CarlysleCoupQuestioningTheAssassin"Someone give me a hand with this one?" Talaren asked, ready to carry the unconscious assassin by his shoulders. "I've got him," said Lytham, stepping forward and taking the man's feet. He'd shifted enough drunks in his time to know the drill. "Where do you want him?" "The tack room is closest... And less likely to be disturbed than the pantry," Edgar said, with a conciliatory look toward his father. He was very curious to hear what the man had to say for himself, though he was fairly certain that 'Uncle' Talaren wouldn't want him hanging around during the questioning. But maybe if he stayed off in the background.... "The tack room," said Talaren decisively, and nodded to Lytham to precede him there. Walking backwards and navigating by glances over his shoulder, Lytham helped Talaren steer the unconscious assassin into the tack room. He scanned the room briefly, then remarked, "Saddle rack. That should be good enough. Bring him over here and I'll tie him up for you." He flashed Talaren a quick and rather disturbing grin. Between them, Lytham and Talaren maneuvered their prisoner into position. Unslinging the coil of rope from his shoulder, Lytham lashed the unconscious man to the framework in an almost professional manner. Talaren checked on him. "He'll be out for a little while," he said. Then he looked thoughtfully at Edgar --and then Lytham. "Tell me," he said to the latter, "how good an actor are you, Mr...?" "...Lytham, David Lytham," the young man supplied. "Acting is my profession, sir." "Uncle? What did you have in mind?" Edgar asked. "I was a bit of a thespian at my university... If I can help?" "An old routine," said Talaren. "Good cop, bad cop -- have you heard of it? Only we introduce a variant. Good cop, bad cop ... and extremely sinister lurking cop." He looked at Edgar. "It's acting, but it could also get nasty. Do you want to take the good cop role?" Edgar grinned. "Sounds like an old holo-vid. Sure, I'm game. What're the questions we need answered?" Lytham meanwhile, without even being asked, sauntered over and selected a riding crop from a side table; as he walked back he tilted his hat brim over his eyes; and by the time he took up a position near the other two, leaning at his ease on a saddle block and stroking the crop between his long fingers in what seemed a deliberate and thoughtful manner, he looked very sinister indeed. Edgar chuckled as he looked over and caught sight of Lytham. "You play the role very well." Lytham glanced at Edgar sidelong from under his shady hat brim, and chuckled too, evilly. "How do you know it isn't real?" he demanded. Talaren grinned. "Right," he said. "I think we're ready." He picked up a bucket of water from the corner of the tackroom and threw it all over the hapless prisoner -- who swiftly regained gasping consciousness. Talaren nodded for the other two to start their questions. Since he really had no idea what questions to ask, and figured he'd be more effective in the background anyway, Lytham met eyes with the prisoner briefly, gave him a slow, tilted smile, then gestured with the riding crop at Edgar to indicate that he should begin. Edgar's glance at Lytham was a bit apprehensive, and not only for show. What had he meant by, "How do you know it isn't real?" But getting his cue from Talaren, he approached the would-be assassin and said, "I suggest you answer my questions in a satisfactory manner, for I'm not so sure how patient my... friends... will be if you do not." The assassin for his part clamped his mouth shut and glared at Edgar. Edgar didn't expect it would be easy, so went on, "First: Who do you work for? Second: Who were your targets? And Third: Are there more of you around?" The assassin simply shook his head, his expression mulish. "He's going to be stubborn," said Lytham in a tone of creamy satisfaction that was startlingly reminiscent (for those who'd heard it) of Lord Lagoran's. "I love it when they're stubborn." Talaren glanced at Lytham. "Set the bellows to the fire," he said quietly -- but so that their prisoner could hear. "With pleasure, sir." Lytham sauntered over to the hearth and began to blow up the coals there. The prisoner looked appalled. "We might as well strip his shoes and socks off now," said Talaren, moving over to perform this service. He didn't look at the man at all as he spoke. "You know, it's remarkable just how sensitive the underside of the feet are," he went on conversationally. "And just how many nerve endings there are. The trick is to take it slowly ... very slowly." The prisoner was looking increasingly pale. Edgar looked sympathetically toward the prisoner and a bit apprehensively toward Lytham. He shrugged as if to say it was soon to be out of his hands. "Sorry, mate. Sure you don't want to answer my questions? All