Tales of the Vangen: The Dead King of Danic (Book 3)

Chapter 31: Questions and Answers

They dumped the man unceremoniously in the chair before Libro, head wrapped up in a hood so you could only see the outlines of his face.

"Wouldn't believe where we found him," Cent said, grinning from ear to ear as he pulled the rope tight, securing their prisoner in place. "Bastard was picking at gold coins stuck between the stones in the larder. Can you believe it?"

"We killed his friends," Moss said, fingers working on a knot that would never break. "Had to use a pillowcase to shut him up. Very mouthy, this one."

"Good to know," Libro said as he took his own seat, a table placed neatly between them. "Take it off once he's secure. Would you?"

"Oh, he's secure all right." Cent leaned back, putting one foot on the chair as he pulled the rope hard, making it strain in protest. "Sure as any sailor worth his salt, I reckon."

Moss stood back to admire his work, smiling with self-satisfaction as if he were taking the time to enjoy the little things. Then he smacked the man hard across the head and ripped the hood off.

Libro sat back, his face expressionless, taking on the iron mask he'd seen Dux put on in memories past. Now it was his to command. "Evening. Or is it morning? I can never tell in this bloody country of yours. Too much bad weather."

"Where am I? What have you done to my crew?" The man looked around, pale withered flesh barely bruised from Moss's strike. As if he barely had any blood left to spare. "And just who the fark are you lot?"

Cent answered with a punch to the man's guts, the air whooshing out of him in a withered hiss.

The sour, stale smell of grave dust wafted over Libro, forcing him to lean back to keep himself from gagging. "You're in the tallest room of the tower. Your crew is dead. Moss and Cent here killed them. Who I am is irrelevant. What matters is you answering a couple of questions for me."

"Kiss my ass," the man roared, twisting desperately in his restraints, but the ropes barely budged. Worth their salt, indeed. "You think you can order me around? Who do you farking think you are?"

"Moss," Libro said. " Shut him up."

Without missing a beat the guardsman stepped forward and produced the hood once more. Instead of throwing it over the man's head, however, he jammed it into his mouth With one hand he wrenched his jaw open, and with the other pushed the bag all the way in till the bones clicked hard.

"There, that's better," Libro said. "Now we can talk like truly civilized men. I can do all the talking, and you can do all the listening. How does that sound?"

He cleared his throat as the man's choked threats slowly simmered down.

"Now, I need you to understand something before we begin." Libro held his hand out, and Cent dropped a hammer into his awaiting palm. "I'm in a bit of a hurry. I need to know things, very badly you see, and you happen to know them. I'm going to give you this one chance for us to talk it out like a couple of good fellows, but if you give me even one reason to think otherwise." And he lifted up his arm, a solid block of dull iron gleaming in the half-light.

"I will have to do awful things to you with this hammer," Libro said. "Moss, remove his gag."

The guardsman obeyed, a flinty look in his eye as he reached down and ripped the wadded cloth from the man's aching craw. There was a lot of coughing at first, a lot of spluttering, a lot of heavy breathing and hard looks. The man weighed his options, looking between the three of him, and hopefully coming up to the right conclusion.

"Go fark yourselves," he snarled.

"Give me one of his hands," Libro said.

Cent wasted no time unspooling one of the knots, ripping the man's arm up and slapping it onto the table, fingers spread taught against the wood. Most people started cursing and pleading for their lives around that time, but the man was resignedly calm, watching on with morbid curiosity.