“His name is Belper Froth. He's...”
“And the questions?” the torturer interrupted.
Swift crossed his arms and didn't answer right away. “I want ta know why Drake Morrass is here in Chade. I want ta know what he wants with Kessick and I want ta know where he's staying. Bastard is like a ghost. Can't keep a tail on him.”
“I'll never tell you a fuckin' thing,” Belper Froth shouted from his barrel. Again both Swift and the torturer looked at him and then back at each other.
“That is all?”
“Far as I can think fer now. Might be his answers beg a few more questions.”
“Then I shall get started.” The torturer picked up his bag and placed it on the table. He opened it and pulled out a white cloth which he also laid on the table then he pulled out a variety of blades, scissors, pliers, hammers and other instruments Pern couldn't name and laid them on the white cloth. He pulled out a small metallic bowl and filled it with a vial of acrid liquid and then placed the vial back in the bag. Then he pulled out a variety of small leather pouches and placed them in a specific order only he could fathom. Last of all he pulled out a small strip of paper with some writing on it.
“That a rune?” Swift asked.
“A charm,” the torturer responded.
“Thought only Arbiters could make them things.”
“For all demands there are suppliers, Lord Swift.”
“Aye,” Swift said, a hungry look in his eyes.
“Bare his back,” the torturer ordered Pern.
Pern Suzku did not move even a muscle. He stared down at the tall man dressed in black and spoke in a low voice. “I am Haarin.”
The torturer looked at Swift. Swift shook his head. “He gets a bit moody 'bout this sort o' stuff. Useful fucker ta have around though.” Pern's client walked over to Belper Froth and tore the shirt from his back.
The torturer selected a spot on the captive's back and pressed the small strip of paper down onto the skin. Belper Froth struggled against his bonds but he was held tight. “What was that?”
The torturer moved in front of Belper and looked into his eyes. “The Arbiters call it a sleepless charm. It will prevent you from losing consciousness though, depending on your cooperation, I may remove it to give you some respite. Do you understand?”
“Fuck you!” Belper Froth spat a glob of spittle at the torturer but the tall man seemed to see it coming and glide out of the way.
The torturer selected a short set of pliers from the table and approached Belper Froth again. “I'm going to start on your fingers. If you are cooperative I hope I will not have to go any further but if I do I will move onto your feet next. Do you understand?”
Belper Froth let forth a stream of curses all of which the torturer ignored.
Pern watched with horror as the torturer set the pliers to Belper's right thumbnail and slowly began to pull. At first Belper gritted his teeth and screwed his eyes shut but before long he was screaming as flesh ripped and tore and the nail pulled free. The man whimpered and sobbed, his head resting against his shoulder. Blood welled up around the nail-less thumb and pooled in the void.
“Now you know what to expect,” the torturer said setting the pliers to the nail on Belper's right index finger. “It will get worse from here. Why is Drake Morrass in Chade?”
Belper shook his head from side to side and sobbed. His sobs turned back to screams as his second nail was pulled from his finger.
Pern gritted his teeth and tried his best to block out the sound of screaming.
By the time the torturer had a neat pile of ten little nails Belper Froth still had not said a word apart from the curses he threw around the room at anyone and everyone; even Pern who had nothing and wanted nothing to do with the entire situation. The torturer did not seem at all surprised at his subject's lack of cooperation. He returned to his selection of instruments and picked a small pouch of dust. He then sprinkled the dust on the open wounds where Belper's finger nails used to be and returned the pouch to its rightful place. Then he waited.
Pern glanced at Swift. His client did not look happy; his jaw was set, his mouth made a hard, thin line and his eyes were lowered in a full glare.
“Shouldn't be long now,” the torturer assured them.
“Good,” Swift forced out.
“You can wait outside if this sight disturbs you.”
Pern half expected his client to hold the torturer down and pull out a couple of his finger nails just to prove nothing disturbed him but instead Swift spat and kept up his silent glare.
“Wha...” Belper Froth said from the barrel, his eyes opening for the first time in a long time. “The pain...”
“It is gone?” the torturer asked.
Belper Froth nodded.
“Good. I find this next exercise is always more effective when the subject can see but not feel the damage.”
