24

Adventures in Interrogation

‘You ever tortured anyone, Kathiya?’

‘No. Have you?’

‘No. Sethel! Have you?’

‘Not intentionally, no matter what the archmagister says.’

The paragon of Phaos did not look impressed. Not just at the ragtag group of heretical misfits, but more so at himself for being caught by them.

He did take some solace in that they had no idea what to do with him.

All he had to do was remain silent.

There were no torturers greater than the inquisitors of Phaos, and they train paragons in the ways of resisting interrogations. He never thought they were necessary till now.

‘Caspar, I doubt you have.’

‘There was this neighbour boy I used to bully.’

‘Hmm. Nah, I don’t think tail pulling and headlocks would work well here. We could use the smoldering wood from the fire. You got this, Sethel?’

‘Very well. I shall see to it.’

Flames and cinders? Ha. Child’s play. They subjected him to far worse in training. These fools would tire themselves out before they’d learn anything.

He took a length of wood from the flames, embers still glowing in the dark. He held it by the paragon’s neck.

The black wolf came forward and sat face to face. ‘Where’s the rest of your forces based?’

The paragon did not speak.

The black wolf gestured at the lizard. He pressed the embered wood to flesh.

At best, it looked like he received a mosquito bite. He still didn’t speak.

‘He’s holding up well.’

‘This isn’t working,’ said the small fox. ‘Do we have a hammer? Maybe a chisel?’

‘It’d do well for us if we didn’t announce this right in front of our suspect,’ mentioned the lizard.

‘I don’t know, I’m no interrogator.’

‘We’re not very good at this,’ the cat added.

‘Is that a bad thing? I’d be pretty scared if my torturers had no clue as to what they’re doing,’ the fox added.

‘I’d be scared if I had torturers at all,’ the cat also added.

‘Ves’sa, any ideas?’ The wolf called to the distant falcon with the folded arms and a sideways glance.

‘Rip a horn out.’

‘Can we? Caspar, you could do it, but that risks pulling off the rest of his head along with it.’

‘Cut off his eyelids.’

‘Possible, but we may need him intact.’ It was official. They had no idea how to interrogate someone. They could continue trying, leaving them with nothing but a bloody, wet mess and no answers, or they could go to someone who probably does know torture. Someone with a nice big office, dungeon, and plenty of guards and soldiers used this sort of thing. ‘I’ve got an idea. Tie him up and pack your stuff, we’re going on a little hike.’

‘We have a gift for you!’ Ludgar yelled from below the open office window of the town hall.

‘What does he want?’ Fifth Lord Isanthol was in the middle of some rather significant paperwork when one of his guards walked in and told him something he could clearly hear from the window.

‘They claim they have a gift for you.’

‘I know that! I can hear him!’

‘I am a paragon of Phaos! I will not be treated like this!’ That was a different voice than he was expecting.

‘They have a paragon with them.’

‘... So I’ve heard. You didn’t let them in?’

‘No, my lord.’

‘Why?’

‘They appeared suspicious and… uncouth.’

‘“Uncouth?”’ came a voice from a familiar mercenary. ‘Fuck you, I’m delightful!’

‘It appears they can hear us, my lord.’

‘... Yes. I suppose there’s no point in delaying, then. We should let them in.’

The guards herded the mercenaries in and took the very reluctant paragon down to the dungeons.

‘Why did you bring him here?’ Isanthol asked the merc. ‘I told you to kill them, not take one as a pet!’

‘You wanted to find where they’re based, right? We’re mercs, not torturers. This kind of stuff is your speciality.’

‘Hardly. We haven’t used torture in quite a while... have we?’ He directed this question at some shifty looking guards keeping their eye on the mercs.

‘Uhh… define “a while,” my lord.’

‘Nevermind.’ He turned to address the group. ‘You’ve really never questioned anyone?’

‘There’s usually no one left to question.’

‘So why the hell is there one left this time?’

‘We thought he should be questioned.’

Fifth Lord Isanthol found the conversation was about to wander its way into a circle and cut it off before it could. He walked to the window and looked to the bustling town square below. He knew what he had to do. There was only one person in this land that he knew of that could break a paragon. It was the last person on the planet he wanted to speak to. Still, if he didn’t want to devolve into doing things the old way, it was something he just had to suck up and do.

‘Wait here,’ he told the mercenaries. ‘Keep a close eye on them,’ he said to the guards as he left.

He left the town hall, passed through its crowded gates, and into the streets of Asterport. A brief walk past the town center and into the steadier streets of the upper class district.

He stood at a manor; a place he knew well. He avoided it frequently. He wasn’t sure why. It rarely held an occupant.

This happened to be one of those times it did.

He didn’t want to knock on the door.

He had to. He really didn’t want to.

He hated being indebted to people in general, but being indebted to this particular one was something he hoped to avoid his whole life.

He could see the ruins of his bridge; the project he had been working on for so long.

‘This had better be worth it,’ he muttered to himself. He rapped on the door, almost hoping that no one would answer.

‘Enter!’ was heard from the other side.

He opened it and entered.

‘Isanthol! Quite a surprise! I wasn’t expecting to see you again.’ He found First Lord Davik relaxed on a chaise lounger, reading some book that wasn’t captivating enough to keep reading, but not enough to put down.

‘Nor was I, but certain circumstances have presented themselves...’ he began hesitating, like the words alone were such a struggle to release, ‘and I need a favour.’

‘First Lord Davik sat up from the lounger and put his book down. ‘A favour? From me?’

Isanthol looked around the room. Something was missing. Lord Davik appeared strange without his shadow constantly hanging behind him.

