by A. E. Moorat
Victoria was aghast, but already striding forward, towards a large cabinet-like object that stood against the upright pillar. It was fashioned roughly after the shape of a human being. In fact, thought Victoria, it reminded her of one of the Russian dolls she had had as a child. A giant life-sized version. It had a door, which was half open.
And then she saw the spikes.
'Ah, yes. That, Your Majesty,' said Melbourne, 'is the iron maiden.'
Horribly fascinated, she moved forward to grant the instrument a closer inspection. Its insides were indeed studded with spikes, including the interior of the door, which Melbourne opened.
'The unfortunate victim is placed inside and the door closed, slowly,' he explained, 'the placing of these spikes might at first appear random, but in fact they are carefully positioned in order that they might pierce the body in those places that are painful, but not fatal.'
Victoria shook her head. But still hadn't finished, asking about a malevolent-looking parody of a seat, an inquisitional chair, which was a seat covered in spikes on to the which the victim would be forced. It might also be heated, she was told, in order to induce an especially exquisite pain.
Then there was the Spanish Donkey, an upturned wedge of metal, resembling a large knife edge. The victim would be forced to straddle it, as though riding the eponymous ass, and weights attached to his legs until the wedge began to slice through his body.
There was a knee splitter, a skull splitter, a tongue tearer and a breast ripper; there was 'the pear' which would be inserted into the body through the anus or vagina and expanded to cause severe internal mutilation and a slow, agonisingly painful death; there was the Judas chair, an upturned spike on to which victims would be slowly lowered and there was the saw which would be applied between the legs of a man hung upside down so that the blood moved away from those parts being sawed, and the torture could continue for longer.
'How often is this chamber used?' asked the Queen.
'In my fifteen years serving with the Proketorate, I have been here but a handful of occasions,' said Maggie Brown, in what Victoria supposed was meant to be a reassuring voice.
'Then that is a handful too many,' she snapped, 'and what's more it is a handful enough! Some of the prophecies you have spoken of? Were they indeed prophecies, or were they the confessions of those forced to endure pain beyond belief; who would no doubt have said anything if it meant that pain would be at an end?'
Melbourne and Maggie Brown shared a look. 'A mixture of both, ma'am,' said Maggie sheepishly, and Victoria glared at her, for she knew there was more to it than that.
'I forbid it,' said Victoria. 'I order that this equipment be destroyed at once, and that a curtain be drawn over this, which shames us-it shames us because we are English, the civilisers of the world, and this-this, Lord Melbourne, is assuredly not the work of civilised people.'
Lord Melbourne looked awkward. He passed a careful hand over his hair, then placed his hands behind his back to address the Queen. 'Sometimes, ma'am, our only recourse is to this form of coercive interrogation; that which takes place down here, unpalatable as it no doubt is, may save the lives of thousands in the fight against the forces of darkness.'
'And Your Majesty,' said Maggie, 'use of these methods is rare, but it is even more rare for it to be used against mortals. Those who feel the bite of the apparatus in this dungeon are demons not human; they who wish nothing upon the human race but death and destruction. They who would gladly torture you and call it entertainment.'
'Do they feel pain, these demons you torture?' demanded Victoria.
'Well, yes, ma'am,' said Melbourne, 'I'm afraid to say that's rather the--'
'Then it is barbarism, pure and simple. You would not see an animal suffer in this way. No, Melbourne, this is my final decision. Nobody-nothing-will be tortured in my name. Is that clear?'
'Even if torture means we can find Albert?'
Victoria's shoulders slumped. Of course. She should have known. Caught up in her own shock and horror and indignation she had not stopped to wonder why she might have been led to this ghastly chamber.
Melbourne walked over to a door inset to the wall at one side and pulled it open.
Victoria heard the machine first. Something heavy which was nevertheless moving easily on what, from their sound on the floor, sounded like wooden rollers. This device was wheeled into the central area of the tower by Hicks and Vasquez and consisted of a platform on wheels, on which were mounted two wooden shapes that looked much like wedges of cheese, hinged so that they might be made to move further and further apart.