I want to know: Who do you work for? Who were your targets? And are there more assassins around?" "Give me the poker," said Talaren quietly. Lytham handed it to him, then returned to his vantage point leaning against a post. The end of the poker was glowing red. Talaren took it and advanced on the bound and helpless man, who struggled frantically. "I think he needs a little demonstration," said Talaren, still in the same calm voice, and he pressed the tip of the poker against the man's left foot. "Count to five, one of you." "One..." drawled Lytham, imperturbably. Only the closest observation would reveal the whiteness around his mouth. "Two..." The man jerked and screamed -- and then sobbed. Talraren held the poker steady -- and the sweet smell of charred flesh tooks its place with the horse and linseed oil smells of the tackroom. "Three ... four..." Edgar's face turned ashen and he twitched with the man's screams. Needless to say, he'd never seen anyone tortured before, and he knew in a second he'd never want to see it again. The smell of burning flesh reminded him, sickeningly, of an "old fashioned cook-out" his fraternity had held back at the university on Sedna. It made his stomach turn. At that moment he wished he were anywhere but there. Yet, a small portion of his mind was thinking,This is great material for my dissertation! "Five," said Talaren. He took the poker away, not really looking at the sobbing man. "You know, this isn't what I really need. Give me a moment -- I've something rather better in mind." He replaced the poker by the fire, gave Lytham a nod, and then left the room. The prisoner looked up at Edgar in terror. "What ... what's he going to do?" "Wouldn't you like to know?" smirked Lytham. "Myself, I think the ... anticipation is the best part." Edgar turned to Lytham and gaped. "You don't think... Not that!" He turned back toward the prisoner and muttered, "Hope you've already had children...." Edgar looked sick enough at what he'd just seen that the horror in his eyes wasn't the least bit feigned. The man looked up at Edgar desperately. "Could have been so much easier just to answer three simple questions...." Edgar trailed off shaking his head. "But not nearly so much fun," purred Lytham. "Then again... Maybe the poor fellow would rather not see this next bit." He whipped the bandanna from around his neck, stepped forward and tied it around the prisoner's eyes, blindfolding him. He'd seen grown men reduced to helpless terror by this trick. "If I tell you," the prisoner said, his voice starting to crack with fear, "no-one ... no-one else need know?" Edgar moved forward, conspiratorially, "No. One." He didn't really lie, he thought to himself. Have the man take his answer as he would. But if he could help save someone's life.... The man wilted. "Tell me again what you need to know," he said in a low voice. Edgar looked over at Lytham before asking, "First: Who sent you. Who do you work for?" The actor simply nodded at Edgar to continue. "I ... I'm contracted," the man said, and then turned his head around wildly, as though he feared his contractor might be lurking -- unseen. "This was a big job -- they hired ... several of us." "Second: Who were you sent here to kill?" He looked furtive for a moment. Then he said, "Lord Decuma Maun." "Third: Are there others out there with other targets? Where are they? Who are they after?" "There were six of us recruited," said the man. "Six I know about. I'm guessin' there were more. And everyone has a target..." He started to sob. "Names," said Lytham, in a soft but carrying voice. "You're not ... giving us ... names." He punctuated his speech, arrhythmically, with light flicks of the riding crop on selected tender spots -- not hard enough to hurt, yet, just giving notice that he could inflict pain at any time, and the bound, blindfolded man would not be able to stop it or even see it coming. "We could start with toes," he suggested blandly to Edgar. "For every name he gives us -- employer, assassin, target, I'm not particular -- that'll be one he gets to keep." Edgar saw a hoof-cleaning tool in a bucket. The edge was a nice cold metal. He grinned and picked it up. Looking at Lytham he knelt down and pressed the "blade" against one of the assassin's toes. "Who made the contract?" Edgar asked. "Billie the Blood," said the man quickly. "He usually works for ... for Whiteblood. But this ... was different. There was nobles involved ... He wouldn't say which House. Not to me. But ... I reckon they were planning something big. Something they didn't have enough of their own for..." At the name "Whiteblood," Edgar could hear a quick, soft intake of breath from Lytham. He said nothing, however, and again nodded at Edgar to continue the questioning. "Good, now we're getting somewhere," Edgar