053 – Mercy
***
“We are not doing torture,” I said. “No way.”
“I’m the leader here, Strythe. Don’t forget that,” Zambulon said. He waved the fire iron at me. “And I say that we do whatever it takes to extract information from the prisoner.”
“I refuse. And I won’t let you do it either,” I said.
“This is insubordination. I’m the one in command of this mission. I make decisions, and you obey them.”
“Why is that? Because you enkindled a few years before me? Because you’re better at swinging around a sword? That’s a crummy way to select a leader.”
“It doesn’t matter if it is or not. I’m in charge of the mission, and I’m the one who will be held responsible for its failure. That’s why we’re going to melt that man’s eyeballs out whether you approve or not.”
Hwilla and Yurk stood by uncomfortably as Zambulon and I argued. Yurk was as quiet as always, and Hwilla picked lint off the front of her coat. Our angry words alerted Knogule from across the empty hall of the casino.
“You heard that thug,” I said. “There are some things a person just won’t do, no matter what the consequences. It’s personal honor. For me, that’s torturing helpless people. This stupid world is already driving me crazy, and if I don’t draw a line somewhere, it will completely disintegrate me.”
“If you stand in my way, junior, I’ll give you a taste of this branding iron.”
“I would rather endure it than deliver it,” I said.
Knogule, the secret agent, rushed over to see what disturbed us.
“Friends. Has something gone wrong? What did you learn from questioning the captain of the Leech Boys?”
“We learned he’s very stubborn. I was about to remedy that with the judicious application of a hot iron when my junior saved him out of some mad whim. Now he’s made us look like weak children in front of the man, so he won’t ever give up his secrets.”
“Ah. That’s not so, Master Zambulon. It’s a well known technique for interrogations to show both cruelty and kindness. One questioner intimidates with violence, and the other persuades with mercy. Such tactics are superior to a one-sided approach. In time, the two of you can wear down our prisoner. As long as you work together.”
“We don’t have time for that. I’ll just beat it out of him.”
I said. “No you won’t. You may be a bitter jerk, Zambulon, but this is too much even for you.”
Goaded by my words, Zambulon jabbed the hot iron into my chest and held it there for a moment. It burned through my clothes and sent up a plume of smoke. I gritted my teeth as it scorched me, but didn’t move. Even a deep burn wouldn’t leave a scar on a mage.
“Obey your superiors, junior.”
“I’ll find another way.”
“Please, friends. There’s no need for us to fight,” Knogule said. “Discord will harm us more than any unwilling prisoner. Not all criminals are honorable; we can find a more talkative captain who knows the identity of our adversary.”
Zambulon removed the iron, and I fell back holding the wound my chest. The iron left a smoldering hole in my clothes. I examined the front of my damaged shirt.
“How many people can fit in your wine cellar, Master Knogule? We may have to round up the whole town at this rate.”
“Wait!” I said. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Oh no. This is no time for your damned ideas.”
“Hwilla, Yurk, don’t move,” I said. I moved over to Yurk. He and Hwilla had lifted the unconscious prisoner and carried him to the cellar. Now they both had some lint on the front of their dark clothing. I pulled some hairs off Yurk’s cloak and examined them closely. “Let’s go see the prisoner! Come on. To the basement.”
I rushed ahead of the others for the wine cellar. On the way, I rooted through my bag of tricks, all the runes and supplies brought along for the trip.
“Strythe! I forbid you to have any ideas. They always cause more trouble.”
“I have something to help us. A magic rune,” I pulled out a pebble of quartz.
“What is it?”
“I’ll demonstrate.”
We all entered the wine cellar and crowded around the prisoner. The captive Leech Boy look surprised to see us again so soon.
“This is a defective lumestone that only releases a kind of invisible light.”
“Light can’t be invisible. That’s a paradox,” Zambulon said.
“It’s invisible to human eyes, but fish and insects can see it quite well. And it still transfers heat and energy. Another peculiar effect is that it causes some substances to absorb that energy and release it as light that we can see through fluorescence. Observe.”