Tied to the machine was a man dressed in the clothes and wig of a footman, his clothes, she saw, were torn and tattered. He was tied with rope, his hands to the top half of the machine, feet at the bottom.
'Is this what I think it is?' asked Victoria, flatly.
'Yes, ma'am, it's the rack. At least, a variation upon it,' said Melbourne.
The prisoner tied to the rack moaned, his eyes fluttering.
'And this man?' she said, knowing the answer.
'This is the driver of the first carriage, ma'am.'
Now he opened his eyes and looked directly at her, and smiled.
'Hello, Your Majesty,' he said.
Victoria ignored him. 'This is him in human form, is it?'
'Indeed,' said Maggie Brown. 'Arcadian, transform yourself.'
'No,' said the Arcadian, 'I don't think I will, if you don't mind.'
'Listen, sonny,' said Maggie, 'don't get bloody smart with me. A dog on a rack better watch his mouth, is my advice.'
'You won't use it.'
'Aye, who says so?'
The Arcadian grinned.
'She does.'
Maggie and Melbourne looked at Victoria, who experienced a second moment of sick realisation. Suddenly she knew why she had been brought here. Not to give her an induction into the secret practices of the Protektorate, but for another reason altogether.
'You need my consent,' she said.
'It's the law,' said Melbourne. 'Torture may only be applied in instances of over-riding need, and then only with the permission of the serving monarch.'
'We who serve the dark one need no authorisation to apply torture,' chuckled the Arcadian. 'That authorisation is simply assumed.'
'This, demon,' said Victoria, her voice raised and echoing in the cavernous space, 'is why we are superior to you.'
The Arcadian looked down at himself.
'But only just,' he said.
'Not only just, no.' She directed her next comment at Brown and Melbourne. 'I forbid this. Kindly cut this man down.'
'Ma'am,' said Maggie Brown, 'it gives none of us any pleasure. But sometimes in certain instances you need to adopt the tactics of your enemies in order to beat them.'
'The tactics of our enemies?' Victoria looked sharply at Maggie. 'What do you mean? Do you mean they could be torturing Albert?'
'Oh, they won't be torturing Albert,' said the Arcadian.
'Be quiet, sonny,' said Maggie Brown, 'or you see that wheel? I might just accidentally trip and give it a spin, know what I mean?' She turned to the Queen. 'Your Majesty, this beastie here knows where he was to take the Prince that night. We've asked him nicely and he won't tell us. We'd like your permission to ask him not so nicely.'
She motioned to Hicks, who moved to the rack and grasped the wheel.
'Tell us,' said Victoria, moving forward to stand in front of the Arcadian. 'Tell us what we need to know and I won't let them hurt you. You have my word.'
The Arcadian seemed to flex and change. Showing her the wolf within. 'In return you offer me-what?'
'Your freedom-if the information turns out to be correct.'
'They won't allow it,' said the Arcadian, turning his head to indicate Melbourne and Maggie Brown, who said nothing in reply.
'They have no choice if I command it.'
'I think not. It matters not anyway, for I would be killed by my peers on grounds o
f my treachery and failure.'
'We can protect you,' said the Queen quickly. 'We can do that, can't we, Lord M?'
'He'd be found by his own people, ma'am-and killed,' said Maggie. 'His best chance is to tell us the whereabouts of the Prince and in return we can promise that his death will be mercifully swift.'
Shadows danced and flickered on wall. From high above them was the sound of the birds, moving about the tower.
The Queen looked at him. She implored him with her eyes. 'We don't have to do this,' she said. 'It doesn't have to be this way.'
The Arcadian shook his head no.
Hicks tensed at the wheel of the rack.
'Please,' said Victoria.
Then, the Arcadian tensed, sniffing the air, craning his head to look upwards.
The ravens in the tower were silent.
And all hell broke loose.
XXXVII
High above them was a sound.
An explosion.
Glass raining down on them.
Victoria, twisting away, her hands to her face, protecting her eyes, heard a thwump-thwump sound, something dropping to the ground around them. Bags of something. She smelt paraffin.
