Chapitre Vingt-Quatre

Sous le Manoir Renart

Fitzroy

The halls between walls. This was home for Fitzroy and his agents. They crept around silently in those dark, narrow tunnels. On occasion Fitzroy would pass one of their windows into the manor, cleverly disguised on the other side as a mirror. He'd take a moment to peer out into the Renart home and see what the staff did when they thought no one was looking.

Before his eyes a maid slipped a silver fork into her purse. He'd have to make note to tell Beatrice to fire her later. They could not tolerate thieves.

Not among the servants, anyway.

For now, though, Amadeus Fitzroy moved with purpose into the bowels of the manor's secret rooms. Long, spiral staircases took him ever deeper under the mansion; deeper than the cellar, deeper than the crypts, so deep it seemed he'd find his way right to Enfer, the very Underworld itself, where the blind beasts and spirits of the wicked dead resided.

At least those who'd proven useless to his goals didn't have far to go after he was done with them.

With his left arm in a sling (Damn Magnus and his friends!) Fitzroy opened the last, large door leading to the depths of the interrogation chambers. There, upon the rack, waited his victim.

Fitzroy nodded to the prisoner, then turned to his agents. "Has the prisoner spoken at all?"

A woman dressed all in black and wearing a leather mask over her face said, "Beyond cursing us, claiming to have fornicated with our mothers, and all of the usual defiance these people exhibit before you break them? No."

"Up to me to get the secrets out of him, then?" Fitzroy opened his toolbox on the table near the rack.

The prisoner sneered at him. His face was covered in hair and sweat. Both of his hands were white and limp, and his feet purple. Furthermore, the prisoner was completely naked, a reminder that he had nothing to protect him from any torment Fitzroy could devise.

Fitzroy unrolled a small, cloth bag from his toolbox. He approached the prisoner with the bag in hand. "We don't have to do things this way, you know. We already found the letter you were to deliver for Baron Corbeau. More importantly, we already know that Corbeau is plotting the assassination of Empress Mariette." Fitzroy brought is face close to the prisoner's, close enough for the prisoner to feel his hot breath. "What I want to know is why he's already paying the thieves for their help with the matter. The Empress still lives, so they must have performed some other service for him."

Fitzroy jerked his head back as the prisoner attempted to bite him. "Aceline, hold his head for me."

The woman in the leather mask clasped the prisoner's head tightly with both hands, fingers digging into his temples and eyes. Fitzroy shoved the bag over the prisoner's head and pulled on the strings to tighten it. As the prisoner struggled and screamed while the bag smothered him, Fitzroy had to congratulate himself for how nimble he'd proven to be with only one hand.

Fitzroy sang to himself in a joyous, upbeat voice.

"Le bon roi Dagobert

A mis sa culotte à l'envers ;

Le grand saint Éloi

Lui dit : Ô mon roi!

Votre Majesté

Est mal culottée.

C'est vrai, lui dit le roi,

Je vais la remettre à l'endroit."

As soon as the song was done, Fitzroy removed the bag from the prisoner's head. The prisoner gasped and coughed, sucking in precious, cool air.

"Are we having fun yet?" Fitzroy asked, his voice almost giddy and chipper. Truthfully, he took no pleasure at all in his work, but the more he seemed to be enjoying it the more frightened the prisoner would be, and the less torture he'd have to employ.

Upon catching his breath, the prisoner unleashed a slew of foul words at Fitzroy.

Fitzroy chuckled. "This is how I know you're a liar. My mother would never go to bed with a man with such a dirty mouth!" Aceline held the prisoner's head and Fitzroy shoved the bag over his face again.

Once more, Fitzroy sang a happy song to himself while the prisoner flailed and struggled against the sack.

"Au clair de la lune,

Mon ami Pierrot,

Prête-moi ta plume

Pour écrire un mot.

Ma chandelle est morte,

Je n'ai plus de feu.

Ouvre-moi ta porte

Pour l'amour de Lyr."

As soon as the verse was finished Fitzroy yanked the bag from the prisoner's head. "Why is Baron Corbeau paying the thieves already?"

"I don't know, damn it!" the prisoner shouted.

Fitzroy groaned and moved to slip the bag over the prisoner's head again.

"Wait!" the prisoner protested. "I do know one thing!" Fitzroy stopped to allow him a moment to speak. "He said something about barrels of Javel water!"

"Javel water?" Fitzroy repeated.

"Yes! I swear it!" the prisoner nodded, as if the mere movement of his head was supposed to be more convincing than his words.

