Free Clash of Empires by Brian Falkner

enters—with Frost at his heels, holding the back of his coat for guidance—an elderly man with wide, staring eyes turns to see them. He has one look at Frost and begins to laugh, pointing at Frost’s face. Perhaps it is the twin eye patches that he finds so funny. His laughter turns to cackles and is infectious; others around him also turn and snigger or giggle.
    â€œWhat are they laughing at?” Frost asks.
    â€œNothing,” Willem says. “They are just laughing.”
    The main hall is nothing but a stone-walled barn. The floor is covered with straw. The walls are lined with barred cells. Some of the inmates stand at the bars, staring out into the main gallery. Others lie on wooden beds, or are curled into balls in corners of their cells.
    In the main gallery, men and women roam aimlessly with dazed expressions, others with melancholy eyes. One or two are crying. Some undertake small pastimes like card games or hand-knitting.
    One man is completely naked except for a straitjacket. He stands facing a wall, gibbering like a monkey. Uniformed orderlies move among the inmates, separating those who seem on the verge of fighting, mopping up urine, and scraping vomit and feces off the floor. The orderlies wear wooden batons in loops on their belts. One is standing, baton raised, over a man who is curled into a ball on the floor. The patient’s arms are bruised and bloodied.
    â€œWhat do you see?” Frost asks.
    â€œThere are times when I envy your lack of eyes,” Willem says. “I see things I would rather erase from my sight.”
    â€œYou are free to wander anywhere on this level,” the nurse says, behind them. “But the upper level is private. That is for our most dangerous—”
    She is cut off by a scream that echoes down a stairwell. It is a shrill shriek that slices through the babble of groaning, moaning, and cackling.
    â€œHéloïse?” Willem asks uncertainly, looking at Frost.
    â€œYou know her voice better than I,” Frost says.
    There is another scream and it does sound like Héloïse. Willem has heard her scream many times.
    He finds himself moving toward the stairs without really thinking about what he is doing. The nurse moves to stop him but he steps quickly around her. He feels a touch on his arm and looks back to see Frost close behind him.
    â€œThat area is forbidden!” the nurse calls after them. When Willem looks back, she is scurrying away, to summon help no doubt.
    Another scream comes echoing down the stone walls of the staircase. The steps are uneven, as if the building has shifted since it was built. On the next level the walls lean at strange angles and part of the ceiling is collapsed. At the top of the stairs is a long corridor, lined with cages, from which hands protrude, grasping and clutching at the two men. Moans and grunts from the cages are interspersed with laughter and shrieks, an unnerving cacophony of insanity.
    Willem tries not to look in the cages, but when he does, he sees more things he would rather not have seen. A man standing at the bars, his arms outspread, his face turned upward and contorted with pain like Christ on the cross. Several of the patients are naked, their clothes strewn around their cells. Some are covered in feces. Some are crying, others snarling, some are silent, staring with hollow eyes.
    Another turn, and the corridor changes in color and tone. There are no cages here, nor inmates. It is brighter, wider, and the doors are not barred. A sign above one door says COLD WATER THERAPY . Willem shudders to think what that might be. The screams do not come from here but from two doors down, where a closed door has a sign that says ROTATION THERAPY .
    Willem shoulders the door open and Frost follows him inside.
    In the room is a contraption from a bad dream. A large wooden frame, from the center of which is suspended a chair at the end of a rope.
    A girl is strapped into the chair, unable to