door!”
How was it possible he could have come all this way, survived this long, only to be back within the grasp of that hateful man? His disbelief and shock turned once again to white-hot fury and he pounded his fists on the locked door, his voice rabid as he screamed into the darkness.
On the other side André heard laughter, a high-pitched cackle from one of the soldiers standing outside the cell. That laughter sapped the final ember of hope, and André shut his eyes, allowing everything to go dark.
There was no way to gauge the passage of time in the black cell. No way to see the rising of the sun, or the appearance of distant shapes forming up out of mountainous shores and islands.
All André knew, down below, was that the slit in the lower half of the door opened twice in any given day: once, he assumed, in the morning, once in the evening. Though he groped at the door, demanding an audience with Captain Dueys each time he heard the creaky slat groan its way open, he was never answered by a human voice. His only reply was the careless toss of a hand, sending in a piece of black, hard bread and a small bowl of dirty water, half its contents spilled by the time it landed on the floor of André’s cell.
Toward the top of the thick oaken door was a lattice, a small window lined with bars. If opened from the outside, it might let in a small square of light. Many times the small slit below had been pried open, resulting in an issuance of bread and water, but this upper lattice had never been opened.
And so it was the opening of this window that stirred André from his troubled, numbed reverie. He heard the noise, first, before he saw the sudden spear of light. The glow, though nothing more than a small sliver of a candle’s flame, blinded him with the force of a hundred suns, and he put his hand to his eyes.
“Who’s there?” André’s voice was hoarse, his throat dry. He blinked, suddenly stunned after what seemed like days of uninterrupted darkness.
“Captain Valière?”
As André’s eyes slowly adjusted to the garish new light, he saw an unfamiliar face through the slit in the door. The face that eyed him was stern, with large black eyes and a smooth complexion several shades darker than André was accustomed to seeing. “Are you Valière?” the stranger repeated, his accent sounding French, yet with the tinge of something unfamiliar.
“Yes?” André still held a hand to his eyes as he shielded them, feeling a headache throb mercilessly. “I am André Valière.”
“If I unlock this door and come in, do you promise you will not try to force your way past me and out of the cell?”
André considered this question. “I don’t think I would get very far. So I suppose so, yes.”
The man ignored André’s sarcasm. “Do I have your word?”
“You do.”
The man fiddled with a key and the lock creaked plaintively before him. As the door swung into the cell, the rush of new light overwhelmed André, and he blinked desperately.
“Goodness, a few candles too bright, eh? How long have they had you in this wretched hold?” The man’s accent was strangely foreign to André, but he wore the high-collared blue and gold coat with the tricolor sash along the waistline indicative of a French officer.
“But good God, I’d think the stench in here would do more to trouble you than a light!”
André, who had retreated back to the corner of the cell like an animal frightened by the light, felt a rush of embarrassment; this cell had served as bed, home, and toilet for him. He said nothing. As he blinked, André found his eyes adjusting and noticed that indeed all the light by which he had been stunned issued from only a few flickering candles.
“You scared of me, lad? No need for that.”
“Sorry. I’ve been in the darkness for…well, I don’t know how long.”
“Almost four days. Damn foolish, if you ask me.” The man spoke in a quiet tone, but his gestures were quick and purposeful as he surveyed the tiny cell. “Have they been feeding you in this bloody rat hole?”