I held the defective lumestone over the man. The ultraviolet light lit up the fine hairs covering his clothing, quite obvious in the dark of the cellar. Glowing lint covered him, a small amount of which had transferred to us when we touched him.
“What the hell are you doing to me?” the captain asked.
“Green. Magenta. Yellow. Cyan. It seems that you’ve recently been around a horde of domestic cats. Have you been spending time at the local brothel?”
The man seized up with fear. He had a stubborn streak, but he was terrible at coming up with lies. “No. This ain’t from cats. It’s from a horse. I’ve never been to the brothel. I never even kissed a girl.”
Stolen novel; please report.
“The brothel! I should have realized it earlier!” Knogule exclaimed. “Illegal gambling is everywhere, but there’s no gang in town that runs illegal prostitution. No pimps or independent streetwalkers. It’s all done through the monopoly at the Queen’s Treasury.”
“I didn’t say nothing!” the captain objected. “Don’t get me in trouble with the boss. She’ll kill me for squealing.”
“Mistress Iaanda from the Queen’s Treasury executed my plan years ago,” Knogule said. “She unified the local gangs and prohibited any illegal activity from cutting into the profits of her official business. Except she dealt with prostitution instead of gambling. How shameful that I didn’t piece it together earlier. I apologize for wasting so much of your time, friends.” The cult’s spy bowed humbly before us.
“We now know the identity of the crime boss,” Zambulon sighed. He tossed the fire poker back in the stove. “Let’s move on to the next step.”
“Hey. Wait. Are you gonna untie me or what?” the captain called out as we left the cellar.
***
The moon bathed the roof of the Queen’s Treasury in dim violet light. Several cats slinked past us, curious as to why humans visited a place reserved for their kind. I used the blacklight rune to light them up, making them flouresce in the shadows. The glowing cats danced across the tiles in surprise.
“You expect me to dress up like a whore?” Hwilla asked. She was indignant at the suggestion, verging on wrathful. Zambulon put up his hands.
“No no. Just a normal girl. You just have to slip in and locate the proprietress. The three of us would draw too much attention asking questions. But you can move through the employee’s section without anyone noticing.”
“I don’t want to go back there. It’s disgusting. Not to mention I’ll get covered in lint again.”
“Come on, junior. You’re the stealthy one out of us.”
“Only because I’m the smallest.”
“Well, you’re also the girliest,” Zambulon said. “Strythe, give her one of your alarm rocks. She can turn it on if she’s in trouble. At the signal, we’ll bust in to help.”
“Fine. But I’m not happy about this.” Hwilla unbelted her sword and laid it on the rooftop. She took off her coat and tied up her hair behind a kerchief. We didn’t wear our typical uniforms while on a mission, and without a weapon or a skull mask, Hwilla made an impressively normal looking person. “Should I strangle her or just tie her up?”
“Neither. Scout out where she is and report back.”
The proprietress of the Queen’s Treasury, Mistress Iaanda, was not on the floor of the brothel this evening, and she hadn’t come out to watch the stage shows. It was possible she heard some rumor of our impending take over. Maybe she expected the captain of the Leech Boys to report back, and he never showed up. Or perhaps one of the Spry Knucklers took the risk of making a report. A crime lord had to keep their ear to the ground, and Iaanda would have her own network for gathering information.
Hwilla hopped over the edge of the roof and bounded down to a window frame as graceful as one of the multicolored cats. Neither Yurk or Zambulon were inclined to send their junior in alone. They stayed alert, poised to rush in at any sign of danger.
“You didn’t threaten her with a hot poker,” I said. The wound on my chest blistered painfully. It would take a day or two to heal.
“She doesn’t need to be threatened. She knows her place in the hierarchy,” Zambulon said. “Don’t expect an apology for that burn. A lucky guess about cat hair doesn’t make up for your insubordination.”
“I won’t say ‘sorry’ either.”
