CarlysleCoupQuestioningThePrisonersWhen they arrived at the Infirmary, the nurse there informed them that Jackison was asleep. "We won't wake him, then," Giulian decided. "He'll need his rest. I'll come round again in the morning." He turned to Dr. Gomast. "Do you know where the prisoners are being kept? I didn't think to ask if any of them were wounded." Dr Gomast gave a little cough. "In the ... erm ... old cells." He glanced significantly towards Elissa. In old Lord Anderon's day, part of the cellars had been really dungeons, dank and foul. When Lord Anderon had placed his surviving son, Delan, in charge of this side of the operation, Delan had overhauled them ruthlessly. Where once they had been lichen covered walls, now they were all gleaming white tiles and polished metal. It had cost a fortune. It had also been devastatingly effective. They had been relatively little used in the last twenty-five years. But they were still there, under Anderon House. In the old days, Dr Gomast had played his part. And perhaps it was this that now made him nervous of looking at Giulian and Elissa. Giulian, however, simply nodded, as if this was what he had expected. "Very good. I'd like to have them moved to one of the interrogation rooms, with an unseen observer's post set up for Elissa. I'll come and interview them... well, not immediately. Let them stew long enough for us to have a cup of coffee and a sandwich." He felt his chin. "And a shave." "Hmm... Coffee and a sandwich will sound divine right now. I did not have the chance to browse the food table at the hotel," Elissa said and smiled. She reached up and brushed the bristles on his chin. "Hmm... I like the rough look, but yes, we should freshen up a bit. Let the prisoners...sweat a little bit more. It'll open them up to you." "Not to mention that I want to look rested and in control when I confront them," said Giulian. "As rested as I can, anyway." Back at the main house, he led the way to the kitchens. Not only did this save the staff the trouble of having to hunt him and Elissa down with trays, it was (as Giulian had expected) a handy place to find one of the guards on his own coffee break, through whom he could relay his orders. There was a small table in one corner where they could sit and have their snack, out of the way of the bustle of the kitchen staff preparing for the day. The coffee was fresh and strong, and revived Giulian considerably, though he only ate about half a sandwich. Once they'd finished, he returned to his own quarters not only to shave, but to don a fresh collar and cravat. He did look more calm and collected, though there were still faint shadows of weariness under his eyes, as he led the way slowly down the stairs to the dungeons beneath Anderon House. The coffee and sandwich did wonders to revive Elissa's strength as well, to the point where she was more interested in eating than talking to Giulian. She also splashed water on her face and hands to refresh her skin and eyes. She took a few minutes to retwist up her hair and secure it. Following Giulian down the corridors once again into the dungeons, she looked around, knowing she would not wish to be here if Giulian's father captured her. She pulled in her lower lip and nibbled a bit, but stopped when they approached the guards. She nodded to the guard and held still. "Where are the prisoners?" Giulian asked the guard on duty, once they reached the long, tiled hall. "This is Miss Chatham," he introduced Elissa. "She'll be listening in." The rooms were white tiled -- the furniture sparse, and utilitarian. As Giulian had instructed, Elissa was given a seat in a small cubicle adjacent to the room in which the prisoners were being held. An opening covered with a grille allowed her to see and hear what was going on, without being observed herself. Once she was settled, Giulian had the guard open the door so that he could enter the room where the prisoners sat. The two men, dressed in simple, plain black, were already uneasy. "Why are you holding us here?" demanded one of them belligerently. "I demand that you release us immediately!" Giulian turned to the guard, frowning slightly. "Where is the third one?" he asked. "I was told there were three men in all." He then made his way to the table at the opposite end of the room from the prisoners, sat down behind it and regarded the two men in silence while he awaited the guard's answer. "He wouldn't come willing," said the guard. "So we're bringing him anyway." And indeed, they could hear the sound of a body being dragged slowly towards the room. The two prisoners shot worried looks at each other. "We'll wait," Giulian said calmly. He went back to his scrutiny of the prisoners, trying to judge if they were members of the renegade Carlysle faction, or hirelings from Aquila's own underworld. Though their clothes were dark and nondescript, both their demeanor and their grooming suggested the military man. In a way that was a relief; as little as Giulian liked the idea of Carlysle renegades roaming Aquila with offworld weapons, the notion of such firearms being given into the hands of the likes of Lord Whiteblood and his minions was far worse. At least they retain that much sense, he thought. They were relatively young men, though, without the icy self-control of the hardened veteran. They were showing traces of anxiety now, and Giulian had been able to tell by their expressions, when he'd entered, that they recognized who he was. They would have been given a description, of course. At this point the door was thrown open and the third man, unconscious, was dragged in, his head covered with blood that seemed to have come from an exceptionally brutal beating. The guards threw him, still unconscious, into a corner -- where his blood stained the pristine white tiles. The other two exchanged glances of horror as their erstwhile companion groaned. Giulian's gaze turned to the guards. "Was that really necessary?" he inquired. "I ask merely for information." "He hurt one of our House, my lord," said the guard austerely. "He it was that fired." "I see. You'll be glad to know that according to Dr. Gomast, Jackison's prognosis is good," said Giulian. The guards nodded, not noticeably appeased by the news. He turned back to the prisoners. "I hope you realize, gentlemen, even without this, mm, demonstration, that you're in serious trouble. Trespassing, for a start; possession and use of illegal