by Hugh Cook
Only those enchanted objects could save him from finally having to resign himself to becoming Lord Regan's pawn. They were the key to his independence, his ambi- tion, his dreams. If Jarl found them he would have to reclaim them — without letting Jarl know what they were.
Meanwhile . . .
'It's the documents which worry me most,' said Jarl. The documents, yes.
Sarazin had been careful. He had never committed to paper anything which could be incriminating in its own right. Nevertheless, the notes which were among his stolen documents might be enough to destroy his conspiracy.
'All Plovey needs is a list of names in your handwriting,' said Jarl. Then he'll move heaven and earth to get warrants to interrogate everyone on that list under torture.'
That was not just Jarl's opinion — it was also the truth. Plovey obviously did not have the documents as yet — but somebody did! The conspirators were doomed if Plovey got to the papers before they did.
So the conspirators went hunting.
First, Thodric Jarl raided the premises of Madam Sosos- tris. He took twenty men, armed, masked and hooded. They smashed their way in, ransacked the place, inter- rogated the staff — but found no trace of the documents.
What they did find was that Jaluba was missing. She had disappeared, and Madam Sosostris had no idea where she had gone. Sarazin bethought himself of Madam Ix — but a raid on that fortune-teller's lair proved equally fruitless.
Sarazin briefed Glambrax, then sent his dwarf into the taverns of Jone to listen for rumours. But someone stomped the hapless mannikin in a tavern, and he was put to bed with a set of broken ribs.
Then Sarazin thought of Benthorn. His half-brother, yes! Little trusted, and little deserving of trust. He had not seen him around for the last few days. Why?
Sarazin conferred with Jarl, then the two led a raid on Benthorn's residence. But Benthorn was not there. Diligent enquiries — conducted at swordpoint — established that Benthorn was in Androlmarphos. Sarazin's half-brother had departed for the trading port days before Sarazin's goods had been stolen.
'So it wasn't Benthorn,' said Sarazin.
'It might well have been Benthorn,' said Jarl. 'He'd know we'd suspect him. He might well have briefed a thief to do the dirty work while he absented himself from the city. Likely we'll hear from him sooner or later demanding blackmail money.'
'I think it would be better if we heard sooner,' said Sarazin.
'Right!' said Jarl. 'For then at least we'd know where the danger lay.'
At Glambrax's suggestion, to force Benthorn to show his hand, they sent a courier to Androlmarphos to deliver to him a brief, anonymous note. It said:
'To love me is to love life. And vice versa.'
Then, when Sarazin's fear and panic had reached its peak, Jarl came to him by night.
What is it?' said Sarazin, startled from dreams of blood- stump torture and public execution.
The Watch has caught the thief,' said Jarl.
That had Sarazin sitting up in a hurry.
'Good!' he said, spitting out the word with explosive force, punching his open hand with his fist. 'Have we got it all back? The book? The papers? The bard? The—'
Was there something else missing?' said Jarl.
'A few trinkets,' admitted Sarazin. 'Souvenirs of travel. A little jade snuff bottle and a couple of other things.'
Well, nothing like that's turned up,' said Jarl dourly. We haven't even got the papers back. Or your pro- phetic book. But we've recovered the bard. The thief was wearing it,'
'Where is he?' said Sarazin.
The Watch are holding him prisoner,' said Jarl.
'Let's go and see him. Now!'
'No,' said Jarl. We wait. Give him time to stew in his own juices. Then we have him brought to us. Then we work him over in a really major way. Torture, that's the thing. We'll have the truth soon enough. He's not going anywhere in the meantime.'
'How long?' said Sarazin, desperately. 'How long before we can start torturing him?'
'Oh, three days . . . maybe four,' said Jarl, watching Sarazin sharply. There's no hurry.'
There was in fact every reason for the most urgent hurry imaginable. But, by insisting on this delay, Jarl was putting pressure on Sarazin. Jarl suspected — rightly! — that Sarazin was withholding important information. With enough pressure, Sarazin would crack.
