Free Truth about Leo by Katie MacAlister Page A

time, only to later reemerge into the red mist consisting of heat and pain and a dreadful, all-consuming thirst.
    Awareness of another being ebbed over him occasionally, and he assumed it was the harpy named Dagmar who initiated the torments that racked his body. She also fed him repulsive poisonous liquids, later torturing him by allowing him only the smallest sips of water rather than the gallons that his thirst demanded.
    â€œJust a little, Leo,” she would whisper in his ear. “Too much and your stomach will rebel again. Just a sip or two, and I will give you more if that stays down.”
    He wanted to tell her that he was onto her ways and knew that she was masking her cruelty behind a false face of concern, but it all seemed like so much of a bother.
    Later, the demons came, men in brusque voices who prodded and jostled him until they finally lifted him away and carried him over rough ground, the pain of the movement making him grit his teeth against the need to cry out in agony. He wouldn’t give the devils the satisfaction of knowing how much they hurt him. The black pit swallowed him then, and it was only later when the Dagmar harpy washed his face that he realized the demons had left.
    â€œWhere did they go?” he asked her, glancing around an unfamiliar room. It was small and dark, paneled in wood, and smelling of foul odors. He appeared to be in some sort of small bunk.
    â€œWhere did who go?” Dagmar harpy asked.
    â€œThe demons. Open the window. I want cool air.”
    She blinked at him, then dipped a rag into a small bowl of water and gently wiped one side of his bare torso with it. The cool wetness of it felt so good, his fingers curled into soft blankets. “The sailors, you mean? They are above decks sailing the ship. I didn’t know you were awake when they moved you. I can’t open the porthole because the doctor said you were to stay out of drafts until you were well past the fevers. How do you feel?”
    â€œThirsty. Will you cease this endless torment and give me something to drink?”
    â€œYes, but only a little at a time. Your body doesn’t like it if you drink too much at once. Here is some barley water. No, don’t try to move. I will help you.”
    She slipped an arm behind his head and propped him up enough to take a few sips at the cup. He wanted to snatch the cup away from her and gulp it down but was asleep before he could fully formulate the thought.
    He spent two more days wandering the land of fevered imagination, waking one night to find himself utterly drenched in sweat but feeling remarkably cool nonetheless. He lifted his head. Near the foot of his bunk, a swarthy, bull-chested man sat whistling tunelessly while whittling a piece of polished bone.
    â€œHello,” Leo said in a conversational tone of voice. He tried to sit up but was too weak to do more than make a vague swimming motion with his limbs.
    â€œEh? Oh, yers awake.” The man contemplated him for a moment, then with a grunt and accompanying rude noise, lurched to his feet and flung open the door near him. “Oy! Get orf yer arse and wake the princess and tell her that his nibs is awake.”
    Princess? Leo wondered if he was feverish. It was obvious from his physical state that he had been. Even the nightshirt he wore was glued to his body with sweat. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk, and reached up to rub his face, but a sudden sharp jab of pain in his arm left him gasping, his head swimming with pain.
    â€œHere now, don’t ye go blacking out again. Yer wife’ll have my stones for supper if’n she thinks I let harm come to ye while she was havin’ a wee nap. Put yer head down betwixt yer knees.”
    The burly man put one giant hand on Leo’s head and forced it downward. Leo fought both nausea and the feeling of standing on the edge of an abyss.
    â€œWhat’s wrong? What has happened? Is he ranting