'Your Majesty,' shouted Maggie, and Victoria, bent over, saw the Demon Hunter running, glass showering down upon her. At the same time there was the noise of something unfurling and suddenly all around them were ropes, dropping from above. Then another noise, a zipping sound.
'Arcadians,' screamed Vasquez, taking aim into the roof, then ducking as the bags that had been dropped burst into flames.
Victoria rolled to safety, scrambling to her feet and drawing the katana.
Feet apart. Watch your stance.
The other members of the Protektorate had done the same, all diving away from the flames.
In the middle of the floor, the paraffin bags were alight, forming a dense circle of fire, within which hung the ropes, like tendrils. As she watched, wolves were abseiling down them, descending head first, then flipping to land on their feet and fanning out to meet the Protektors in battle.
Those that avoided Vasquez's arrows, that is, which zinged overhead, bodies thumping to the floor before one of the raiders found Vasquez and she was forced to sheath her bow and draw her sword, fighting at close quarters now, the wolves pushing the Protektors further out, away from the blazing circle.
Inside which was the rack.
Victoria saw the Arcadian tied to it, struggling, desperate to escape. Instantly he transformed from man to wolf but still could not escape its bonds. Its eyes were distended and bloodshot; it knew death was close, and it let out a howl, to which the other Arcadians responded, so that for a moment the noise in the tower was deafening.
Then one of the assassins turned to the prisoner, its claws raised ready to strike, teeth bared, snarling.
'Your Majesty,' came the cry from behind her-Vasquez, who had found space to use her bow-and Victoria threw herself to the side.
The raider's claws flashed, but it was keeling over, an arrow in its back. The Arcadian on the rack, granted a reprieve, redoubled its efforts to free itself, when suddenly more cable was dropping, more invaders descending. A rope that hung in front of the prisoner jerked and pulled and then there was another wolf, descending head first, holding on with its hind paws. In its front paws it aimed a pistol, the prisoner in its sights.
Victoria had seen the line tug and tweak and had anticipated what was going to happen. She flung herself forward, crossing the fiery barrier created by the paraffin bags and thumping into the rack platform shoulder first, shoving it out of the way, just as...
Crack.
The pistol discharged, the bullet thumping into the far wall. The prisoner was screaming as the platform rolled backwards fast, travelling to the rim of the fiery circle, flames licking at the wood.
Victoria controlled her forward roll, coming to her feet, ducking her head to see the abseiling Arcadian, still upside down, struggling to reload his pistol for a second shot at the prisoner. She sprang sideways, slashing out with the katana and cutting the rope, the Arcadian dropping in a heap to the ground, and in a flash she was upon it, her boot to its chest, striking downwards with the sword and spearing it.
She heard her own battle cry as she executed the wolf; the whole move, pure instinct.
Meanwhile the other Protektorate were in combat, battling around and through the flames. Vasquez had again drawn her sword and was trading blows with one of the raiders; Maggie and two more were dancing and ducking, Maggie's sword flashing, sparks flying as it met their claws.
'Run,' she screamed to Melbourne, 'run for the guards!'
But as the Prime Minister made a dash for the door, one of those wolves attacking Maggie Brown was able to strike out, sending him sprawling to the floor, where he lay, unmoving.
Another, meanwhile, had found Hicks, and as the other battles raged around them, the two of them warily skirting one another, moving away from the circle of fire. Hicks had recognised this one from their encounter on the wagonette. The Arcadian had got the better of him that time. Not again.
'You remember me,' said Hicks.
The Arcadian grinned. 'Ah,' it snarled, 'it was your friend, wasn't it, that I ate in the maze?'
'My best friend.' Hicks shot forward, going into a crouch and thrusting with his sword, but the wolf parried and there was a great clash of steel against the talons of the Arcadian. For a second the wolf was exposed and Hicks' weapon struck, grazing the flank of the beast, which ducked and twisted, its paw going to the wound.
It brought the paw, dripping with blood, to its mouth, its tongue flicking to the droplets of blood.
