Twinsensibility Part Forty Nine

[dysonrules]

I missed last week due to INSANE LEVELS OF STUFF TO DO.  I still have that, but poor Lys was giving me the evil eye.



Lysander was lounging on his makeshift chair when his captor finally showed himself.  A section of the floor opened up and a middle-aged wizard appeared.  Lysander raised his wand and the man yelled, “Expelliarmus!  Accio!”

 Lysander’s wand spun away and then snapped into the man’s hand.  The wizard smirked and said, “That was easier than I expected it to be, boy.  You must not have inherited your parents’ intelligence.”

 Lysander shrugged and then studied the man, positive he had never seen him before.  The man was short and rather dishevelled-looking, with an unshaven look and watery dark eyes beneath bushy graying brows.  He wore unadorned rust-coloured robes.  “Who are you?” Lysander asked.

 The man tsked at him.  “That is not important.  You do not need to know who I am, even should I decide to cut your body into a dozen pieces and send a bit at a time back to your mother and father.”

 Lysander recoiled, despite himself.  Unease coiled inside of him as he evaluated his predicament anew.  He had expected he’d been taken for ransom, or possibly some sort of prank.  Apparently, such was not the case.  The fellow was clearly mad and therefore needed to be handled carefully.  Lysander said nothing.

 “Well, at least you are not the histrionic sort, or I would have to kill you out of hand,” the man said in a grudging tone.  “I suppose I will keep you alive.  For the time being.  Do not expect anything from me.”

 With that, the man reopened the floor, descended, and closed the hole behind him.

 Lysander frowned, considering his words.  Do not expect anything from me.  By that, he apparently meant food and water.  The room was not terribly cold, for which Lysander was grateful, but that might change as darkness fell… which it probably already had, although it was difficult to tell in the windowless tower.

 He waited a while to make sure the strange man wouldn’t return suddenly, and then he scooted his makeshift chair over beneath one of the ceiling beams.  Earlier he had stiffened the chair so that it would hold his weight and act like a step-stool, which came in handy now, even though it was not as comfortable to sit in.

 He climbed atop the chair, crouched, and sprang as high as he could.  It took three tries before his hand caught on the beam and he pulled himself onto it with a sense of relief.  He would have been completely fucked if that endeavour hadn’t worked.

 Lysander got to his feet and walked along the beam, balancing easily, and then stepped across to another when he reached the centre.  He walked to the end of that one, also, and then reached up to touch a shorter beam that jutted out somewhat higher than his head.  A piece of cloth had been bound tightly around the beam and Lysander plucked at the knot, careful not to concentrate so hard that he lost his balance and tumbled to the floor.  If he injured himself, it would be more difficult—if not impossible—for him to return to this spot.

 The thought slowed his fingers and he took a more methodical approach, gently untying the cloth with one hand while holding himself in place with the other.  He breathed a sigh of relief when the knot parted, allowing him to unwrap the long strip and retrieve his wand.

 With the precious length of wood once more in his hand, Lysander hopped off the beam and Levitated himself to the floor, congratulating himself on the success of his plan.  He had expected a visit from his captor and knew the first order of business would be to remove his wand—it was only logical.

 Therefore, Lysander had carved off a splinter from one of the beams and honed it into a passable-looking wand before casting a Charm that would cause it to radiate a magical aura, if tested.  The fake wand wouldn’t work, of course, but hopefully the wizard would not even attempt to use it, and why would he?

 Knowing an “Accio wand!” would snap Lysander’s true wand into the man’s hand despite the deception, he had taken care to tie it firmly to the farthest beam he could reach, using a long strip cut from the bottom of his robe.

 He cast Aguamenti, took a long drink of cool water, and then tucked his wand into a pocket.  Even though he was still in possession of his only hope of survival, there was little he could do but wait.  He dragged the chair back to its original spot and sat down.

 He hoped Lorcan would find him before he had to come up with another brilliant plan, although it wouldn’t hurt to work on the assumption that Lorcan would not be coming.  The thought made him smile, despite the fact that he was lonely and quite possibly a little bit scared.  Lorcan would find him.  He knew it as surely as he knew his own name.

 He only hoped his brother wouldn’t be too late.