'So,' said Sarazin, taking a deep breath, 'we wait, then.'
And the two glared at each other.
Sarazin suspected — and he was of course correct in his suspicion — that Jarl suspected Sarazin of holding out on him. Moreover, Sarazin suspected that Jarl suspected Sarazin of suspecting Jarl of such suspicion.
'While we wait,' said Sarazin, 'how about telling me the thief's name? Is it anyone we know?'
'No,' said Jarl. 'He's Drake Douay. Nobody I know.'
'Nobody I know either,' said Sarazin.
When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt of this Drake Douay who was now his enemy. The thief who had made off with his bard, unique treasure of Untunchilamon. And with his prophetic book, his documents . . . and his enchanted valuables.
'Douay,' said Sarazin, in his dreams, 'when we meet, you die.'
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Drake Douay: a man arrested by the Watch after a brawl in Libernek Square, and subsequently found to be wearing a piece of jewellery which his captors recognised as Sarazin's bard.
After Drake Douay had been in captivity for three days, Jarl concluded that Sarazin was not going to crack and confess whatever secrets he was hiding. By this time, Jarl was near cracking himself, for every day's delay increased their danger.
So Jarl had the thief Douay brought to Farfalla's palace. Jarl and Sarazin dressed up in their most impressive costumes — princely silks for Sarazin and ornate armour for Jarl — and, after letting Douay stew for a while, proceeded with the interrogation.
Sarazin had imagined that Douay would be a dark and dirty inarticulate thief with a scowling mien. Instead, Douay proved to be blond and dirty. And young, smooth- tongued and as cocky as they come. Both Jarl and Sarazin were infuriated by his attitude.
Douay seemed completely unaware of the enormity of his crime. Worse, at first he refused to confess his guilt, and told the most absurd lies. The young punk claimed, for example, that he had once won dozens of bards by fighting in some place called Ling. Of course Sarazin was not fooled by such a tale for even a moment, for he had learnt from Epelthin Elkin himself that the bard was a unique object, there being only one in all the world.
Two things in particular annoyed Sarazin.
First, that Douay had managed to damage the bard in the short time it had been in his possession. There was a gouge ripped through the skin of the precious thing, suggesting the punk Douay had tried to cut it open to see what was within.
Second, that Douay had not the slightest idea who Sarazin was. Sarazin's dearest wish was to have his battle-name, 'Watashi', on the lips of every citizen of the Harvest Plains. But to Douay the name appeared to mean nothing. The fact that the Watch had reported that Douay was also ignorant of Farfalla's existence was scant consolation.
Eventually, after a most unsatisfactory interview, Douay was gagged and taken to an abandoned store room. Over the last three days, this had been converted into a horror house. Many ugly instruments of iron had been gathered together; a torture bench had been installed; and Jarl had slaughtered a chicken in the room to make sure it was suitably blood-bespattered.
Sarazin did not follow Douay to the torture chamber. To tell the truth, despite his anger Sarazin was somewhat fearful of what might happen in that ugly room. Torture was an acknowledged road to the truth, of course, and was much used by Selzirk's judicial system. Even so . . . somehow Sarazin did not like the idea.
However, nothing dreadful happened inside the torture chamber. Once Douay was ungagged he started talking very, very quickly. Then, as soon as a saw was applied to his ankles, he screamed — and confessed. Accor
ding to Douay, Sarazin's quarters had been burgled by criminals from Jone. Douay named and described the ringleaders — and said where they could be found.
Whereupon Jarl had Douay thrown into solitary confine- ment, conferred briefly with Sarazin, then organised a raiding party to capture those ringleaders and bring them in for interrogation.
Jarl's raiding party left for Jone at nightfall. Sarazin waited anxiously for the raiders to return.
He waited for a long time.
What could be keeping them?
Sarazin doubted that anything serious could have hap- pened to Jarl, and suspected the Rovac warrior had faked a delay simply to put more pressure on Sean Sarazin.
—He'll play head games till I crack and tell all. Well, let him! For I won't crack!