The torturer returned to his instruments and selected a small vice with a screw set on top. He then placed Belper Froth's right thumb in the vice and began to tighten the screw.
At first there seemed to be little effect; the torturer turned the screw slowly, half turn by half turn and Belper looked on with a bemused expression. Before long fresh blood started to drip down from between the two metal plates of the vice. Still Belper Froth didn't feel the pain. There was a loud pop and Belper's eyes went wide.
“What was that?” the captive's voice was high and panicky.
“The beginning,” said the torturer and put his shoulder into turning the screw.
What followed was a series of
crunches
,
snaps
,
grates
,
scratches
and fleshy
squelches
all of which made Pern want to throw up but he held fast. Belper Froth did not fare so well. First he tried to struggle, then he started whining a high-pitched wail. By the time the torturer loosened the screw and took away the vice Belper was a shaking, gibbering mess and his thumb was a flattened paste of flesh and blood and bone.
“I will need a fire,” the torturer said to Swift. “Something small. Hot coals will suffice.”
Swift nodded but he couldn't keep his eyes off of the flattened mess of thumb. “Aye.” He walked over to the cell door, opened it and called out for a servant to bring a bucket of hot coals.
Belper had screwed his eyes shut and was muttering to himself between sobbing. The torturer waited patiently, humming a tuneless little ditty to himself. He put his pliers in the small metal bowl of acrid liquid and noticed Pern staring at him.
“You don't approve, Haarin?” the torturer asked in a neutral tone.
Pern took a moment to compose himself. Some days it was harder than others to remember his vows. “I am Haarin. It is not my place to approve or disapprove.”
“I see. The anaesthetic should wear off soon.”
The torturer was not wrong. By the time the servant arrived, and threw up at the sight of the crushed thumb, with the bucket of hot coals Belper Froth was screaming again. The noise was so loud it made Pern's ears pop and if it weren't for the deadly severity in his client's eyes Pern would have put an end to the poor man right there and then.
“I'm payin' fer answers not ta listen ta this fuck scream,” Swift shouted at the torturer.
The torturer nodded and raised his own voice to be heard over Belper Froth. “It's all part of the process. If you would like you can wait outside. Some people...”
“Get on with it!” Swift raised his voice to be heard over the screaming.
“Of course,” the torturer said and promptly sprinkled some more dust on his victim's wounds. It took a few minutes for Belper Froth's screaming to stop and the torturer was wearing a thin sheen of nervous sweat and glancing at Swift.
“Belper Froth,” said the torturer. “That was only one thumb. Tell me what I want to know or I shall do this to each of your fingers and your toes. From there I will move on to new parts of your body and create a symphony of pain from your screams. I will keep you alive not for hours or days but for weeks and each moment will be filled with agony. Do you understand, Belper Froth?”
There was a weak nod from the man strapped to the barrel followed by a sob.
“Belper Froth, if you understand me, say so otherwise the pain will return.”
“Yes,” Belper Froth managed in a raw voice. His head hung limp and a thin strand of spittle hung from his bottom lip. “I do.”
“Good. I'm going to cauterize your wound now.” The torturer was not gentle. In one quick motion with a sharp scalpel he sliced away the crushed, mangled flesh of Belper's thumb and then took another blade from the bucket of hot coals and pressed it to the open wound. The smell of burning flesh filled the air and Pern again fought the urge to gag. The torturer sprinkled more dust onto Belper's hands.
“Now, Belper Froth. Why is Drake Morrass in Chade?”
“Ya da's a cunt,” Betrim said to Anders.
Anders nodded. “We have an interesting relationship.”
Betrim snorted. “He's having ya executed. An' us too.”
Again Anders nodded. “I probably deserve it.”
“Well I don't!”
This time Henry snorted. “Reckon ya deserve it more than any other fucker here.”
Betrim decided he wished he hadn't started the conversation in the first place. Problem was out here there was a whole lot of nothing and the silent walk to their deaths was starting to pluck at his very last nerve.
The bastard holding his rope gave it a tug and Betrim stumbled, his knee hitting the packed dirt, and pushed back to his feet. He could feel a limp coming on; it did nothing to brighten his mood.
