The Mindmage's Wrath: A Book of Underrealm (The Academy Journals 2) (33 page)

AFTER EBON HASTILY CLOSED THE hole behind them, Mako took him down the sewer—but they did not go back the way they came. Instead Mako led him farther onward, with Matami hoisted over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

More twists and turns passed, but Ebon had given up trying to determine where they were. Instead he stared at his feet while they walked, and wondered just what mess he had stepped into. When he had determined to prove Matami’s guilt, and therefore the guilt of his father, he had not imagined kidnapping Matami himself. He only hoped it would not get worse—yet something inside him promised that it would.

They had been walking on a downward slope for some time, but now the sewer opened, causing Ebon to stop in his tracks. The ceiling rose abruptly to form a chamber many paces high. The sewer’s filthy, watery channel disappeared into the floor, and there was a sort of raised central platform in the center of the chamber. In the center of that platform was an iron chair, and Ebon could see that it had been bolted to the stone floor with great spikes. Chains were nailed into the chair, and there Mako brought Matami, lashing him into place tightly so that he could not move. Around the edge of the chamber were other doorways, leading to more passageways like the one they had come from. All led upward, and where they entered the room, their sewage flow vanished into a grate under the central platform, where Ebon could hear the sound of rushing water.

“It is the central drainage chamber,” said Mako. “Or at least, it is one of them. There are several such across the Seat—though this is the most removed from the city above, and therefore the best in which to hide things.”

Ebon tried to keep his voice steady. “And what are we hiding, Mako?”

The bodyguard looked at him, but did not answer. Instead he went to one of the other doorways, where a torch rested in a sconce on the wall. This he took down and lit, before carrying it to the center of the room. He placed it on the floor less than a pace from Matami’s bare feet. They were lashed to the chair like the rest of him and now twitched from the heat of the flame. Finally Matami woke with a jerk, eyes wild as they had been in the lover’s room above. Immediately he winced at the lump blooming above his temple where Mako had struck him. He tried to raise his head to the lump, but found that Mako had lashed his wrists behind the chair.

“Mako? What is this? What happened to—”

He stopped, eyes roving the chamber, and then down at his own naked form. His face grew a bit paler in the torchlight.

“How dare you?” he growled. “Do you have any idea of the punishment that awaits you for this? You shall be flayed, Mako. I will see the skin peeled from your—”

Mako wore leather gloves. Now he removed one, and with his bare hand, he slapped Matami across the face with an open palm. He did not put much force in the blow—Ebon could see that from where he stood—but Matami’s head jerked back. It barely stopped him speaking. He looked past Mako to see Ebon lurking at the edge of the room.

“Ebon?” he sneered. “You are part of this, are you, boy? Know this, then: you are as good as dead. Your father will doubtless wish to draw the knife across your throat himself, but I fear he will not have the pleasure. I will—”

But while he spoke, Mako had sauntered around behind him and drawn his blade. He snatched one of Matami’s fingers, and the man’s words cut off abruptly.

Ebon watched as Mako slipped the point of the knife beneath Matami’s fingernail, and twisted.

Matami screamed, his voice echoing from every surface and rejoining itself in chorus, so it sounded as though an army were screeching in pain. Mako held the knife there for a moment before withdrawing it, and then stood to lean over Matami’s shoulder from behind.

“Now then. We will hear no more vague, pointless threats from your fat, sniveling lips, will we?”

Matami only glared at him, pushing breath between gritted teeth. Mako waited a moment, and then shrugged. He knelt again, and plunged the knife under a fingernail on the other hand. Fresh screams rang in Ebon’s ears, and he turned his face away. “You will not! You will not! I swear it!” Matami shrieked.

“Good,” said Mako, withdrawing the blade at once. He stepped out from behind the chair and went to the torch. From his boot he produced another dagger—shorter and less ornate than the one at his belt—and left it leaning on the torch that still sputtered on the ground. Then he stepped just inside one of the passages that led out of the chamber. When he came back into view, he held another chair—this one smaller, and wooden, with thin leather upholstery on the seat. He placed it before Matami, facing the man, and then looked to Ebon. “You can find another chair there, if you wish, little Ebon. You need not remain on your feet.”

Ebon only stared at him. “This is wrong, Mako. We cannot do this.”