Jarl knew Sarazin had a secret, but had no idea what it was. And could not possibly guess.
—But what if Douay gets tortured more? What if he tells of the bottle, the ring, the candle? Well, let him. Mention of such means nothing to anyone ignorant of the magic of such things.
Surely everything stolen from Sarazin would eventually be recovered? His prophetic book, his documents and his enchanted objects. It would then be a delicate job to regain possession of his magic without anyone else realising it was magic . . .
—I'll say those things have sentimental value. That'll do it. If only . . . if only I could get the truth from Douay myself.
Unfortunately that was impossible. Sarazin could not steal Douay away and torture him for the full truth in private, because Sarazin commanded no men in his own right. He had to work through Jarl. Which, since he was playing a double game, was perilous indeed.
At last, some time after midnight, Sarazin gave up waiting, and went to sleep.
'What do you want?' said Sarazin, groggy with sleep.
'Your mother wants to see you,' said Bizzie.
'Now? Is she crazy?'
'Thodric Jarl has been arrested.'
'What?!' said Sarazin, now very much awake.
Very shortly, he was in his mother's High Court, hearing the dreadful truth.
Thodric Jarl had taken a dozen men on a raiding mis- sion into Jone. They had captured two of Douay's criminal confederates, had put them into sacks, had thrown the sacks onto a dung cart, and had started the return journey from Jone to Santrim. But in Kesh they had been ambushed by some of their captives' gangster friends.
Unfortunately, the gate-tower at Kesh was not controlled by the Watch but by the army. Soldiers had broken up the fight, and had taken Jarl and his men prisoner.
'Shortly,' said Farfalla, with grim satisfaction, 'they will doubtless be tortured by judicial order. Then the truth will come out. All of it.'
'What truth?' said Sarazin.
'Don't play innocent with me!' thundered Farfalla. 'I know you've been playing games of treason and con- spiracy. Plovey knows too. I've called him to a conference. He'll be here soon.'
'Plovey!' said Sarazin.
He looked around wildly. There was no escape. Farfalla's guards would cut him down if he tried to flee.
'Calm down!' said Farfalla. 'I'm not betraying you. I'm trying to save your neck — and Jarl's. So tell me what you know. Everything!'
Sarazin prevaricated, but Farfalla soon had the truth out of him — or at least a part of the truth. He denied taking part in a conspiracy, but admitted that he had had some potentially incriminating documents in his possession. That these documents had been stolen. That one of the thieves, Douay, was a prisoner in Farfalla's palace at this very moment. And that Jarl had gone hunting for Douay's confederates.
In due course, Plovey arrived, and Farfalla went to work. Sarazin learnt a lot that night about negotiations — negotiations of the toughest kind imaginable. Talk was still going on after sunup.
In the end, a deal was struck.
As things stood, Plovey was due to go on trial on a charge of forging a warrant, a charge of false arrest and three dozen associated charges relating to assorted technical infringements of the law. If these matters came to court, Plovey would likely be found guilty and be executed.
So: charges against Plovey would be dropped, and, in return, there would be no charges laid against Jarl or any of his men. Farfalla and Plovey, working in concert, could easily arrange this.
'You agree?' said Farfalla to Sarazin.
'There's still the matter of these thieves,' said Sarazin. 'I want them put to the torture.'
'That could be embarrassing,' warned Farfalla, unable to understand why he insisted on taking such a risk.
'We have to do it,' muttered Sarazin.
Unwilling to tell her about his missing magic. But equally unwilling to lose the chance of recovering that magic — whatever the risks!
Farfalla was undecided.
'Dearest colleague,' said Plovey, showing no fatigue despite the arduous negotiations they had been through, 'we could easily reach agreement on this matter.'
'What kind of agreement?' said Farfalla.
'To torture all our criminal prisoners without reference to courts of law. This unlawful act would bind us together in criminal conspiracy. Let us agree that the fruits of our crime will remain our private property, not to be disclosed to outsiders.'
