Reacher’s horse led the way, his hands bound to it, much like Cadmun that morning. The difference was he wasn’t unconscious or dragged on the ground. They walked for an age. In the dark, he couldn’t make out any paths or fields they traversed. The sole guide was the mansion’s tower on the hill, looming as if it watched them. Judging by the tower’s position relative to the mansion, they were on the eastern side of the manor, moving north. Away from the slave camp.

  Montgomery was ordered back to the camp alone, and he was left surrounded by the two knights. In essence, he was all alone. A trace of dread crept up his spine as they suddenly veered from the beaten path to a sheet metal cabin. Descending downhill, his hair stood on end. That place doesn’t feel right.

  In front of the cabin, Becket waited with a torch. A rope from Becket’s horse was bound to another man: Cadmun! Relief was short-lived, as he saw Cadmun covered in cuts, rags soaked in blood. Cadmun looked bewildered, even scared. At least he’s alive.

  Becket and Reacher only needed a few nods to communicate. Reacher approached Cadmun and tapped his bald head, making the cuts vanish. It was then he noticed Reacher’s hand glowed faintly when healing. Without a word, Becket rode away. Cadmun, realising they were swapping places, looked him in the eye. His fearful expression turned worried. Worried about what awaited him in the cabin. Even as Becket’s horse pulled his bindings, their eyes remained locked. Is that a warning?

  Reacher wasted no time. He dismounted to open the cabin door.

  “Come on,” the Mace said, “let’s get this over with.”

  Reacher’s voice lacked its usual authority.

  “Are you alright?” he asked the Mace.

  Reacher was taken aback by the question.

  “Shouldn’t you be worried about yourself?”

  Reacher tugged the rope, leading him inside the dark cabin. The first thing he noticed was the putrid smell. A rancid odour assaulted his nostrils, nearly making him retch. Amid the foul smell of rot, he discerned a hint of iron. He could almost taste the vile concoction on his tongue. He also noticed his shaking hands. The cold metal underfoot registered slowly; the Slaughterhouse’s interior was freezing. Unaffected, Reacher guided him to the room’s centre, and he heard a splash.

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  “Of course,” the Mace muttered.

  He stepped into a puddle, immediately knowing what it was. Unlike Reacher, he wasn’t wearing boots; the cold liquid slithered between his toes. A shiver ran down his spine, not from cold but disgust.

  “There we go,” Reacher said.

  The Mace searched the low ceiling for a place to tie the rope. Reacher tightened it so much he had to hold his hands above his head, forced to stand. His breathing flattened, heart pounding uncontrollably. What is this place? And what will happen to me?

  “Are you comfortable?” Reacher asked.

  What? What kind of question is that?

  “No,” he answered, “not really.”

  Reacher apologised: “I’ve never had to tie up another Player in here.”

  The Mace paused, searching the room but not finding whatever he sought.

  Finally, the Mace rather unenthusiastically said: “Hang in there!”

  An awkward silence filled the room.

  If that was an attempt at a joke, he failed miserably.

  A voice came from outside.

  “Are you finished? It’s time to go.” It was the armoured knight. “We must return to the mansion.”

  Reacher took a last look at him, tapped him on the shoulder, and left the cabin. The door slammed shut, taking the moonlight with it. After a while, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The cabin had no windows, only small slits near the ceiling that didn’t truly illuminate the interior. The low light left room for imagination, and soon shadows danced in the corners. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore them. All he perceived were the sporadic creaks of sheet metal and the wet puddle of… whatever he stood in. His heart had calmed, oddly enough given the circumstances. I feel calm… and tired.

  That’s when he realised he no longer felt cold. In fact, he felt quite warm inside. Reacher must have left him a present of sorts. Come to think of it, Reacher had changed his behaviour since the cave. But why is that? What’s with the whole ‘Player’ thing? What is my status?

  Fading worries about the Baron or some Adventurer showing up circled his mind, but exhaustion grew uncontrollably. Just what did Reacher do?

  He tried to open his eyes again, but his eyelids were too heavy. Any panic that might have arisen was quickly quashed when he suddenly fell asleep.

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