He expected Mako to sneer. Instead, sympathy filled the bodyguard’s eyes. “Dear little Ebon,” he said quietly. “Halab’s love for you is well-placed. You have a good heart, and she treasures it. But Matami must be put to the question, or truth will never out.”

“Then let him be put to the question,” said Ebon. “But by the constables. The King’s law. Else we are as guilty in the law’s eyes as he is.”

Mako cocked his head. “You know that is impossible, do you not? I am a bodyguard, Ebon, and I serve Halab. A bodyguard’s first task is not to keep their master safe from a drawn dagger. Do you know what it is?”

Ebon shook his head.

“It is to keep their master from being near a drawn dagger in the first place. Now Halab is in a situation where more than daggers may be drawn against her, and Matami is at least part of the cause. To keep her safe, I must remove the danger before it grows. Do you want Halab to be safe?”

That made Ebon balk. How could he say no? Mako must have taken his silence for assent, because he turned back to Matami. The man had not stopped scowling, and now he sneered in Mako’s face.

“What are you prattling about, Mako? I am no danger, and you know it.”

“What have you been doing in the Academy, Matami? What have you been seeking?”

Matami’s frown deepened. “You speak nonsense. I have had nothing to do with the Academy.”

Mako sighed, shaking his head. He stood and circled behind Matami once more.

“I have done nothing!” Matami screamed. “I swear it! I do not know what you are talking about!”

As though he had not heard, Mako lifted a hand, and plunged his dagger into the skin. He slid it sideways, across the palm just below the surface, so that Ebon could see the lump of it sliding along beneath the palm’s lines. His stomach lurched, and he turned his eyes. Matami’s cries were bestial, animal, horrifying things.

When Mako was done, he went to the torch, and to the dagger he had left sitting atop it. The blade was glowing red hot. He went back behind Matami, and pressed the blade to the incision where he had slipped the dagger inside. The air filled with the hiss of sizzling flesh, and Matami’s screams turned into screeches and shrieks. Slowly, casually, Mako made his way back to the wooden chair and sat before Matami.

“If you waste my time, you will regret it,” said Mako. “You sent a child named Lilith into the Academy’s vaults to steal artifacts. Tell me why, and tell me how.”

Matami had surrendered all pretense of bluster or threat. “I swear to you Mako, I have done nothing of the sort,” he said, voice shaking. “I know nothing of the thefts in the Academy, or the murders they say have been committed there.”

Mako’s hand flicked. The dagger flew from his fingers and plunged into Matami’s ankle. Mako kicked out with a boot, skewing the hilt to the side and prying the flesh open. Matami wailed and tried to move his foot, but the chains held him in place.

“Claiming ignorance helps no one, Matami,” said Mako, wiggling his foot casually about in a small circle, widening the gap in the man’s flesh. Blood poured from the wound to pool on the ground. “Telling me you know nothing only makes me angry. Telling me you
do
know something might improve my mood.”

He finally stopped kicking the dagger about, and bent down to withdraw it. Again he fetched the red-hot knife from the torch, and pressed it to the gaping hole. Matami screamed again, finally subsiding as Mako replaced the dagger in the fire.

“I will tell you anything,” said Matami. “Anything, I swear it. But I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

“Why do you persist, Matami,” Mako said sadly, drawing out his name. “Why do you persist? Do you think you will get out of this by speaking your lies? I know you had something to do with the attack on the Seat.”

Matami’s eyes flashed, and he fell still.

Mako pointed with his dagger, making the man flinch. “There it is. What did you do?”

“Nothing,” said Matami, shaking his head. “I would never participate in treason.”

A moment’s long silence stretched. Then Mako looked sadly over his shoulder. “Ebon, you will want to avert your eyes.”

“Please!”
screamed Matami. “Please, I beg of you, I knew—”

Ebon turned away quickly as Mako lunged. There was a wet, slurping, grinding noise, and Matami’s throat broke as he screamed himself raw. Then came the hissing sound of cauterized flesh. When Ebon at last turned back, there was a gaping, bloody, charred hole where Matami’s right eye had been.

“The attack on the Seat,” said Mako. “Say on, or lose what sight you have left.”

“I did not know it had anything to do with the attack. I promise you. I would never have done it. But I received messages, orders. I was the one who sent the parcel, the one the boy delivered.”

