The Tyranny of the Night: Book One of the Instrumentalities of the Night

by Glen Cook

  “I’ll buy that,” Else replied. “Tell you the truth, I don’t think most of those Braunknechts knew who he was. Rounding us up was just a job.”

  That notion did nothing to improve anyone’s mood.

  Ghort said, “You’d think the Emperor would want a few people to know. He can’t profit just by having Doneto locked up.”

  He could, though. But that was not obvious from inside a prison.

  Else said, “Maybe it’s what we were talking about, way back. If Hansel has the Principate, the Collegium is locked up. If the Collegium is locked up, Sublime can’t do the crazy stuff he keeps ranting about. Including making life miserable for the Emperor.”

  “You’re probably right, Pipe. But I don’t like it. That means Hansel told the world he’s got Sublime’s boy. And Sublime thinks he can outstubborn him. Or flat don’t care what happens to his cousin.”

  Bo Biogna organized a pool. Whoever came closest to guessing the exact length of their captivity would collect. Even Bronte Doneto bought in.

  Else often wondered why the Doneto he knew was so unlike the Doneto who had been sent into the End of Connec to help Bishop Serifs and enforce Sublime V’s will.

  “Why not ask?” Ghort queried when Else posed the question. “What I’m wondering is, whatever happened to the bishop’s pretty boy?”

  Yes. Osa Stile vanished the day they reached Plemenza. Perhaps the Grail Emperor had found new work for him.

  Else gathered his daring and, during a card game, did ask Principate Doneto why his character seemed to have changed dramatically.

  “You aren’t even a little slow, are you, Hecht? You notice things.”

  “I’m a professional soldier, sir. I like to understand the people I work for. These days you aren’t anything like the legate we heard about when we first got to Antieux.”

  “You’re right, Hecht. But remember, the job isn’t the man. I was fulfilling a role on behalf of the Patriarch. A role hung on me by Bishop Serifs, may that fat, corrupt moron roast in Hell for the harm he did the Church.”

  ONE DAY SOMEONE CAME WHO WAS NOT THE ONE SILENT SERVANT THEY always saw. The newcomer scanned the nineteen prisoners. The seventeen who were not too sick crowded toward him. He indicated a man. “You. Come with me.”

  He had chosen Bo Biogna. Bo did not want to go. But the new face had not come alone. Three armed men surrounded Bo. They did not look reluctant to employ the tools of their trade.

  “Go on, Bo,” Else said. “If they intended to do anything awful they would’ve already done it to save on feeding us.”

  Else told Ghort, “I hope I’m right,” once Bo left.

  “Made sense to me. You know they plan to use us somehow.”

  Bo Biogna was gone less than fifteen minutes. The men who returned him took another captive away.

  “Well?” Ghort asked Biogna. Everyone able crowded around. Even Bronte Doneto positioned himself to hear Biogna’s report.

  “I don’t know. They took me down the hall to this room with nothin’ in it but this long table wit’ four guys who asked me questions. That they didn’t seem to give a shit about the answers.”

  “What sort of questions?” Else asked.

  “Who was I, what was my job, how did I hook up wit’ the Patriarch’s army.”

  “Why would they want to know that instead of something more operational?”

  “Yeah, well, they asked a bunch of questions about all kinds of shit. Especially about that Brotherhood sorcerer. That Grade Drocker. An’ about what happened in the Connec. Only like not about what, exactly, but more like why an’ how. An’ who really stirred things up. I think they gave up on me pretty quick on account of they realized that I’m a nobody who don’t know nothin’ about nothin’.”

  The second man said much the same. Likewise, the third, though by now Else had the impression that the interrogations were tailored to their objects. Which suggested that the interrogators had a good idea who they were questioning before they started.

  Pinkus Ghort was the fourth man taken. He was absent more than an hour. He returned unhurt but drained. He flopped onto his pallet. “That was rough. In a nonphysical way. It’s hard to keep everything straight when they ask you the same thing fifty different times fifty different ways.”

