Chapter 27 - Sebastian (Part 2)

                                    

                                          
With the beat of a steady drum, Sebastian pounded his feet on the tiles of the temple, one hand clenched around his ceremonial sword to stop it from bouncing against his knee, the other around that irritating mask. The first opportunity he would drop the false face and leave it for servants or Aunt Crystal to pick up.
                          
He held his breath to quench the threat of his bladder bursting and soiling his pants, but that wasn't his worst problem. Behind him, the thumping of a second pair of boots announced that the race had really begun.
                          
Taking a sharp turn, Sebastian slipped into the underground tunnel that ran from the temple back to the castle. He quickened his pace to assure that he would reach the door at the end of the tunnel before Uncle Tom could. If he didn't, the narrow passage was an obstacle that would make the difference between winning and losing.
                          
And there was no way he was going to lose from this old man who spent most of his days sitting on his rusty bottom, taking care of whichever insignificant problem the Greenlanders wanted to bore him with.
                          
If only there was a way to tie a knot into his bladder.
                          
He darted up the stairs, a hot breath already breathing down his neck. As he stretched out his hand, the door handle within reach, Uncle Tom bumped into him and slid his foot along the floor, blocking him.
                          
Single-handedly, he shoved Sebastian aside. "Seems like you're the one in need of vegetables."
                          
"It's not a punishment for me, you know." Sebastian pounced, then slithered under his arm, to the freedom of the main hall.
                          
But Uncle Tom grabbed him into a lock, a playfully mocking smile on his face. "Such a terrible mistake you made, Sebby. Your offer has made me even more determined to show you how it's done."
                          
He pushed Sebastian aside and dashed off.
                          
"Show off." Dropping the mask on the table that carried the bust of General Andrew, Sebastian blew his fringe from his eyes. "I thought you said it was important to keep the God of Pride at bay."
                          
"I'm help-" As Uncle Tom turned around, his sword swung out of its holster and dropped to the ground.
                          
"See! The Gods are punishing you already." Sebastian embraced the vital time that he was losing picking up his sword and bolted past him. "Can you hear that sound, Uncle Tom? It's the sound of the spinach leaves calling for you. Eat us, Tommy! We're yummy!"
                          
"That's never gonna happen. Not in a million years."
                          
"Oh yes, it is." Sebastian chuckled and sprinted the last couple of yards to the main entrance of the throne room.
                          
He practically glided to victory until he slammed, feet first then the rest of his body, into the deep green gate; the shock so strong that he flew backwards, into broad arms.
                          
"Small detail." Uncle Tom grinned. "I requested to lock this entry for the day. The keys are somewhere in George's office."
                          
"George's office? But that's so far away!" Halfway a pout, Sebastian gasped. There was another way in that wouldn't require him to run to the other side of the castle and back. He, Uncle Tom, and Nick had taken the route all those weeks ago when that Scorian magician had been executed. "Nevermind. You fetch those. I have an alternative."
                          
As he barrelled up the stairs, the urge to pee nearly reached his lips. If there was ever a man foolish enough to challenge him to a duel, he would not stall the inevitable and pee on his opponent's shoes. His first order after the fight would be asking Nick to turn it into a story.
                          
Tomorrow he would tell Master Paul all about this plan. It was the perfect strategy: distract, then attack.
                          
He raced past the dining hall where servants were bustling around, hanging up decorations and setting up the tables with the fanciest of the porcelain plates, then past the privy. His mind forced him to go in, his feet, however, thundered down the steps next to the painting of some happy old cook holding a giant spoon.