rise like a crow with wings spread out in either direction. The building was a mad collection of shapes. Tall, narrow pinnacles shot from the centers of square towers positioned between the triangular gables and rectangular chimneys. But it was the central tower that caught my attention. At almost twice the height of the rest of the house, it was an imposing entrance. Beneath the three cones at its crown was a small window, then nothing but dark stone plunging down to the large arched door. Rapunzel wouldn't look out of place in that high window, but it would take more than a lifetime for her hair to grow long enough to reach the ground.
I recoiled and suppressed a shiver. Sir watched me with those all-seeing eyes of his. His expression remained cool, detached, unreadable. It was unlikely he cared what I thought about our destination, unless he could use that fear against me.
"Is this Bedlam?" I asked. I could well imagine the mansion was the infamous insane asylum. It looked bleak enough to house those miserable, mad people. People like me.
Pretty snorted. "An apt assessment, but no."
The coach pulled to a stop and Sir opened the door himself. No servants emerged from the house to do it for him. The cabin dipped as he stepped off, then dipped again as someone jumped down from the driver's seat.
Ugly came into view beside Sir. "How's he going to walk with his feet all bound up like that?"
"You're going to carry him," Pretty said.
Ugly looked to Sir, but he merely walked off. "Put him in the tower room," he said. "See that he's fed and bathed."
"Don't just stand there, pizzle head." Pretty signaled to Ugly. "Come get him."
Ugly grimaced, revealing two rows of broken, jagged teeth. "Why don't you do it?"
"Because I'm in charge, and the one in charge doesn't do any hard labor."
"You're not in charge, Death is." Ugly jerked his head at the retreating figure of Sir. They called him Death behind his back and Sir to his face? I wondered if he knew.
"I'm second in command, and since he's no longer here, I am in charge. Grab the little blighter and get him up to the tower room."
Ugly sighed and reached for me. I scooted along the seat into the back corner. "I'm covered in lice," I told him.
Ugly scratched his bushy sideburns. "Do I have to touch him, Seth? Couldn't we just untie him and let him walk up?"
"And risk him running off? I'd like to see you explain that to Death." Pretty—Seth—grabbed my arm and dragged me to the cabin door. Without warning, he shoved me into Ugly's waiting hands.
The big man caught me easily. "You stink."
I managed to dig my elbow into his ribs and received an oomph for my troubles. "Compared to your sweet smell, you mean?"
Seth chuckled. "I think I'm going to like you, lad."
"Don't get too attached to him." Ugly hoisted me under his arm and carried me toward the house like a roll of fabric. "Death'll get what he wants out of him then send him back to the sewer."
"What information is that?" I spat.
"Stop moving," Ugly said. His arm tightened around me and I thought he'd cut me in half.
"You're hurting me!" I wriggled and kicked out with my bound legs, but connected with nothing but air.
"Calm down, lad," Seth said. "Co-operate and you will not be harmed. Fight and it will not go well for you. Death doesn't like it when his orders aren't followed."
"I don't have to follow his orders. He's not my master."
"Yet he will get what he needs from you nevertheless. He's good at that."
I gulped at his ominous tone as much as the promise in his words. I imagined the man they called Death extracting my real name from me with the use of medieval torture devices. He probably kept them in the dungeon. Surely a place as grim as the one we were now entering had a dungeon, with walls so thick that no one would hear my screams.
"What you shivering for, boy?" Ugly said, hoisting me higher on his hip. "It ain't cold."
"This is uncomfortable," I told him. "Can't you put me down and let me
I recoiled and suppressed a shiver. Sir watched me with those all-seeing eyes of his. His expression remained cool, detached, unreadable. It was unlikely he cared what I thought about our destination, unless he could use that fear against me.
"Is this Bedlam?" I asked. I could well imagine the mansion was the infamous insane asylum. It looked bleak enough to house those miserable, mad people. People like me.
Pretty snorted. "An apt assessment, but no."
The coach pulled to a stop and Sir opened the door himself. No servants emerged from the house to do it for him. The cabin dipped as he stepped off, then dipped again as someone jumped down from the driver's seat.
Ugly came into view beside Sir. "How's he going to walk with his feet all bound up like that?"
"You're going to carry him," Pretty said.
Ugly looked to Sir, but he merely walked off. "Put him in the tower room," he said. "See that he's fed and bathed."
"Don't just stand there, pizzle head." Pretty signaled to Ugly. "Come get him."
Ugly grimaced, revealing two rows of broken, jagged teeth. "Why don't you do it?"
"Because I'm in charge, and the one in charge doesn't do any hard labor."
"You're not in charge, Death is." Ugly jerked his head at the retreating figure of Sir. They called him Death behind his back and Sir to his face? I wondered if he knew.
"I'm second in command, and since he's no longer here, I am in charge. Grab the little blighter and get him up to the tower room."
Ugly sighed and reached for me. I scooted along the seat into the back corner. "I'm covered in lice," I told him.
Ugly scratched his bushy sideburns. "Do I have to touch him, Seth? Couldn't we just untie him and let him walk up?"
"And risk him running off? I'd like to see you explain that to Death." Pretty—Seth—grabbed my arm and dragged me to the cabin door. Without warning, he shoved me into Ugly's waiting hands.
The big man caught me easily. "You stink."
I managed to dig my elbow into his ribs and received an oomph for my troubles. "Compared to your sweet smell, you mean?"
Seth chuckled. "I think I'm going to like you, lad."
"Don't get too attached to him." Ugly hoisted me under his arm and carried me toward the house like a roll of fabric. "Death'll get what he wants out of him then send him back to the sewer."
"What information is that?" I spat.
"Stop moving," Ugly said. His arm tightened around me and I thought he'd cut me in half.
"You're hurting me!" I wriggled and kicked out with my bound legs, but connected with nothing but air.
"Calm down, lad," Seth said. "Co-operate and you will not be harmed. Fight and it will not go well for you. Death doesn't like it when his orders aren't followed."
"I don't have to follow his orders. He's not my master."
"Yet he will get what he needs from you nevertheless. He's good at that."
I gulped at his ominous tone as much as the promise in his words. I imagined the man they called Death extracting my real name from me with the use of medieval torture devices. He probably kept them in the dungeon. Surely a place as grim as the one we were now entering had a dungeon, with walls so thick that no one would hear my screams.
"What you shivering for, boy?" Ugly said, hoisting me higher on his hip. "It ain't cold."
"This is uncomfortable," I told him. "Can't you put me down and let me
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