  Bronte Doneto was curious. And worried. His turn would come. He was right there listening when Else countered, “How so?”

  “It was like Bo and the others said. Only there was more of it. They was infatuated with the notion that I know all of the Patriarch’s personal secrets on account of I was like a pickup captain in a halfass gang of robbers that Sublime sent out. So what if I’ve never been any closer to the old boy than I am right now?”

  “Did they threaten you? Did they try to bribe you?”

  “No. And that was weird, too. I don’t think they really cared what I answered. They just wanted to ask the questions.”

  That bothered Bronte Doneto. Else asked, “Sir? Have we missed something?”

  “They may be using lie-detecting spells. If they have specialist adepts, our answers won’t matter. What were the questioners like?”

  Ghort replied, “They didn’t look like no kind of wizards. They was just soldiers. Guys used to getting their hands dirty. I recognized one of them from somewhere. The guy on the end, on their right, was somebody that I should ought to remember. But I don’t know where from.”

  More men went through the process, some for longer, some not so long. Just Plain Joe was away only eight minutes.

  When Joe came back the soldiers beckoned Pinkus. Ghort protested, “I’ve already been.”

  “Then you know the way. Let’s go.”

  Ghort was gone a long time.

  The soldiers wanted Principate Doneto next. Things got tense. Ghort said, “Take it easy, Chief. It ain’t that big a deal.”

  “Why did they call you back?” Else asked after the door slammed behind the Principate.

  “Maybe they didn’t understand me the first time. They asked all the same questions. I’m thinking maybe Doneto is right. Something is going on besides them asking questions.”

  “It took them over an hour to get the same old answers you already gave them?”

  “Oh, no. That part added up to only maybe twenty minutes. In the middle of it they all just got up and left. Like they went out for dinner or something. And didn’t need to worry about me.”

  “So you just sat there?”

  “Well, I got up and wandered around some. I didn’t go far. They locked the door.”

  Bronte Doneto was gone for hours. He was exhausted when he returned. He had little to say. He sucked down a bowl of lentil soup, curled up in his blanket and slept.

  His was the last interview of the day.

  THE INTERVIEWS RESUMED NEXT MORNING. THE FIRST MAN TAKEN HAD gone before. He reported, “They’re up to something different. It was about religion this time.”

  Else went third. He was not nervous. He could handle basic religious questions. He had been paying attention.

  The room was exactly as described, featureless and brightly lighted. The smell of tallow was strong. Four men sat behind a table, their backs to a wall. One straight-backed, hard chair faced the table. The men did not look like professional inquisitors. The man farthest to Else’s right might be a priest. He pegged two more as soldiers. The man between the priest and soldiers, though, was someone important.

  The man to that man’s right asked, “Piper Hecht?”

  “Yes.”

  “Religion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Yes. I’m religious.”

  “What religion?”

  “Why?”

  The man Else suspected of being in control said, “Stop that. Sit down, Hecht. Answer the questions put to you.”

  “Why?”

  A flicker of anger. Nobody else had been difficult.

  His left wrist began to itch. He scratched. His fingertips tripped over the i
nvisible amulet, which had begun to get warm.

  Sorcery. Of course.

  Else said, “I don’t understand why you would expect me to cooperate. Why would I help my employer’s enemies?”

  The man farthest to Else’s left said, “Tell us about your life before you joined the force the Patriarch sent to rescue the Bishop of Antieux.”

  Else suppressed an urge to remain argumentative. Maybe he was not supposed to be able. Maybe that was the nature of the sorcery at work here.

  Else spoke vaguely of growing up in Duarnenia, a minor crusader principality on the southeastern coast of the Shallow Sea, on a small estate near Tusnet, well inland, just inside the marches where Chaldarean crusaders of the Grail Order remained constantly at war with the Sheard heathen of the Grand Marshes. He mentioned running away at fifteen, banging around from one minor employer to another, drifting southward. He offered no specifics. Mercenaries seldom did.

  He included more detail about his service since joining the Brotherhood-sponsored force. The four probably knew all that already.