Farfalla did not like the idea. It was too dangerous! Who knew what truths might be exposed? And she could not trust Plovey — whatever he said.
But . . .
Sarazin proved adamant, Plovey was persuasive, and, at length, Farfalla finally gave way. Fatigue, for once, had undermined her good judgment.
Plovey promptly arranged for torture to begin. They started with the criminals Jarl had captured, and learnt things so startling that by noon all else had been almost forgotten.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The first men put to the torture were Andranovory and Erhed, a pair of criminals captured by Jarl on his raid into Jone. Not much was needed to get them talking: a couple of jabs from a bodkin and they were talking as fast as they could. And a truly remarkable tale they told.
In spring, they had been living in Estar, in the north of Argan. When Estar had been invaded by the evil emperor Khmar, they had fought valiantly in the defence of the realm. Thanks to help from certain wizards — Phyphor, Garash and Miphon — the forces of evil had been defeated.
Then the wizards had persuaded the men to travel with them to hunt down the evil wizard of Heenmor, who was in possession of a death-stone, a wizard weapon which could turn men to rock and bring rocks to life.
Led by two Rovac warriors — the heroes Elkor Alish and Morgan Hearst — the men had endured wild adven- tures in the interior of Argan. Many of their comrades had been killed by dragons, basilisks or giant scorpions, by battles with two-headed barbarians, or by the dreadful punishments meted out by the Rovac for the most trifling offences.
Finally, Andranovory and his comrades had mutinied. After a savage battle against the wizards and the Rovac, the mutineers had managed to kill the wizard Phyphor, and had made their escape. That had been in early summer.
For some time, Andranovory and his comrades had lingered by the shores of the Araconch Waters, the great lake deep in the heart of Argan. There they had enjoyed the delights of the Temple of Eternal Love where the trees were of gold and the gardens of diamond.
'Many men,' said Andranovory, 'died there of pure delight.'
'Aye,' said Erhed. 'So we who were left fled.' 'How many of you were left alive at that stage?' said Farfalla.
'About four hundred,' said Andranovory. 'But many died on the journey from Araconch to here.'
Then he described the terrors of that journey down the Velvet River through the wilderness, through the Manaray Gorge, through the Chenameg Kingdom, and then at last to Selzirk. If Andranovory was to be believed, they had met with dragons, ghosts, monsters, plague, man-eating plants and worse before they finally reached sanctuary.
'Then what?' said Farfalla.
Many of the surviving mutineers had already left Selzirk. But And
ranovory and Erhed provided the names and locations of several who remained. Farfalla and Plovey gave Sean Sarazin the job of hunting down these people and arresting them.
'Meanwhile,' said Farfalla, 'Plovey and I will talk with this Drake Douay, and see if he confirms his comrades' tale.'
Thus the interrogation of Drake Douay resumed, and almost immediately proceeded to torture. Sarazin heard all about it from one source or another. He took the keenest possible interest in this interrogation, for he lusted to recover the enchanted objects which he knew Douay had stolen from him.
However, Sarazin was to be disappointed, for Douay did not confess his sins. Unlike Andranovory and Erhed, he lacked the sense to cooperate, and told nothing remotely resembling the truth.
The much-scarred Douay claimed, as if expecting to be believed, to have seen combat against so-called Guardian Machines of improbable construction, against heroes of Hexagon, the Ling of Ling (whatever that was), Collosnon warriors, lizard monsters, crocodiles, the dragon Zenphos and a legion of monsters of the Swarms.
Depending on what story he was telling, Douay claimed his birthplace variously as Estar, Stokos, the Greater Teeth and the Lesser. His very name was uncertain, since he admitted a string of aliases, such as Narda Narkin, Shen Shen Drax, Arabin lol Arabin and Demon-son Dreldragon.
It was almost impossible to get anything resembling the truth out of Douay. However, Sean Sarazin — commanding Farfalla's guards, some Regency guardsmen and some men of the Watch — eventually managed to catch another ten of the mutineers who had gone questing in the wilderness with the wizards and the Rovac.