The Devil's Workshop

“Oh, yes,” Jack said. “Very wonderful, indeed. Why is he bleeding? Did you do this to him?”

Cinderhouse took a step back. “He attacked me.” His voice was filled with fear.

“But you got the upper hand, did you?” Jack didn’t wait for the bald man to answer. “Help me here,” he said. “Don’t worry, little fly. Here, get him under the arms, lift him up.”

“Let’s leave him here,” Cinderhouse said. “He’s of no use to us.”

“You will do as I tell you.” Jack’s voice came from somewhere deep in his chest, rumbled up and out and surrounded the bald man with his anger and his authority. His head swiveled around to Cinderhouse, and his eyes flashed with rage. His lips drew back in a snarl. With an inaudible grunt, Jack pulled himself to his feet so that he towered over Cinderhouse. “You will never question me again. You will do exactly as I say at all times.”

Cinderhouse’s eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open. A runner of drool escaped his lower lip and spooled off his chin. He stood still and useless, confused for a moment, then nodded.

“I hate to have to raise my voice to you, Peter,” Jack said. “You know that, right?”

Cinderhouse nodded again.

“Good,” Jack said. “Don’t give me a reason to be displeased with you and we will get along together like the best of friends. Always the very best of friends.”

Cinderhouse handed the lantern and bag to Jack, then bent and hoisted Griffin’s upper body.

“That’s my boy,” Jack said. He was tired. Standing so quickly and raising his voice had exhausted him. His knees were sore and wet from the damp ground. His wrists and ankles were torn open, the bloody imprint of his shackles pressed deep in his flesh. The weight of the lantern pulled at him and he thought he might follow it and sink into the dirt. He didn’t think he had any inner reserves of strength left, but he did not want Cinderhouse to see how frail he really was. For all his stupidity and his weakness of will, Cinderhouse was still a predator and would be sure to take advantage of any shift in their balance of power. Jack gestured toward the tunnel they had come through.

“Carry him.”

“He’s heavy. I don’t think I—”

“Then drag him.”

“But that’s the way we came.”

“Are you arguing with me again, fly?”

“No, not at all.” Cinderhouse cowered.

“Then go. I will follow.”