Fitzroy chuckled. "Well, I know you're not lying. No liar would claim that his master paid a gang of cutthroats for cleaning supplies."

"It's the truth!" the prisoner shouted.

"I know!" said Fitzroy. "What's the Javel water for?"

"I don't know!" said the prisoner.

Fitzroy sighed and moved the bag towards the prisoner's face again.

"I swear it!" the prisoner shouted. "I swear I don't know! I'm just a messenger, he doesn't tell me everything!"

That, actually made sense, Fitzroy stepped back. "One more question, then," he said. "Who is your master doing all of this for?"

"No!" the prisoner shook his head frantically. "No, please, don't make me divulge that."

"Come now," said Fitzroy, almost laughing. "You know that I can't just let that go. That's the real crux of the issue, after all. The whole reason we haven't just warned the Empress."

"If I tell you that they'll kill me!" said the prisoner.

"My dear, foolish man." Fitzroy sidled up to the prisoner, produced a stiletto dagger from his coat, and pressed the tip to the prisoner's throat. "You must have realized where this was going by now. The moment you were brought here your fate was sealed."

"No..."

"Yes, yes. You're going to die. We cannot let you live after all this, it's that simple. You'd warn your master that we're wise to his schemes." As the prisoner began to sob Fitzroy stroked the side of his face. "Hush now. Don't be like that! It's not like you haven't earned this fate. You knew for how long that Baron Corbeau was planning to murder the Empress? Yet never once did you go to the Imperial forces to warn them? You could have delivered your master's letters right into her Majesty's hands, told her everything and stopped the whole plot dead in its tracks. Instead you continued to deliver his messages, knowing full well the evil he was plotting." Fitzroy wiped a tear from the prisoner's face. "You had to know there would be repercussions."

"Please... don't kill me! I'm sorry!" The prisoner gasped and sniffled.

"Now now, you're not sorry," said Fitzroy, pushing his finger hard into the prisoner's forehead. "You're only upset because you were caught. Up until now you've been glad to contribute to this most dastardly plot. But now that it's your life and not the Empress' on the line you're having second thoughts."

"I don't want to die!" the prisoner cried.

"It's never been a question of whether or not you would die. The only question is how. If you cooperate with me I can give you poison to drink. You'll drift off to sleep and die painlessly. Or, you can choose to fight me, at which point I'll have you strapped to an iron chair and we'll light a fire underneath. You'll roast to death that way. Up to you, really."

"You're a monster!" cried the prisoner.

"I know," said Fitzroy. "It's how I got this job. Now, who is Baron Corbeau working with?"

The prisoner hung his head in defeat. "I heard him mention... he's working for Duke Raul Loup."

"Of course!" Fitzroy might have known. Duke Loup was always making deals with bandit clans and gangs, and as a duke he would be one step closer to the throne after Mariette was assassinated. "Aceline, please fetch the poison, would you?"

"Yes, sir." The woman in the leather mask bowed her head and walked off.

Fitzroy ran his fingers through the prisoner's hair. "Don't worry, it's painless."

"How would you know?" asked the prisoner, solemnly. "Have you tried it?"

Fitzroy laughed. "Good point. All I can say is I've never heard any complaints from anyone who took it."

Aceline soon returned with a vial filled with a dark liquid.

"Thank you," said Fitzroy as he took the vial. He turned to the prisoner. "Open your mouth, please."

The prisoner hesitated for a moment, but then parted his lips. Fitzroy raised the vial over the prisoner's mouth and his hand began to shake.

"No..." Fitzroy lowered his hand. "I can't do it." Fitzroy set the vial down on the table nearby. "Aceline, make arrangements to transport this man outside the Salian Empire. He can survive among the barbarian clans."

"You're going to let me live?" the prisoner asked, his eyes lighting up.

"Yes," said Fitzroy. "I'm going to let you live. So long as you swear to me you'll never return to Salia. I mean... you said it yourself, Baron Corbeau will have you murdered for what you revealed to me..."

"Yes!" the prisoner said. "I swear it! I swear I'll never return to Salia if you let me live!"

"Excellent," said Fitzroy. "Come, Aceline, let's get right to the preparations."

Both Aceline and Fitzroy exited the room, leaving the prisoner alone. Once they were far from earshot, Aceline whispered, "How long were you planning to release him?"

"If he cooperated? From the beginning," said Fitzroy.

Aceline chuckled. "Clever. So, we're sending our prisoner off to live with the barbarians. What about the new information he gave us? What do we do about that?"

"Find me an alchemist," said Fitzroy. "I need to know what Javel water can be used for, aside from cleaning white sheets."