said softly, but loudly enough for Lytham to hear from his location. He moved the hoof pick to the next toe. "You get to keep one toe." He paused for effect. "So far. Now, who was your real target? And don't give me Decuma Maun. He was just 'lucky' to be your sparring partner, but you aren't in his league. A convenient name to give us. So... who did you really come here to kill?" "Decuma Maun!" said the man. "Don't you understand? The heirs are to be removed -- along with the Regent, the Cardinal ... and others. I don't know how many more. It's ... they said it was to clear the dead wood -- to bring in new leaders for Aquila. The leaders they wanted. I don't know who those are. I just know they were offering a lot of money -- and a ticket offworld." Edgar looked at Lytham to judge if he believed the man were telling the truth, and if he should move on to the next toe... or not. Some of it, he was sure, was right. In any coup they would want to remove the current government and replace them with their own leaders. Then he recalled what he'd heard in the ballroom about Lilly Tremontaine and wondered if shooting Harry's mother was an accident then? She wasn't one of the leaders after all. "I suppose he can keep that one," Lytham said with a show of reluctance; then, perking up, "He's got eight more, after all, before we start on the fingers. Who do you figure was perched up in front of the hotel taking pot shots at noble ladies, friend?" There was a definite, dangerous edge to his voice now. Edgar obligingly moved the hoof pick to the next toe in line, but he let the edge dig in just a bit to show he wasn't completely convinced. This man couldn't have thought to best an expert swordsman in a duel, but then again, he hadn't been expecting a fair fight, had he? "You heard my... friend's... question. I suggest you answer him." The man whimpered in fear -- and a little pain. "I don't know!" he said desperately. "They said ... they said it was to keep us safe! No-one was to know what the others were doing, who they were aiming for! I was meant to use the garrotte -- that's my weapon, that is! Only it went wrong -- and he was armed..." "Well, that was pretty stupid of you, wasn't it? Not to realize that he would be," sneered Lytham. "Almost as stupid as trying to make us think your employers would care a half stanner about keeping a lowlife like you safe." It took only a glance around the stable to find a leather thong, which he looped around the self-confessed garrotter's neck and gave it a twist. "Come up with a better story, friend," he whispered dangerously, "or I'll see you go your own way. Count on it." The man looked desperate. "I know ... I knew ... it was to keep them safe ... so we wouldn't know ... who was going ... after the bigwigs. The nobs. And they said ... they said some of their own ... would take care of certain ... people." "Oh? Like who?" demanded Lytham, giving the thong another twist. "The Regent," he gasped. "The Cardinal ... they said he was taken care of." "The Cardinal is dead?" Edgar whispered, surprised by the news. "Probably," said the man. "They said that one of their own would be taking care of it." "Bull," said Lytham, with more confidence than he felt. "The Regent's just fine, we saw him a little while ago." Feeling that he was on a roll here, Lytham wasn't about to let up. "And?" he pressed, with another judicious half twist of the thong. The would-be assassin shook his head. "That's all I knew! And even that I only heard by accident!" Edgar shrugged. He couldn't tell if the man was desperate enough to tell them everything he knew or not. He didn't know if he should retain a hold of the man's toes or not, either, as the garrotte seemed to be most effective. "You'd better hope that's enough to satisfy His Lordship," hissed Lytham. "Either that, or dig around some more in that sewer you call a memory. He should be back any moment." Lytham hoped he was speaking the truth about Talaren. At this the door swung open, almost as though Talaren had been listening outside (as, in fact, he had). He was holding several pieces of stable equipment -- most of which looked sharp and metallic and glinted evilly in the candlelight. "What's he been saying?" he asked shortly. Lytham straightened from where he was stooped over the blindfolded man, easing up a bit on the thong around the assassin's neck. "Says he's one of a group of six, hired by unspecified nobles through Billie the Blood. His target was Lord Decuma Maun ... he says. We haven't been able to get the other specific targets out of him yet. According to him, the nobles in question aimed to take care of a few key people themselves. The Regent ... the Papal Legate..." Talaren nodded curtly. "Lord Anderon knows what's going on. What about the Legate? He wasn't here, was he? And