“Says the crazy bitch who murdered half of Chade an' then fuckin' got herself pardoned.”
Henry laughed as she placed one foot in front of the other. She still had her hat, the guards had been too kind or too afraid to take it from her, and it obscured her face. “Weren't half o' Chade. Twenty folk at most, I reckon, an' only a few o' those were anyone important.”
“How did you get a pardon?” Anders asked.
Henry growled from beneath her hat.
Betrim stumbled again but he kept his feet beneath him this time. Seemed they were in a piss poor situation; tied up and dragged along behind horses to their own executions. Lord Brekovich had decided the best way to be rid of them was to let the wilds have them. They were headed to the Boneyard and, while Betrim had never heard of it, it did not sound like a pleasant place. He reckoned they needed a bit of spirit raising and telling stories was always a good way to do so.
“Go on, Henry. Tell the man,” he said with a grin.
“You jus' wanna know yaself.”
“You know how I did fer all them Arbiters,” Betrim said and for the most part it was the truth.
Henry looked up at the Black Thorn and grinned. “Aye. Even that third one.”
Betrim winced. He didn't really like being reminded of the third one and Henry knew it. “What's it matter anyways, Henry? We're all 'bout ta die.”
The little murderess sighed. “It were Xho who let me go.”
“Lord Xho?” Betrim asked. “The same fuck we killed a year back?”
“Aye. Seems he weren't too pleased with one o' his fellow council members; a lass called Lellith Chambers was sitting the council at that time. Somethin' ta do with her opposin' him, I reckon. Rich folk always got some reason or other fer wantin' people dead, jus' don't like bloodyin' their own hands ta do it.”
“Appropriate point given our current situation, I reckon,” Betrim agreed. Both he and Henry looked over to Anders, the blooded fool just sweated back at them.
“Well Xho didn't want this Lellith Chambers killin', he wanted a message sent. A
don't fuck with me
message. So he freed me on the promise I would murder her son. Little brat weren't even off the tit.”
Betrim gave a sombre nod to that. He'd put down children before, never quite that young though. The youngest he'd done for was maybe six years old; the little shit had come at him with a knife, he hadn't meant to kill her though. It was an unfortunate affair that one.
“They still bleed jus' like everyone else. No matter how small they are…” Henry said her voice trailing off. Betrim didn’t think it were possible but she actually sounded a bit ashamed.
“Not that I mean to intrude upon you bearing your soul, my love,” Anders said. “But given our current situation I'd much prefer it if we could change the subject to something of a lighter nature. Not that murdering babes isn't a fun topic.”
Henry tilted her head so that her eyes could be seen underneath her hat and gave Anders one of her best glares. Anders somehow managed to pale even further and took a hasty side step to put a little distance between them.
The rest of the march towards their deaths was a lot quieter. Anders seemed to think better of speaking again and Henry had done all the talking of her past she was like to do for a couple of lifetimes. Betrim thought about bringing up some of his own exploits but sometimes a situation called for silence and this was looking like one of those times.
The strange thing about being so far north in the wilds was that, though the sun was high and bright and shining down on them with not a cloud in sight, there was a chill in the air. He was warm and sweaty from his forced march but his skin felt clammy in the cold. The light breeze was a particular comfort as it blew across his face, occasionally whipping away a bead of sweat.
Anders stumbled, dropped to one knee and almost collapsed onto the grassy dirt. The fool was still suffering from a distinct lack of alcohol and three days of being dragged behind horses with only a couple of scraps of old leather to keep them going was taking its toll on all of them but him most of all. Betrim quickly moved next to Anders, bending down to put a shoulder underneath the other man's arm and then stood back up, lifting Anders back to his feet.
“Thanks boss,” the blooded drunk mumbled.
“Jus' keep it up, Anders,” Betrim said in a quiet voice. “We'll find a way out o' this soon enough.”
To that Anders just nodded. He stayed close to Betrim after that, occasionally leaning on the bigger man for support. There might have been a time when the Black Thorn would have pushed him away and kicked his legs out from under him but these days it seemed as though friends were a rare commodity and he wasn't about to rid himself of any, even one as useless as Anders.