‘Is Lady Xypher not with you?’

‘She returned to Greywall yesterday. I don’t need her around me all the time. Only most of it. Now, do tell me,’ he leaned back and rested his head on his fist in a very self-satisfied manner, ’just what is this favour you require?’

He probably already knew. Somehow, he always had an idea of what’s happening. He just liked people telling him. He liked knowing that people depended on him. He liked knowing that he would get what he wanted, one way or another.

‘I need you to... interrogate someone.’

‘An interrogation? That’s quite a formal way of putting it.’

‘It’s a paragon.’

‘I see why you need me, then. They’re not so easy to crack. Phaosian inquisitors are some of the most ruthless of torturers. It’s only natural that they’d know how to resist it and pass those techniques down to their subordinates.’

‘That’s why I…’

‘Hmm?’ Lord Davik leaned closer with eager curiosity.

Isanthol let out a sigh and said, ‘that’s why I need your help.’

‘You need help? From me?’ Lord Davik reeled back, hand on his chest in an act that would put Savantian actors to shame.

‘Very well, I’ll just go and use some other method, thank you.’ He turned to leave.

‘Of course I will; I’m just teasing you, Isanthol,’ he said, snapping his book shut and tossing it onto the table at his side. ‘You may be a wise, old owl, yet you lack a certain grace when it comes to a light jostling. You don’t have to always feel so exasperated around me. If you need anything, all you have to do is ask.’ Lord Davik stepped close and began speaking in a much more hushed tone. Not really necessary, given that no one was around, but he understood the effect. ’Between you and me, we’re the only members of the League that are even capable of being real lords. Trister is a drunk and cares more for his parties and terrible poetry than ruling, I greatly admire Xypher’s abilities, but I’m not sure she’s even fully alive, and we both know Lady Dhaliana is loyal, but it is to neither you, me, nor this country. My dear Isanthol, you are one of the few people of our court I can truly trust.’

Isanthol couldn’t disagree. While the other three lords were powerful enough in their own right, he couldn’t help but feel that he and Lord Davik were the only ones who were grounded enough to be proper rulers. This was the first time Lord Davik had spoken to him on this level, and it did put some trust in him, if only a little. Perhaps he had been too hard on him. Maybe the only thing he really needed was someone to speak to from such an ordinary place. Lady Xypher was more numbers than person, Lady Dhaliana rarely spoke at all, and no one could remember the last time Lord Trister was even sober. ‘Very well,’ he said, with much less bluntness than before.’

‘As for this paragon,’ Lord Davik said, gently ushering him out of the room, ’send him my way. There are methods of extracting information by which even the nebulous Phaos has no comprehension.’

Vases, candlestick holders, picture frames. Pretty standard stuff for an office.

She went through some of the drawers when the guards were too busy watching Sethel or keeping a safe distance from Ves’sa.

Papers, quills, inkpots. Nothing of real value or significance. Why do they never keep the nice things in the administration offices? Isn’t the point to show off? If she had an office, the wall would be plated with gold, the furniture would be made of jewels, she would have a throne made from coins alone, and she would have to never, ever leave it, lest it all be taken from her.

It seems the most valuable thing Lord Isanthol had must be the stick he had jammed far up his own arse.

Oh, a rather ornate quill! That may get her a coin or two; maybe more if she sold it to someone like Sethel, who probably names them all.

They milled about the office while they waited for… well, they really weren’t sure what they were waiting for. Lord Isanthol had been a while, and the guards remained tight-lipped and vigilant, moving only to swat Sethel away from reading the scattered miscellaneous documents. She wasn’t sure why; it was just building projects and some troop movements. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The guards braced more than they had been already as their lord walked back in. He didn’t seem as rigid as before. He walked with less pent up frustration. Could it be that the Fifth Lord was in a pleasant mood?

Whatever heightened mood he was in, it dropped as soon as he saw the mercs: Ludgar sat in the guest seat with his feet on the desk, Caspar lounging along the windowsill, Ves’sa eyeing the guards and ready to rip something apart, Sethel going over any loose files, and herself merely inspecting his fine collection of nothing interesting.

‘Say, where do you keep the drinks?’ Said Ludgar, only asking the most pertinent questions.

‘I don’t drink at my office.’ He knocked Ludgar’s feet off his desk, which, in defiance, took some books and parchments with it.

Annoyed but unperturbed, he said, ‘Be patient. I understand mercs have trouble sitting still for a few minutes, but Lord Davik’s interrogation process is a delicate and complicated matter that will take some ti-’

‘Lord Isanthol!’ A guardsman rushed in, still trying to get his breath back. ‘Lord Davik wishes to inform you that the interrogation is complete.’

‘What? Already? But he said… Nevermind.’ He pushed past the guard and briskly walked back along the same path he just came from.

From the bustling streets and into the estate, he entered without knocking to find the lord sat in the same position, reading the same book.

‘That paragon was easier to break than I expected,’ he said, neither moving from his position nor breaking his eyes from the book.

‘You’re finished?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Then where’s the…’ He noticed the gentle wave of the window drapes caught in the light breeze of a calm coastal day. He walked to them and pulled them apart. The window had been fully opened, and below he saw the bloodstained body of their prisoner, bludgeoned into the ground, blood spread among the cobbles.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and a voice in his ear. ‘I have the information you need.’

‘You killed him?’

‘Me? Certainly not. It seems he would rather choose death than live with breaking his loyalty to his faith. Poor fellow. Disloyalty pays a heavy price; an important lesson for us all.’