I doubt the Episcopal Palace is that heavily guarded..." He was frowning, clearly weighing the odds. "I don't think he was here," Lytham said doubtfully, "unless he was incognito." Edgar's attitude clearly indicated he didn't really believe the man. He'd seen his sword work and he was no match for Decuma Maun. And how would he have even known Decuma would have been coming into the stables to wait for him there? "I don't believe he's told us who his real target was. There's no way he'd know Decuma would be coming this way... Unless..." He looked toward the door. "Unless there is someone inside the ballroom who was feeding info on who was moving and where they were going?" He looked back toward the assassin to see if that got a reaction from him. "I suspect he wasn't meant to take him on in fair fight," said Talaren, "but to hide in the carriage and stab him there. That's generally how these assassins work. Not very glorious." The man paled under the blindfold. "Actually," Lytham put in, "he said the garrotte was his weapon of choice." "Then that was probably what he was aiming to use," said Talaren. Edgar nodded, but muttered, "Still makes me wonder..." As he glanced toward the doorway, thinking that it wouldn't hurt to have a look around or question some of the guests, he noticed that they were no longer alone. In the doorway stood a young woman, who was quickly joined by his own brother and a stranger. "Miles!" Edgar couldn't help but exclaim in dismay. Alerted by Edgar's exclamation, Lytham followed his glance to the doorway. His eyes widened a bit at the sight of the attractive (though somewhat disheveled) young woman with the sword. Miles grimaced and shrugged as if to say, I tried to stop her. Gabriella lifted her head up in defiance, shaking her loose hair back from her face, her hand still gripping the sword as she took in the scene in front of her. The hapless prisoner was securely lashed to a saddle rack, in a position that looked peculiarly vulnerable. He was barefoot, blindfolded with what looked like a bandanna, and a cut along his cheekbone was oozing blood. Standing next to him was a tall, slim young man in Badlands garb, whom Gabriella might dimly remember as one of the performers from earlier. He held a leather thong wrapped around the prisoner's neck. Warden chuckled as the young lady barged through. "Trust me, she'll be fine." Warden started towards the carriages as Miles followed the girl towards the tack room, but changed course at hearing a faintly familiar voice. Stepping up behind Miles and the young lady, he saw a pair of familiar faces. Edgar, the young man who had given him a helping hand the day he'd arrived on Aquila, and Lytham who roomed at the same boarding house. He also noted the prisoner and a fourth gentleman. He figured this was Talaren. He grinned and gave Edgar a small nod before turning to Lytham. "You booked us one hell of a job, Slim." He shook his head and chuckled again. "Hey, Warden," Lytham acknowledged him. "Keeping busy?" Talaren was watchfully silent. "Actually, yeah..." Warden rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "His lordship..." He motioned back towards the hotel. "He's getting things organised to deal with matters and he wanted some offensive fire power so..." Warden shrugged casually and grinned. "Say... Can I have that guy when you're finished with him? I'm sure his lordship would appreciate seeing the ballistics in action..." "Depends on how useful he makes himself in the meantime," drawled Lytham. Gabriella glanced at the man next to her and back at the one strapped to the saddle rack and blindfolded. "My family is facing down a group of soldiers on the street as we speak. My sister and aunt were taken away in their carriage. If this... thing knows where my family is, I wish to learn." She looked up at the other men. "I am not some fainthearted female to be protected or coddled..." "I can see that, ma'am," Lytham said respectfully, giving her a little bow. Tori was in trouble? Edgar blanched, recalling how beautiful she had looked earlier that evening. Slowly taking a few steps forward, Gabriella lifted her sword up and nudged the strapped man in a very sensitive area with the tip. She couldn't help noticing that the man had been bound in such a way as to make said sensitive area easily accessible. He screamed in horror and began writhing desperately in his bonds. "Tell us everything or you will wish you never came here at all," she said in a low tight voice, holding the sword steady. Edgar inhaled sharply, feeling the man's pain. "I suggest you answer the lady," he said in a very tight voice. Miles, standing a bit behind Gabriella, couldn't see exactly where her sword tip was pointed, but had a good idea. He took a small step backwards out of the tack room and muttered to