  The man in charge told the others, “Step outside, please. I want to talk to this one alone.”

  The room cleared so quickly Else suspected that it must have been planned.

  He kept his baffled face on. Just another dumb soldier, he had no clue. Though that would not work for long. His own men tried it on him, regularly, with limited success.

  The man who stayed behind considered Else. Else studied the man back. This must be Ferris Renfrow. No one else would fit in just here, just now, would they?

  He was about fifty, looked more Firaldian than northern. He had all of his hair. That was black, lightly salted with gray. It had no luster left, though. His eyes were small, brown, squinted, permanently suspicious. His lips were frozen into a pout, suggesting that he thought everyone was lying to him all the time. His nose was completely unremarkable. His chin was strong. His face was rectangular and weathered. He had excellent teeth, which was uncommon in Chaldarean lands.

  “Tell me what happened in the Knot. The night your company fell foul of the bogon.”

  “Sir? The what?”

  “The attack. By the night monster. The thing is called a bogon.”

  “There isn’t anything to tell. We survived.”

  “You saved the band.”

  Else shrugged. “That was Principate Doneto. All I did was, I had a nightmare. It woke me up. It felt like something bad was happening so I woke the Principate. That’s all I did. He belongs to the Collegium. After that I was tied up with bad stomach cramps. He took care of the monster.”

  “This wasn’t your first time, though. Did it go the same at Esther’s Wood? And Runch?”

  Shaken, Else managed better than he expected. And even tucked away a curiosity about the mention of Runch. No bogon manifested there. He did not reply.

  Renfrow said, “There’s a connecting thread. I don’t know what, yet, but the more recent attacks must have followed because the first one failed.”

  “Huh?”

  “I know who you are, Captain Tage. I’ve been waiting for you for months. You haven’t done anything you were expected to do. That ruction in Sonsa, that was a masterpiece.”

  “Sir, you’ve lost me completely. You’re not making any sense.” Else suspected, though, that the man was not just fishing. “Who are you, sir?”

  The inquisitor shook his head.

  Osa Stile. That little bastard had not been able to keep his mouth shut.

  Renfrow must be the man Pinkus Ghort remembered from somewhere else.

  “It’s possible you may not know what’s going on. If I was to send you into enemy territory I wouldn’t tell you everything. I’d let the touchiest parts wait till you’d survived making all your contacts.”

  This felt more dangerous by the minute.

  “Yes. That’s it. They just flung you in, like throwing a snake into a campfire. Either they figured you could handle the heat or they wanted you to burn. Which was it? What did they tell you to do?”

  Else kept his mouth shut, stared at the inquisitor like the man was raving in tongues, the way the al-Kobean dervishes did.

  Else would not surrender his identity as Piper Hecht. They had no means of proving that he was not Piper Hecht.

  “Lest you think you can bluff your way past me, I remind you that we’ve met before.”

  “No, sir. Even if I was who you say I am. I’d remember you if we’d met.” Else spoke with complete conviction. It was true.

  “I get the impression you really believe what you just said.”

  “I don’t just believe it, it’s true. Who are you? Where are we supposed to have met? I doubt that you’re the sort who volunteers to serve in the Grand Marshes.”

  “Ah, no. No. I have to rethink this. There’s a page missing.” For a moment he listened to something only he could hear.

  Else concentrated on ignoring his left wrist. He itched terribly.

  There was sorcery at work here . . . So many candles. They made it warm. He had begun to sweat. And the odor of candle smoke . . . There was another odor there, behind the burnt tallow. An incense sort of smell. Which would be why he felt light-headed. These naughty people were doing something to make him more pliable.

  The inquisitor could not understand why Else was not more suggestible. He would be wondering if he had not made some grotesque mistake.

  “Ah. I recall the circumstances. You’re right. We haven’t met. You were pointed out by a gentleman named er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen, in the Palace of the Kings in al-Qarn two years ago. The wizard said you were leaving on a mission that could impact the balance of power in the east. If you were successful. Were you successful?”

