The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 12: In Titansgrave, Part 3

*

There were worse interrogation cells in Titansgrave, Ammas knew. The ones in the deepest dungeons, down near the reeking chasm that gave the ancient fortress its name, were a lot worse. He knew, for he had visited a few of them -- not as a prisoner, but as a consultant assisting the Argent Brand. Only the worst murderers, rapists, and suspected supernatural entities merited that sort of treatment. By comparison, Ammas's current lodgings were positively cozy. This was the sort of cell used for lesser criminals, or those who had some sort of inside connection to the Argent Council. Apparently Ammas had been accorded the same status, as he found himself not only in a clean and illuminated cell but no longer wearing shackles. His wrists still ached faintly. Through the ragged hole in his robes a fresh bandage was visible. An Argent Brand physic had doctored his wound shortly after he'd arrived, but since then he'd been left alone.

The table was a solid piece of wood more like a butcher block, and appeared to be built right into the stone floor. Flanking it was a pair of decidedly shabby chairs, chained to a rail that ran the length of the wall where it met the flagstone floor. That rail made sitting against the wall intolerable. So Ammas slumped down in one of the chairs as far as he could, tilting his hat down over his face. That was how Mielle Thalia found him some time later, snoring peacefully.

The delicious spice of steeping seretto tea wakened him. Blearily he yawned, his feet stamping on the floor, and doffed his hat, running his fingers through his crumpled hair. The Captain-Commander had discarded her greatcoat and was carrying a simple tray bearing a kettle and two chipped cups. The black, brass-buttoned uniform usually concealed by her coat was no less intimidating, and she still bore her quirt and pepperbox. 

A smile creased his lips, which was returned thinly. "I didn't know you liked this stuff too, Mielle." Ammas poured himself a cup as the Captain seated herself across from him.

"Anyone who needs to stay awake likes it. And I heard you were practically unconscious when they opened your cart downstairs."

"A vile slander. I was meditating."

"Naturally," replied Mielle coolly, watching Ammas as he sipped his tea. After a fortifying taste of her own, she leaned forward. "So. Talk."

"I'm going to need a little more guidance than that, Mielle."

"I have a dead whore and a live werewolf running around this city. My patrols are still searching for him, or them, but you know as well as I do that when whatever they had planned for you -- or your client -- went awry, he melted back into a human shape and disappeared into the crowd. He could be anyone, even one of my own guardsmen."

"Or guardswoman," Ammas offered.

"That occurred to me as well. Tell me what you know about this."

Ammas took a long sip of his tea, studying Mielle Thalia. He had assisted her on several occasions since her commission three years before -- many more than her predecessor had seen fit to consult him about -- and he usually enjoyed their partnerships. But never had it touched a client of his so intimately, and he was wary. Still, it was her responsibility to protect this city, and if he could help her do so, he would. Oaths he had sworn long ago demanded it. 

"There is, I believe, an organized group of werewolves in some way connected to Gallowsport. I do not know how many, nor could I guess. Larger than five, I suppose, not including the two who were slain tonight. Their strain of the blood sickness is an unusual one, and not one I can easily treat. Beyond that, I really can't say."

"Other than that they want your client."

"I do not believe I said that, Mielle."

"You didn't have to. I don't believe for a moment they're interested in you, or that their choosing to attack you the same night she came to you is a coincidence."