weapons; assault on the person of an arresting officer... and that's before we even get to insurrection, sedition, and conspiracy to murder. "I don't particularly like violence, gentlemen. I really, really don't like assassins. But I'm willing to put my personal feelings aside in the interest of preventing more bloodshed. If you can give me information that will help me to do that, I'm prepared to be relatively lenient. "You have your choice, gentlemen. You can talk to me, here and now... "...or you can wait till my father gets home." "He'll be dead already," said one of the prisoners with a disastrously ill-timed attempt at insouciance. One of the guards massaged his knuckles lovingly. "I sincerely trust not," said Giulian in a voice gone suddenly icy. "For then his responsibilities as Head of House would fall upon me, and that would be very, very bad for you. However, he was in health when I last saw him, and fully aware of his danger, which he has been preparing for since before you were born. 'Only a fool hunts owls at night,'" he added, quoting an old Anderon proverb. "I'd be interested to know, however, what makes you think that." The two men looked at each other -- with sudden shock in their eyes. "He was to be among the first, with the Cardinal, Lord Tremontaine, the Maun heirs ... Lord Carlysle ordered it specifically, we were told," said one. He had clearly decided he had nothing to lose -- and possibly much to gain -- by honesty. All of those people had been at the Reception, Giulian thought, except-- He snapped a look at the guards. "Send someone to the Cardinal's palace." One of the guards bowed and hurried away. Then he asked the prisoners, "And what were your orders?" They exchanged looks and then one said, "To clean up ... here. If they failed to get the Regent at the Reception." That was clearly the truth -- but perhaps not the whole truth. Elissa listened in from the other room and watched as the prisoners exchanged looks and covered up their words and other things. She looked and found a guard and motioned him closer. "Please go to Lord Giulian, let him know he should have the prisoners in separate interrogation rooms. We need to interrogate them separately and find out which one is telling the truth. Right now, we'll never know what is true. They're protecting each other," she said in a low voice. "It could help us figure out what is happening..." Giulian was having similar thoughts -- he'd certainly caught the exchanged looks -- but wasn't sure how useful separate interrogations would be. Even if the prisoners told different stories, how would they know which one was telling the truth, if at all? Besides, it would take time to set up, time that might not be to spare if he was to act on the information he gleaned. For the moment, he gave the prisoners a hard look and queried pleasantly, "And just what would be involved in 'cleaning up,' may I ask?" "The adults," said the first man. "Our orders were to see that no adults remained alive, if any made it back here after the Reception." "I'm glad to know you draw the line at murdering children," said Giulian. "Who issued you these orders?" "We had our orders from Colonel Maltravers-Sym, acting on behalf of Lord Carlysle," said the first man. The second nodded. A name, at least, Giulian thought, though it was not one familiar to him. "Who else was with you, and what orders did they receive?" he asked the men. In the room, Elissa nibbled on her lower lip as she listened in. They had a name. It was a start. Whether it was correct or not, they had a start. "No-one," said one of the men. "We were all recruited separately. Tonight was the first time we met -- for this task, at least." "Were you all given your orders separately, or in a group?" pursued Giulian. "There were the five of us, given our instructions together," said the man. "But we'd all been recruited separately. The two of us -- knew each other from basic training. We were the only two who did." "Five," repeated Giulian. "And three of you came here. Where did the other two go?" "They were killed -- in the streets," said one. The other looked uncomfortable. Privately Giulian was skeptical, but inquired, "And how did that happen?" Ostensibly he was asking the question of the man who'd spoken, but he watched the other man's face closely. "The riot..." began the first man, but the second burst out, "They were disobeying orders! We had no alternative!" Nevertheless, his face was white and his hands were shaking. "Which orders?" Giulian asked -- quietly, unemphatically, but with his gaze now fixed on the second man. "Maltravers-Sym's," said the second man with something like a gasp. "They would have betrayed our mission," said the first man implacably. "Aquila's freedom is worth more than that." "What was it they did -- or refused to do?" Giulian asked with equal implacability. "To kill your father," said the first man. "And rid the planet of his iron hand of repression." Giulian's eyes sparked. There was an edge in his voice as he responded, "You realize you're talking about the 'iron hand' that pushed through the Act of Emancipation. Perhaps your erstwhile colleagues were former slaves -- or men who would have been, by birth, if it weren't for the Act. I suppose you think a military dictatorship would be somehow an improvement? Because that's where your superiors are headed, judging by their methods rather than their rhetoric. "I'm a student of history, gentlemen. And if there's anything history teaches us, it's that while military power is an essential tool for preserving a free society, it's a very bad tool for creating one." The first man merely glowered in response, but the second lowered his gaze. He was sweating. Neither man said anything. Just then another Anderon guard entered the interrogation room, saluted Giulian, and inquired, "My lord?" "What is it, Marston?" asked Giulian, knowing he wouldn't have been interrupted if it weren't important. The guard looked at the prisoners sidelong, then approached Giulian and murmured something to him, too softly for the prisoners to hear. They could see Giulian's face, however; startlement flickered in his eyes, but not alarm. "I'll come at once," he told Marston, reaching for his crutches. To the other guards he said, "Return these men to their cells for the moment -- separately, please. I'll talk to them again presently." (Continued in Carlysle Coup: Back Into the Fray) |