  Else tried to recall all he had heard about Ferris Renfrow. While mulling the fact that the Grail Emperor’s people might have known that he was coming. Was that Osa’s doing? Or had there been word from al-Qarn?

  Why would Osa have been told?

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But I’m at your mercy. I won’t argue.”

  “We’re at loggerheads, then, Captain. And if you won’t be Else Tage from Dreanger, then I can’t help Else Tage accomplish his mission. Nor will Else Tage be able to help me with mine.”

  “What would you do for me if I agree to be this Else guy?” He mispronounced his own name. “What would I have to do? On account of, if it’ll get me out of here, I’ll be the Patriarch’s favorite daughter. Or any saint you want to name.”

  Renfrow showed signs of exasperation. Nothing was working.

  “There’s something wrong here,” Renfrow said. “Even if you aren’t the man I think, you shouldn’t be able to reason or argue.” He waved a hand. Smoke swirled around his fingers.

  Else grunted an interrogative.

  “Sit still.” Renfrow left the room.

  The smoke and whatever else was in the air dragged Else down into unconsciousness.

  ELSE WAKENED BACK IN THE LOCKUP. HE HAD THE SHAKES AND A HEADache. Pinkus Ghort and Just Plain Joe were there to nurse him. Joe had cold water. Ghort had a cold, wet rag and was mopping his face, soothing his fever.

  Ghort asked, “What the hell happened, Pipe?”

  “They tried to get me to confess that I’m a spy. They used some kind of drug on me. It was in the air, like incense.”

  Just Plain Joe asked, “How could you be a spy? You weren’t never been in these parts before. An’ the only reason you ever was was on account of they brought you.”

  Else finished a pint of cold water. “Joe, I don’t have any idea. Maybe you could ask them. All I know is, they want me to be a spy. And they drugged me to get me there. And, before I passed out, I was thinking that it didn’t matter whether I was a spy so long as I told them I was a spy. I think I volunteered to be the spy if they’d just let me out. What time is it?”

  It was noon of the day following Else’s last clear memory. The inquisitors had interviewed prisoners all morning. The tenor of the interviews had c
hanged. The Imperials wanted the prisoners to talk about their comrades.

  Ghort said, “I just had my third round. My head’s still fuzzy. You’re right about that smoke. They asked me about everything but Pig Iron. They’re definitely looking for something.”

  Just Plain Joe said, “They’ve got the Principate in there, now. You better eat somethin’ while you can, Pipe. In case they jump your ass when they find out you’re awake.”

  Ghort agreed. “Sound advice. The way they worked on you yesterday, they’ll be right back at you. What’s that all about, anyway?”

  “I told you. They want me to be a spy.”

  “Eat,” Joe said.

  “And suck down some more water,” Ghort told him. “A lot of water.”

  “Did they drug you guys?” Else asked.

  Joe shrugged.

  Ghort replied, “I told you. They’re putting something in the air.”

  Else described the man who had interrogated him alone. “You know who I’m talking about? Is he the one you said you thought you’d seen before?”

  “The very one. And I remember where, now. It was six years ago. I was new at this stuff. I was working for the Duke of Clearenza. That’s up north, in the foothills. They call it a Duchy but you can throw a rock across it. Johannes was just getting going. He kept his people distracted by pushing the Empire’s claims in Firaldia. Clearenza owed allegiance to the Grail Empire but that wasn’t being enforced. The Dukes were related to the two Patriarchs before Sublime. They thought that would protect them.”

  Else chuckled. “Evidently it didn’t. So what does that mean to us?”

  “When Hansel’s troops showed up Clemency III didn’t do anything. He was about a hundred years old and too busy croaking. The Duke decided to shut the gates and sit tight. Then this guy who’d been with us about two months went down to the gatehouse in the middle of the night, killed the guard on duty, and opened up. They say it didn’t look intentional. That he just wanted to choke the old man until he passed out. But he broke the old man’s windpipe.

  “It turned out the killer was the Grail Emperor’s man. He called himself Lester Temagat but his real name was Ferris Renfrow. They say he pulls tricks like that all the time.”