The Great Bear: The Adarna chronicles - Book 3 (4 page)

“What does it matter?”

“I will ask you again.” Ashferon glanced towards Tituss. “How much did he pay you?”

Guttel chewed his lip then shrugged fractionally and blew air out of his mouth. “Twenty gold imperials.”

“That’s a lot...”

“He wanted to pay less.” Guttel snorted. “I asked him for more ’cause I don’t like working for mad men... and believe me, that man is off his nut.”

Ashferon began to pace the carpet again. “Indeed. He is quite the enigma; I would truly love to meet him. Why did he want you to follow the general?”

“Don’t know. I don’t ask questions.”

“One last time.” Ashferon wagged a finger. “Don’t make me hand you over to Tituss. Why did he want you to follow General Martius?”

Guttel sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t know... He babbled something about knowing where the gods were or denying the gods or something. The man’s a loon. He thinks the gods have returned to earth or some such nonsense.”

“Now, what else?” Ashferon’s feet punctuated his words as they swooshed through the carpet. “What else did he ask you to do?”

“He wanted me to report on the general’s whereabouts. Who he visited, what his routine was.”

“So that he could plan an attack on the general?”

Guttel snorted. “From what I saw, he did attack the general.”

Ashferon pointed a finger at the hapless thief. “At the townhouse?”

“What? Townhouse? No, at the Inn on the Green.”

“Liar!” Martius spat the word.

Ashferon inclined his head and glared. “Martius, please.” He wagged an index finger in admonishment.

Patronising fool.
Villius took an involuntary step forward.
How dare he speak to the general like that?
He felt the bulk of Tituss behind him and promptly ceased his advance. He did not look behind, but he felt certain that Tituss had mirrored his movement. It was difficult to tell for sure though. The man was so damned stealthy.

Martius closed his eyes and exhaled slowly through is nose. When his eyes opened again, he seemed to have regained some of his characteristic composure. “Apologies,” he whispered.
 

“What about the townhouse?” Ashferon returned his attention to Guttel.

“What townhouse?”

Ashferon sighed and ran his fingers over his chin. “Please do not play the innocent. The
general’s
townhouse.”

“What about it?” Guttel frowned. “What’re you talking about?”

“Now, now, you really shouldn’t play games with me. I will ask you
one
more time.” Ashferon raised a finger to signify the number. “What about the townhouse? You were paid to attack it, weren’t you?”

“What?” Guttel shook his head. “What in the pits of hell are you talking about?” He shook his body as if trying to escape one last time. “Marek Tyll attacked the general at the
Inn on the Green
. Or so I heard, anyway, I was gone by then. Look…” He turned an earnest gaze towards Martius. “It got a bit out of hand, alright? It was just meant to be a surveillance job, that’s all. I’m sorry you were attacked at the inn, but I
swear
I had nothing to do with it.”

He’s telling the truth.
Villius was certain of it.
He doesn’t know anything
.
Surely they can see it too?
 

Ashferon turned to Martius. There seemed to be an unspoken question in his gaze, a request for assent.

Martius sighed and clenched his fists at his sides, then, slowly and deliberately, he nodded.

“We know that you planned the attack.” Ashferon could have been having a conversation with his mother his tone was so mild. “We just want to know why, and who paid for it. We can only assume it was the preacher, Tyll. You will tell us where he is.”

“Are you off your bobkin?” Guttel’s voice was high pitched with stress and fear. “I told you, I don’t know anything about any of that, and I don’t know where Tyll is either. Don’t care if I never see the crazy fool again.”

Ashferon pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and let out a slow sigh. “Those are your final words?”

Guttel strained against the ropes that bound him. “I am telling you the
truth
!” he spat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“So be it.” Ashferon stepped back. “Tituss.” He gestured the giant forward.

“What?” Guttel’s eyes grew wide.

Tituss crossed the space between them in the blink of an eye.

“No!” Guttel shook his chair, its legs juddered back against the carpet.

Abruptly Tituss smacked an open hand across Guttel’s head. The sound, a dull crack, sent a shockwave down Villius’s spine.
 

Guttel, along with the chair he was tied to, fell sideways to the floor, but Tituss quickly swept man and chair up and, in one smooth motion, set them upright again, putting the chair down gently, as if it cradled a precious child rather than a common thief.

Guttel’s head hung at an impossible angle. The whites of his eyes showed clear, making him look like a graveyard ghoul. His tongue lolled from the side of his mouth.
 

Villius stood rooted to the spot. He fought to calm himself but his chest heaved as if from exertion. This was torture. “Sir…” The word came out as a ragged gasp. Honourable men did not partake in torture. Gentlemen did not lower themselves to such acts.