We fumed in silence for several minutes at the eaves of the roof. Our augmented hearing allowed us to listen into the building, but with so many people talking, arguing, singing, dancing, making love, and playing musical instruments, we couldn’t distinguish any one voice from the confusion of noise. But we heard no shouts or screams or clash of blades. Yurk, uncharacteristically, broke the silence.
“She’s coming back.”
Hwilla opened a window and flipped up on to the roof. She strapped her sword back on.
“I asked one of the girls and found the owner’s gone off on vacation. Several times a year, Iaanda spends a week or two at her private villa.”
“That’s probably when she holds her meetings with the gang captains,” Zambulon said. “It’s better for us this way. We can confront her outside of town, away from witnesses and the authorities.”
“The thing is that in the frontier a private villa is basically a private fortress. It will be walled off and guarded.”
“What time did she leave?”
“Right before dawn. She left in her private carriage. It will take all night for her to reach the villa on the bad roads.”
“Alright then. We can intercept her en route. Our riding horses can catch up with a carriage. They should be well rested by now. Let’s hurry to the stables.”
We dashed across the rooftops and jumped down to the street. Our prey had bolted, but we were on its trail.
***
I never got used to riding a domesticated horse. The original Strythe spent all his time inside a temple practicing with a sword, not riding around the countryside, so I inherited rudimentary skills. Being a mage improved my balance and reflexes, but that didn’t help the horse. The animal could sense my discomfort in the saddle and resisted my commands. I had a hard time keeping up with the other disciples as we raced across the rocky hills.
The moonlight provided enough light to see, especially near midnight at the full moon, but it didn’t expel every shadow. Riding at night was dangerous. Horses at full gallop might step in potholes in the road or run into other unseen snags. Generally, people riding through the night went at a slower pace. We hoped that Mistress Iaanda’s carriage would go slowly, and be easy to overtake.
Due to the barren landscape, kilometers of the road lay visible before us. We spotted the lone carriage rolling down the road in a cloud of dust. When we first came to Drainditch, the four of us had passed by one of the duke’s official convoys transporting a load of silver. That coach had several knights guarding its cargo, including two magical swordsmen. But this carriage had no escorts. We raced ahead to catch up with by the half moon, when the eastern sky lightened before the dawn.
“Stop there, driver!” Zambulon shouted as we reached the carriage. “We have to speak with your passenger.”
Yurk rode close to the team of horses, making them angle over to the side of the road. The rolling wheels flicked pieces of gravel into the air along with dust and grit. The rider pulled on the reins to stop the enclosed carriage. “What’s all this? Banditry? These are the king’s highways. You’ll be punished severely for robbery here.”
“This is no theft.” Zambulon knocked the side carriage with his sword. “Come outside, Mistress Iaanda. We would like to have words with you.”
The four of us dismounted. Yurk took the driver’s reins and rammed a wooden rod through the spokes of the wheels so it couldn’t escape. The door to the carriage opened, and the passenger stepped out onto the road.
“So, you’re the ones causing so much trouble…”
A man in white robes stepped out in the place of Iaanda. This was the same fellow we saw in the brothel on our first night in Drainditch, surrounded by a bevy of dancers and drinking liquor. It turned out he was more than a regular patron at the Queen’s Treasury.
“…I wanted to stay in and watch the show, but instead I spent the whole night in a bouncing carriage. You four have a lot to answer for.”
“We came for Iaanda,” Zambulon said. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Oh but it does. Iaanda lets me stay at the brothel for free. But every now and then, she asks me to keep the peace at the Treasury and to take care of troublemakers who meddle in her business.” He drew his war sword from its sheath, a straight bladed weapon with a two handed grip. “It looks like I’ll have to earn my keep by cleaning up the riff raff.”
The carriage was empty. The Top Boss hadn’t been inside at all. This swordsman had lured us out of town with a fake story told to the prostitutes about the owner going to her villa. It was all a trap. Now we were out of the city without any witnesses.