Warden, "Think I'll look for those springs...." Warden shook his head at the display and chuckled. "Yeah, we've got work to do." Grinning, he turned and headed for for the carriages. Once clear of the tack room door, he looked at Miles. "That's one helluva gal back there. Don't ya think?" "I have ... I swear to God I have told you all I know!" the assassin said desperately. "I know nothing of what's happening out there -- nothing!" His voice rose to a scream again. "He was hired to kill for pay," said Talaren dispassionately. "That gives him little reason to keep secrets now." "Who sent you? Why are you doing this?" Gabriella asked, determined to get answers, pressing just the slightest bit harder. Her family was in danger, she lost a chance at a possible love, and she refused to go through another war because of someone's wish or belief. Lytham kept quiet. Perhaps this red-haired Amazon would be able to wring from the man the one bit of information they hadn't been able to elicit: the House name of his noble employers. Edgar walked over to his 'Uncle' Talaren wondering if he were going to allow this line of questioning, or suggest some other method. Talaren glanced at his nephew. "She'll get little more out of him," he said quietly. "I'm going to the Cardinal's palace. I suspect ... the Cardinal may be in considerable danger." He frowned slightly. "I should tell you to stay here," he said. "Your parents won't thank me for leading you into danger." Behind them, the prisoner let out a shrill scream. "I told you -- everything I know!" he shouted desperately. "It was Billie the Blood -- Billie the Blood who hired me! I was to kill Lord Decuma Maun -- hide in his carriage and garrotte him! I don't know what's happening on the streets ... anything else! I just did it for the ... money!" And he screamed again. "Just a paid grunt for the work. That is all..." Gabriella muttered as she very carefully sliced the sword just above his groin, marking the skin. "A reminder so you will not forget this evening or what happened. A reminder to force you to think again about the life you have chosen...." Wavering slightly, she stepped back from the man and stumbled out of the tack room. She leaned against the wall, using it to keep her on her feet. "Are we finished with this street sweeping?" queried Lytham, sounding disappointed. "I suppose we should hand him over to somebody, then. Or gift wrap him and deliver him to Lord Decuma -- he earned it. Blackheath, wouldn't that be?" "That's the place," agreed Talaren. "I have a rather different destination in mind..." Lytham raised a questioning brow at him. Talaren glanced at Edgar. "Perhaps you should have a word with the young lady," he suggested to his younger cousin. "She might be safer here now rather than on the streets." Edgar patted her shoulder a bit awkwardly before he glanced into the tack room and said to Talaren and Lytham, "I'm taking her over to the ballroom. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere without me." He grinned at Talaren as he said it. "All right," said Talaren neutrally. Once Edgar had left the tack room with Gabriella, however, he turned to Lytham. "We need to get rid of this one," he said, jerking his head towards their hapless prisoner. "Leave him under guard -- he might prove a valuable witness. Then we need to get moving. I don't like this at all -- and I'm not sure we should take my young cousin, either." Lytham wasn't sure how he and Talaren had suddenly become "we" for a mission the Bahlmis lord didn't want to entrust to his own cousin, but he slipped easily into the role of co-conspirator. "He won't be going anywhere for the moment," he assured Talaren, slanting a glance at the securely bound assassin. "There's Lasse guards all over the place in there -- we can tip them off on our way out." "Right," said Talaren. "Leave him. Let's find a couple of decent horses and get going." "Mmm... Have I got time to nip back into the hotel and fetch something?" asked Lytham. "Maybe while you're saddling up? I can tip the wink to the guards at the same time," he offered. Talaren frowned. "There is a life at stake here," he pointed out. "What is it?" "My throwing knives," answered Lytham. Talaren nodded. "Are they genuinely sharp?" he asked. "Or just shiny to lure the crowds?" "Oh, they're sharp all right," Lytham assured him. "After all, it wouldn't do to have them bouncing off the backboard and actually hitting my lovely assistant." "Good," said Talaren. "I'll see you by the entrance to the stable -- I'll have the horses ready. Can you also make sure that my young cousin is suitably engaged, or else with you? The one thing I don't want to do is to have him attempt to follow us on his own." "I'll do that," Lytham promised, and darted off toward the kitchen entrance to the hotel. |