'I ate his insides,' it told Hicks, smiling. 'He was still alive while I ate him.'
Hicks shouted in anger, came forward again, swinging with the sword, only now it was he who exposed himself and the wolf moved inside.
Striking with its claws. Into the chest of Hicks.
'Hicks,' screamed Maggie Brown, seeing the Protektor hit. One of the two wolves with whom she had been duelling lay dead, and the other was to follow shortly, but in that instant her attention was diverted and her assailant was able to land a blow, which sent her flying back, her head bouncing off the stone floor. Vasquez, meanwhile was being pushed back towards the ring of fire, the flames licking at her back. Her sword skills were lacking; Brown was always telling her, 'practise, girl, practise,' and oh how she wished she'd listened. Before her the wolf's claws whirled and flashed. She grunted and gasped, trying to hold it off, feeling the heat at her back.
Hicks moaning, sinking to the ground. The Arcadian, moving over him.
Lifting his chin.
Slashing his throat.
'Hicks,' screamed Maggie Brown, seeing the Protektor's neck fountaining blood, his hands at it as he fell face forward to the stone, legs kicking, blood spraying. She leapt to her feet, slicing horizontally with the sword and swiping the advancing Arcadian's legs from beneath it. It screamed in agony, legs buckling and dumping it to the floor where it lay, Maggie jumping across it, chopping backwards with her broadsword as she did so, the wolf's howl of pain cut short as its head came free of his neck.
Not that Maggie saw, for she was already racing across the floor to the lead Arcadian, sword swinging.
They came together. A second Arcadian joined the fray and once again she fought two opponents, but fury lent her the edge, she knew, and she thought of John Brown telling her, Use that fury, Maggie-use it against them, never let them use it against you. She bent and swept up Hicks' sword, one in each hand now.
Block and parry. Block and parry.
Over towards the centre of the room Victoria was doing battle with another of the invaders that came at her claws out. She darted around it, but it was fast and came at her again, she only just managing to ward it off with the katana. She felt something at her back, when the wolf shot forward, with a fearsome howl.
Victoria moved but the wolf checked its progress, not to be fooled
by the Queen's feint.
Which was just as she'd planned. For she knew what it was that she had felt at her back. It was the iron maiden, and as she dodged, she pulled the door of it open, simultaneously using it as a shield and weapon.
The wolf hit it with a yell, impaling itself on the spikes with a scream, then kicking uselessly as Victoria heaved the door shut, blood already dripping thickly from the inside of the torture device, as though strained through a colander.
Meanwhile, the Arcadian fighting Vasquez landed a blow, drawing blood from her face, making her scream and sending her flying backwards.
The Queen saw. 'Vasquez.' And just as the archer dropped back into the flames, Victoria snatched at her, grasping her around the waist, pulling her to safety and at the same time kicking out high and catching the advancing Arcadian on the chin, knocking it off balance and giving her and Vasquez a moment's breathing space. Then, as Vasquez knelt, her hands at her bleeding face, the Arcadian leapt through the flames and into the centre of the circle, its paws raised and ready to spear the archer.
It met the Queen's katana instead and had a second's moment of sick realisation and horror as it slid down the steel, leaving a red slick on the metal.
Victoria didn't pause, dashing over to the flaming rack on which the prisoner still struggled, howling and terrified of being roasted alive. Now, though, was another danger. An Arcadian, moving towards it.
Victoria reached the platform first, coming to it from behind and with a wrench had it moving, jumping aboard and directing it into the path of the wolf. The sudden mass of the rack bearing down upon it, the beast was caught by surprise, had time only to let out a howl of shock and throw up its arms. Then it disappeared beneath the wheels of the rack, howling in pain, the platform thumping over it, and Victoria rotating and sweeping downwards with the katana, delivering the coup de grace.
More ropes dropped from the ceiling.
'Vasquez, above,' warned Victoria, but the archer was ahead of her and was on one knee, her bow pointing towards the rafters, letting off two arrows in quick succession, a body thumping to the ground beside her. She notched another, saw a second wolf in her sights, coming down the line fast-pointing a pistol at her.