Chapter 29
Helleco sighed as his guards took the prisoner downstairs to the basement. So much for this being a challenge. The Harbinger was clearly intelligent, but she was a terrible liar. They’d let her rest for the night, but when he’d started sifting in the morning, it had taken less than five minutes for him to break through her little soap bubble of lies and verify her allegiance. Her allegiance on the surface, anyway.
“It’s all right, Helleco,” Velya reassured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We knew this would happen eventually. You’ll just need to tread carefully now.”
He gave her a grumpy nod, and then followed the guards downstairs. Velya followed too, keeping a good distance. It was important that the Harbinger not see her yet, so Helleco had arranged for Velya to listen in on the interrogation from a side room.
The torture chamber had been built in his great-great grandfather’s day, back when his family had been in power. The Thatchers had never raised a Lord Ascendant, but they had been important enough that the Council of the day had been forced to pander to them in order to win their support. Quite a few of his family’s enemies had died down here.
After the guards tied her firmly to the chair, he dismissed them and slowly walked around looking at the chains on the walls. “I was afraid of this, Harbinger,” he said conversationally, projecting a sad tone in his voice. “You were among the stra’tchi for too long. I’ve seen it many times. So often, captives end up sympathizing with their captors—even helping them! Unfortunately, that means you’ll need some persuasion to see things our way. Now the Lord Ascendant left orders that you aren’t to be harmed, and I can see why. You’re the Harbinger: an important symbol to the people of this city. Sustained and stra’tchi alike know who you are. Ordinarily that would be a problem, but I have my ways around it.” He reached over to her left forearm, jamming three fingers in a specific place on her wrist. Jaas gasped and twitched from the pain.
“You might not have known this on the Outside, but the body has many pressure points. In places where the nerves are clustered, or joints that stretch the veins out. I’ve had years to master the art of pain. In some places it only takes a few carefully timed touches, even as light as a feather, to cause incredible pain.” To illustrate his point, he twisted his fingers on her wrist. He knew (from personal experience actually) that the pain would increase tenfold. The Harbinger gritted her teeth, letting out only a small cry of pain. When he finally let go she gulped in air, still twitching from the after-effects.
“I’ve been at this for a long time, you see,” he continued in that friendly tone. “I’ve discovered all sorts of ways to affect the body without leaving a single mark. Amazingly enough, the process even works in reverse.” He tapped on her wrist again, twice, and she slumped in the chair as the pain vanished.
“I’ve never been very good at anatomy,” she retorted, breathing raggedly and glaring up at him with hatred. “But it doesn’t take a genius to recognize a man who takes far too much pleasure in his work. Does it give you a thrill, tying women up down here and doing whatever you want to them?”
He smiled slightly, masking the sick feeling rising in his stomach. “I’m a professional. I do enjoy my work, but I don’t let that get in the way. What I do is necessary to protect Patchwork. The Council itself has deemed my work in the city’s best interest.”
“I hope that comforts you,” she gritted out between clenched teeth as he started on her other wrist. “Only a small, pathetic man could convince himself that this is for the greater good.”
“Your opinion means nothing to me,” he responded calmly, wishing he really meant that. Nothing about this would sit well with him, but he had to keep up appearances. Hiding a grimace, he approached her again. “Everyone has a breaking point. When I find yours, you’ll tell me everything I want to know.” He tapped her behind the left ear, and she screamed out in pain.
-.-
The Clarion sat quietly in his consort’s dressing room. Outside he could hear voices: Hazra and her servants arranging things for the upcoming reception. It was her brother’s fortieth birthday, and his fourth anniversary of taking command of the Ascendant Guard. Representatives from every major House would be there, along with a few hundred more. And it would take all night.
“I’ll try a few of these on. Go get yourselves ready,” she ordered her servants. “Go! We don’t have much time!” Hazra backed into the room, laden with four or five outfits no doubt specially made by her family. Her family. It had been years, and he still didn’t feel like part of it. Though in retrospect that was no great surprise. The entire city was his family—or it was supposed to be.
She came to a surprised stop upon seeing him there. “Clarion! Shouldn’t you be out in the courtyard already?” She moved across the room to hang up the dresses.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He asked softly, and her step faltered ever so slightly.
“Find out what?” She asked with an admirable imitation of innocence. No wonder it had taken him weeks to catch on. Him—the observant, universally-loved Clarion of the Council. Him… the love-blinded fool.