Mako seized a foot and slashed his blade across the bottom. “Which boy? Say his name, wretch.”

“Ebon!” screamed Matami, his raw throat breaking further. “Ebon! I sent the parcel for Ebon! The one he brought to our man. Then I gave him his orders in the castle.”

“And those orders were?”

“There was someone—a guest of the High King. I did not know it at the time, but it was that man Xain, the one who is now Dean of the Academy. The High King had him well guarded. Our man was meant to take the place of one of those guards, to be ready when we made a move on Xain.”

Mako cocked his head. “On Xain? Why him?”

Matami shook his head. “Shay’s orders did not say.” Mako shifted in his seat. Matami screamed and thrashed against his chains.
“I swear they did not say!
I swear it! I was only doing what I was told. Then I received a map, showing landing points on the Seat, though I knew not what they were for, and I sent that to our agent. It was stolen from him, but I did not tell Shay, for I feared his wrath if he knew. I am sorry. I am so sorry, I should have told him. Please, please let me live. I should have told him, I see that now.”

For a moment all was still. Ebon released a breath he had not known he was holding. Mako reached out and put a hand on Matami’s shoulder. The man burst into racking, sobbing breaths, his chest and shoulders heaving.

“Your error was not in keeping the truth from Shay,” said Mako gently. “It was in following his orders in the first place. For they have endangered all our family, and that means they have endangered Halab.”

Beneath the blood from his ruined eye that covered his face, Matami grew pale. “I thought the orders were from Halab. I never thought Shay would act without her blessing.”

Mako leaned in to embrace the man, an arm wrapped about his neck. He spoke so softly that Ebon could scarcely hear him. “If Halab knew about your scheming, would I be here now?”

Then he rose and went behind Matami again. Matami thrashed against the chains. “No! No, please! I have told you everything!”

“Not everything,” said Mako. “What have you and Shay planned with the artifacts you stole from the Academy?”

“Nothing!” cried Matami.
 

Snik.

Mako sliced off one of Matami’s fingers. The dagger cut through the flesh like butter, and the finger fell to the floor with a wet
splat.

“Eeaaah!”
screamed Matami.
“Nothing! Nothing, I swear it!”

Snik. Splat. Snik. Splat.

One by one Mako took them, and one by one they fell, until Matami’s screams were no longer of denial, but only of wordless agony. Between each, Mako repeated the question. “What have you planned with the artifacts?” But it seemed he no longer even cared to hear the answer.

Ebon’s pulse thundered in his ears, and his fists shook at his side. Mako finished with one hand and lifted the next. But then something snapped. Ebon ran forwards, reaching for his power, his eyes blazing with light.

“No!” he cried. “Mako, stop it! Stop it at—”

Faster than the eye could see, Mako drove a fist into Ebon’s chest just below the ribs. Ebon’s air left him in a rush, and he crashed to the stone floor, unable to breathe or move. As though he had not even noticed Ebon’s presence, Mako stepped behind Matami again. The man’s screams rang out twice as loud. How could the whole Seat not hear him? Ebon felt sure that constables and Mystics and the High King’s guard would all come rushing down at any moment. But no one came, and Mako kept cutting.

The last finger fell. Matami kept screaming while Mako stepped back around in front of him. But he did not sit in his wooden chair. Instead, he straddled Matami, one hand cupping the man’s cheek affectionately, the other still holding the dagger.

When at last Matami’s screams subsided, he tried to speak again. At first he almost choked on the spittle and phlegm that had filled his mouth. From his one remaining eye, he gazed up at Mako in pain and terror.

“I do not know,” he whimpered. “I do not know what you are asking me.
Please
.”

“I know you do not,” said Mako softly. “No one lasts through all ten fingers.”

Then he dragged his blade across Matami’s throat.

Ebon had only just begun to get back his breath. Now he flipped over and crawled to the edge of the platform. He did not make it before he retched, and his vomit splashed out across his hands. He forced his head over the brim, watching his sick pour forth into the thick, disgusting filth that seeped through the iron grate below. The smell of it made him retch again, twice as hard, and then again, until it seemed there could be nothing left inside him, and he was only a hollow shell. Finally he pushed himself back from the edge and rolled over, onto his back. Flecks of vomit speckled the front of his robes, but he could not force himself to care.