Free Clash of Empires by Brian Falkner Page B

tabletop with the baton. Willem jumps to one side. The baton misses him by inches.
    The man feints a couple of times, testing Willem’s reactions, then lashes out with a sideways blow. Willem manages to dodge, but only just, circling the table.
    Frost is shouting at the man, but neither Willem nor the orderly seems to hear him.
    Now the man grabs one end of the table, upending it, removing Willem’s meager defense. He steps forward, trapping Willem in the corner. He raises the baton and smashes it down. Willem can do nothing but block it with his arms and the sudden pain raises black spots in front of his eyes.
    The orderly again raises the baton above his head and Willem braces himself for the next blow. But when the man’s arm slashes down once again his hand is empty and there is a look of surprise on his face.
    The orderly turns to face some unseen threat behind him, then collapses, stunned, as his own baton smashes down on his forehead.
    The man stays down, blood pouring from a new deep cut on his head, as Jack hovers over him, the baton raised ready for another strike.
    â€œI told you bad things happen in this place,” Jack says.
    â€œThank you for coming, Jack,” Frost says pleasantly, as though welcoming Jack to a party.
    Willem cradles one arm with the other. It is not broken, he decides, but still the pain is intense. His forearm is throbbing and he feels dizzy.
    â€œI realized I couldn’t let you come in here alone,” Jack says. “On account of something bad might happen to you.”
    â€œAs it nearly did,” Frost says.
    The chair has come to a stop, bringing Héloïse around to face Willem. Héloïse’s eyes are full of fear, but when she sees Willem her expression changes to one of hurt and anger.
    Willem lowers his eyes, ashamed. He has left her to be tortured in this awful place. Caught up in the training, in his own importance, he has neglected her. He moves to unfasten her from the chair but stops at the sound of a new voice from the doorway.
    â€œWhat is the meaning of this?”
    Willem turns to see a stout man, stately and dignified, fashionably dressed in a double-breasted coat, tight pantaloons tucked into boots, and a high collar and cravat. He holds a cane topped with a silver lion’s head. He is flanked by the nurse with the weepy eye.
    â€œWho are you, and why are you interrupting this therapy session?” the man asks. He now sees the man on the floor. “Adams? What is going on?”
    Adams tries to get up but stops as Jack waves the baton threateningly.
    â€œHe assaulted us,” Frost says.
    â€œThen I am sure he was provoked,” the man says.
    â€œNot unnecessarily,” Frost says.
    â€œHe would not stop this torture when asked,” Willem says. He still cannot look at Héloïse.
    â€œTorture? You only show your ignorance of modern medicine,” the man says. “The rotation is well proven to excise madness.” He turns to Frost. “Lieutenant Frost, is it not?”
    â€œYou have me at a disadvantage, sir,” Frost says. “I confess that I do not recognize your voice.”
    â€œWe have not met,” the man says. “But your fame precedes you. There can be few blinded artillery lieutenants who still wear the uniform. You are the saur-slayer. I am Doctor Thomas Monro, the principal physician of this asylum.”
    â€œDr. Monro, I implore you to stop the treatment of this girl immediately,” Frost says.
    â€œI must not,” Monro says. “For her own good.”
    â€œI insist,” Frost says.
    â€œYou have no right to insist. Nor the medical knowledge to understand the treatment,” Monro says. “I will ask you to leave.”
    â€œWe will not,” Willem says. “We urgently need this girl’s assistance.”
    â€œI am afraid that she will be of no assistance to you or to anyone else,” Monro says.
    â€œThis is a matter of vital