“They found Terizo Sharpe this morning,” he continued slowly. “He was dead. A single stab wound to the chest. No—don’t act surprised!” He said quickly, as she opened her mouth to feign concern. “I know you’ve hated him for years. Ever since you found out what he did to that servant girl of his! Then there was that stra’tchi who got mud on your riding dress. And the craftsman who ruined your cousin’s wedding arrangements. There are more, too, I’m sure. Perhaps dozens more.”
He stood purposefully and looked her right in the eye. “When we were made consorts, I said the words I was expected to say, and so did you. But we also promised each other afterwards. No secrets, remember? Now’s the time to honor that promise. It was you, wasn’t it?”
The Clarion’s chest tightened with pain, and he shook his head. No. This wasn’t how it had happened. He hadn’t figured it out on his own, he’d stumbled onto the truth! He’d walked in here, and seen her covered in blood, from head to toe. From her first kill. She’d even been carrying the dripping daggers in her hands!
But this way was better. He resolved to continue anyway. “You killed them, didn’t you?”
Surprisingly—and yet no surprise as he knew deep down, Hazra’s demeanor changed. She let the pointless dresses slip from her hands—which were suddenly deadly weapons themselves. Even her voice changed. More intense and deeper. Huskier even. “They got what they deserved. All of them.”
At least this part had happened. The truth was out. He knew what she was, for certain this time. The Heartbane was Hazra. He was consort to a killer. An assassin. Any number of options flashed through his head, and the pain in his chest eased. There was really only one thing he was going to do. One thing he could do, given the circumstances.
“I only need to know one more thing,” the Clarion asked softly. “How can I help?”
-Suddenly he fought the urge to sneeze. Something tickled at his nose, and he woke up with a start.
He was lying on a table in his cousin’s home in Allash patch. Elathvor was there standing over him with a rag. No doubt covered with whatever sulfurous compound he’d put in front of the Clarion’s nose.
The Clarion’s chest was covered with bandages, as he’d expected. No doubt Elathvor had kept him under for hours as he’d explored every nook and cranny of his insides. Still, he felt very little pain—just a numbness across his whole midsection. Elathvor always kept a wide variety of pain-deadening herbs on hand.
The Clarion’s cough had grown even worse since his conversation with the Lord Ascendant. A medical examination had shown problems with more than his lungs, though. A chirgury would be necessary to find out what was wrong. Technically speaking, he had no family in the city, but of course even the Clarion had to come from somewhere. Back when he had been known as Gerit Clark, as a child he’d lived here in Allash patch. And despite all his training—his years of preparation as an initiate—the Clarion did still think of Elathvor as his cousin. He knew it was wrong; that he had to treat everyone equally, and trust everyone equally.
Of course the Ascendants had their own healers, but Elathvor was the best in the city by far. Especially when it came to chirgury. No one knew how to open someone up and then close them again without causing lasting harm like his cousin did. Most people could only open them up, and only after they were dead. Despite its massive promise, chirgury was still a long way from being in regular practice.
“Well?” The Clarion asked slowly. “Did you find anything in there aside from dust and cobwebs?”
His cousin didn’t answer at first, and just helped him up to a sitting position. The Clarion’s joking mood faded away, and he took Elathvor by the shoulders. “Tell me, cousin. How bad is it? You know I can take the news.”
Elathvor’s dense eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry. I found signs of tissue death… on virtually every one of your organs. The damage is… extensive.”
He supposed he should be surprised or shocked by that, but the Clarion just felt a sense of dull acceptance. Somehow, he’d known that it wasn’t just a really bad cough. “Is it the Blood Fever?”
“What? No. It’s not the Fever, I’m sure of that,” Elathvor assured him. “The damage here is just too widespread to be the result of any disease I know. There’s really only one thing that could have done this.”
The Clarion nodded. “Poison.”
Ever since the Laentana, the Clarion’s thoughts had rested on what that heretic Arico had said. He had read the notes dropped onto the Sustained again and again. The heretic’s warnings had been proven correct, at least with regards to the High Penet.
Other things the heretic had said lingered in the Clarion’s mind as well. Especially the parts about the Plague Test. It didn’t help that the Clarion had been a sickly child—prone to all sorts of illnesses in his early years.
They both just sat there in silence for a while. Elathvor still seemed shocked, but the Clarion found himself surprisingly calm. Perhaps having lived among a power-hungry, manipulative, and vicious bunch like the Council had given him a certain resistance. Though not the right kind of resistance, unfortunately.
“Can anything be done?” He asked, knowing the answer already.
Elathvor shook his head. “It’s gone too far. All I can do now is manage the cough and the pain. I’d guess it’s been done slowly, over the past few weeks. Probably in your food. You have three, maybe four weeks before…”
“Before I croak?” the Clarion asked, smiling up at him. “Before I take a swim with Aquun? Make my last trip through the threads?”
