The guard yelled: "Quiet down there!"
"What is all this?" Kesley whispered.
"I don't know. Miguel's evidently rounding up all the North Americans in his territory. It's illegal! It's—"
The guard whirled suddenly and struck the Illinois man across the face with his pistol. "Silence!"
Kesley felt a surge of anger, but restrained it. He bent and lifted the older man to his feet. Dazed, the courtier wiped blood from his tunic and dabbed gently at his gashed cheek. "Damn him," he muttered. He groped at his hip for a sword that wasn't there.
"Hush," Kesley said. "They'll only knock you down again. Fall in line and keep quiet. We'll find out what's going on later."
It was the only way to stay alive, he told himself. Fall in line; ask questions later.
Another door opened, and they entered the palace of the Duke.
"This way," the guard called. "After me." Shepherding them with his drawn pistol, he led the way, while three other guards closed in at each side of the group. Kesley looked around. They were in a long corridor which headed toward a descending staircase. The dungeons, obviously.
They kept walking. Fall in line; ask questions later. Kesley repeated it to himself.