Elathvor relaxed a little. “Yes. The good news is, you should be able to function normally for most of that time. The cough will get a little worse, but the other symptoms won’t be hard to manage.”
His shoulders straightened. “But in the meantime… we’ll find out who’s responsible for this. I’ll talk to your father, and you can talk to the Lord Ascendant. We’ll arrange an inquiry. It has to be someone on the manor’s cooking staff, or a servant who at least has access to your meals.”
“No!” The Clarion answered forcefully. A little too forcefully perhaps. Elathvor gave him a confused look.
The Clarion took a deep breath. The last thing he needed was people poking into his private life. They’d do the same for Hazra, and the truth about Heartbane would get out. “No, let me arrange things privately, Elathvor. If we do this officially, the poisoner could find out and then would probably go into hiding. This way, we can catch him by surprise.”
Elathvor nodded. “Good idea. I didn’t think of that.”
The Clarion sat up off the table and carefully stretched his arms, mindful of the stitches in his chest. “It’s most likely one of the Councilors who did this to me, or at least ordered it,” he commented casually. “I’ve done plenty to piss them off recently. They’ve got more than enough reason to come after me.”
“I don’t get it. Why aren’t you angry? Why aren’t you furious about this?” Elathvor said, giving him a look that was equal parts frustration and commiseration.
The Clarion didn’t answer at first. How could he explain it? He felt worry, sure, for the future. There was a kind of quiet regret as well, but nothing more. “I have no room for fury, Elathvor. It has no place in my mind or in my heart. I want whoever did this to face justice, yes, but only because I am Clarion. Justice is part of who I am. But anger? Hatred? A desire for retribution? They’re of no use to anyone!
“If you want to feel sorry for me, don’t. I certainly am not. It’s true I wanted to do more, to have more time, but I know I’ve lived a good life. When I die, I’ll have no regrets. How many others in Patchwork could say the same?”
Elathvor pulled him into a big bear hug, and the Clarion smiled faintly. He’d always known he was different. He’d even sometimes indulged in the idea that he would have been different even without all the training. That he would always have a different view of life than most. No, he had many things to consider right now, but the only thought that stuck around was… what would happen to Hazra when he was gone?
He still had time. He’d come up with something.
-.-
Jaas didn’t know how long she’d been down here. A day, perhaps? A few hours? Helleco had been working systematically and professionally. He didn’t ask her any questions, but he did watch her reactions closely. He seemed to be taking mental notes of when she flinched, and how badly. Of when she cried out the loudest, or how long it took for the twitching to stop. His attention to detail would have been impressive, in any other circumstances.
There was one ray of hope: the chair she’d been tied to didn’t feel very sturdy. When she twisted her left arm, it felt like the nails holding the chair’s arm weren’t solidly in place. She took great care to hide that fact as she slowly worked the nails loose.
Eventually he stood back from her. She was still twitching in the chair, glaring back at him. “Your resistance is impressive, Harbinger,” he said quietly. “More so than I was expecting.”
“I’ve had some endurance training recently,” she admitted, her hands gripping and ungripping as she envisioned wrapping them around his neck. It seemed Otrul’s tireless drills had increased her pain threshold as well.
“Apparently so.” He hesitated. “There are other methods I could use, of course. I suppose I could have my guards rape you, one after another. I doubt they’d leave any marks on your body. Nothing detectable, anyway.” Jaas kept her composure, despite a stab of terror.
Helleco grimaced. “No, something tells me the Lord Ascendant would object to that. Besides, I think I have a better way.” He beckoned to one of the guards and whispered something to him. The guard nodded and ran out.
She heard shouting a few seconds later. Sabra’s voice. With a great deal of effort and clanking of chains, four guards dragged a struggling Sabra in. He was manacled, hands to feet, but he still struggled mightily as he roared in anger. He almost knocked them all off balance more than once. The moment he caught a glance of her, his struggle faltered. He glared up at Helleco, as the guards secured him to the wall. “Sabra will kill you all. Slowly.”
“Yes, I’m sure you would,” Helleco said gravely. “When he woke up, he broke through his bindings very easily, you know,” he turned back to Jaas. “We had to sedate him again, and truss him up like a turkey this time so he wouldn’t break free again. He’s a remarkable creature, isn’t he?” Sabra lunged at him, muscles straining against the manacles chaining his wrists and ankles to the wall.
To his credit, Helleco didn’t give any reaction, despite how close Sabra got to him. He only laughed. “Such spirit! Once he’s been properly broken, and if he survives, I’m sure he’ll make a fine attraction in the Sustained Menagerie with the other animals.”
He drew a gun from one of the guards’ holsters, and leaned down next to Jaas as he checked it. Apparently it was already loaded to his satisfaction. “Of course you could spare him from that fate. If you tell me what I want to know, I could see to it he’s released back to the Deathwatch patch where he belongs. He’d have to stay there, naturally, but at least he wouldn’t end up on display.”
Jaas looked back over her shoulder in turmoil. Sabra flicked his eyes in her direction, defiance burning bright in them. The thought of him being gawked at in a cage was a hateful notion, but she knew he wouldn’t want her to give in. And there was also the near-certainty that Helleco wouldn’t keep his end of the bargain. Wordlessly, she shook her head.
Helleco shrugged, and aimed the gun at Sabra’s head. “Have it your way.”
He nodded to one of the guards, who drew a wicked-looking serrated dagger from his belt. “My colleagues have had a chance to study the Monster over the past day,” he continued his old conversational tone, keeping his aim steady. “From what they tell me, it’s unlikely a beating will be that harmful to him. He seems to have abnormally thick muscles and bones, a result of his aberrant birth no doubt. Because of that,” he nodded to the guard, “we’ll have to dig a little deeper.” The guard plunged his knife into Sabra’s side.
Sabra grunted in pain and tried to headbutt the guard but the chains held him in place. Jaas couldn’t see his side from her position in the chair, but the wound had to be bad. Black blood oozed over the knife’s hilt and dripped onto the floor. The blood of giants—who had also been tortured and slaughtered like he was about to be.
“Again,” Helleco commanded, and the guard stabbed the knife once more. More blood stained the floor, and Jaas winced at Sabra’s groan. Their attention was all on him, though. She took the opportunity to keep pulling at the chair.
“We have a fairly good idea where the Monster’s internal organs are,” Helleco said softly. “We’re avoiding them for now. I have to wonder just how much of this he can take, though. He’ll certainly bleed to death eventually, unless we put a stop to this soon. Still not feeling talkative?” He added sardonically, and gestured with his free hand. The guard stabbed again.
There, it had finally happened. The arm was loose under her bindings. Gritting her teeth, Jaas shifted her weight and toppled the chair to the ground. Pain shot through her shoulders and chest as the chair came apart under her. As she’d hoped, the ropes loosened with it.
There were three guards in the room, all armed. With both prisoners restrained, none of them had drawn their guns. Their mistake. From the floor, Jaas swung the broken chair’s arm as hard as she could, catching the closest guard across the knees. He fell with a pained cry, and with the speed borne from her combat training, Jaas rolled to her feet. In another instant, she had ‘liberated’ Helleco’s gun and pointed it back at his head.
“Don’t do it!” She snapped at the other two guards as both moved towards her. “I’ll kill him!”
Thankfully they both came to a stop. Silence pervaded the room, and Jaas stteadied herself, hearing her heart thumping fast in the sudden quiet.
She took a moment to free herself from the last of the ropes. “Drop your weapons and raise your hands. All of you, now!” She raised the tip of the gun for emphasis, and they looked at Helleco for instructions. Looking grim, he nodded and they did as she said.
“You,” she glanced at the guard with the now-dropped knife. “Unchain him. Sabra, are you all right?”
“Sabra is fine,” he grunted, breathing heavily as the guard fumbled with the manacle keys. The moment he was free, Sabra rammed his shoulder into the guard’s gut, knocking him down. He then rose slowly. “Pretty lady did good. Sabra should probably hold that, though.” He tentatively reached out for the gun.
Gratefully, she handed it to him. Otrul’s training had included the use of sparkpowder weapons like this one, but she’d never aimed it at a living thing before. She’d been trying to hide the shaking in her hands the whole time, and she wasn’t even sure that if she’d squeezed the trigger, it would have gone off! At least Sabra knew how to handle himself in life or death situations.
“Come on,” she said more confidently now that she was no longer holding the metal death machine. “I think I know a way out of here. Helleco here is one of the Sustained higher-ups, so I bet he’d make a pretty good hostage. You’re going to take us to the threads where our friends can see us,” she said fiercely to him, “or Sabra will break your arm clean off.”
She started to move, planning on locking the rest of them in their own torture room, but Sabra grabbed her arm lightly. “It’s all over now,” he called to the door. “Sabra’s in control.”
He then handed the gun back to Helleco, as more people stepped into the room.