Martius ignored him or did not hear. His attention fixed entirely on the tableau before him, his obsidian eyes glinted dangerously in the lamplight.
 

After what felt like an age, Guttel coughed and slowly raised his head. His eyes were bleary and he squinted as if fighting to focus.

“I will ask you again, Master Guttel. And remember, that was just a playful tap.” Ashferon reached out and laid a hand on Guttel’s shoulder like a father seeking to reassure a son. “What of the attack on the townhouse?”

Guttel hawked and spat bloody sputum to the carpet. “Don’t know nothing.” His words were slurred and slow.

“So be it. Time to apply some more pressure, I think. Tituss?”

The giant clamped a hand around Guttel’s throat. The man began gagging almost instantly. He juddered as if trying to free himself, but there was no escaping Tituss’s grip. Guttel’s whole body jerked as his face began to redden.

“Sir!” The word tore from Villius’s throat. “Sir you cannot do this!”

Martius ignored him.

“Sir, please, I beg you. Think about what you’re doing. This is torture. You will kill him. There is nothing to gain here. I think he is telling the truth.” He moved to stand before the general.
How could you allow this to happen?
“Sir, please, stop this!”

Martius focussed on him as if seeing him for the first time.

“No.”

“NO.” THE WORD HUNG in the air like an accusation. It hardened Martius’s resolve.

No
.
Ellasand will not wake.
 

No. Darcus is dead.
 

No. They tried to kill my children.
 

Guttel’s face was crimson now; his tongue protruded from his mouth, his eyes bulged in their sockets. His head rolled forward. Finally, Tituss released his grip and stepped back.

Guttel sagged down against his bonds. At first, he made no sound – his body simply juddering as if in shock – then he choked and, finally, coughed. His eyes shot open and he gulped in huge lungfuls of air, one after the other, before coughing once more. It was a dry and husky sound. It sounded like death.

“Sir.” Villius’s voice invaded his thoughts. “He is telling the truth. I am sure of it.”

It was strange. Villius always followed orders. He was the epitome of loyalty.
Why are you challenging me?
It would not have surprised Martius coming from Conlan – young and impetuous as he was – but Villius was cut from an entirely different, perhaps cleaner, cloth.

“You are a soldier, Villius.” His voice did not sound like his own.
Ellasand could die. Darcus is dead.
“Act like one.”

It seemed enough to calm the young proctor, as if the strictures of his training had slammed back into place. Villius winced as if he had been slapped, then stood to attention; his eyes stared into the middle distance. “Sir.” His face was red with embarrassment. Or anger.

“Now, are you ready to talk?” Ashferon asked Guttel, seemingly oblivious to the altercation behind him.

Martius was certain of one thing. Ashferon would get the answers they needed.
He is a man like no other.
There was something about Simeon Ashferon that Martius had perceived from their very first days together at the academy. Ashferon did not see people the same way that others did. It was as if there was something missing, a spark of compassion or empathy, perhaps, which had never lit in his brain. A brilliant man, that much was certain. Nevertheless, he was simultaneously more and less than a man. And he was capable of anything because of it.

Jhan Guttel threw his head back, his eyes blinked rapidly. His chest heaved as if his heart would burst from the stress. “Don’t know,” he gasped. “Please.”

Ashferon frowned; his eyes took on a hawkish cast. “You don’t want Tituss to get angry now, do you?” His tone was more serious than it had been, distant, as if he considered some deeper plan.

This is taking too long.
Impatience was not an emotion Martius was familiar with these days, but the emotion was like an old friend – he had been more than impetuous in his youth – and now he embraced that friend and drew from it. “I need to know.” He aimed the words at Ashferon rather than Guttel. “You told me you could find out who was behind all of this.”
Who hurt my wife?

“I told you I could get the truth.” Ashferon’s eyes narrowed. “I am very good at getting the truth.”

“Then get it!” Martius instantly regretted the words. Ashferon had been true to his word, true to his honour and the debt he owed, but he could walk out at any moment. He would not wilt before any onslaught. Martius knew and remembered that from their days at the academy.
You were the only real competition.
It felt conceited, perhaps, to think it but it was true nonetheless.

A slow sigh escaped Ashferon’s lips. He glanced at Villius – who maintained his stoic poise, still standing at attention as if the shock of tonight had turned him to stone – and seemed to truly notice him for the first time.

“Very well.” Ashferon replied. “Master Guttel. This really is becoming tiresome. Could you please tell us everything that you know about the attack on the townhouse?”

“You’re going to kill me.” Guttel’s voice was flat, as if he was dead already and his spirit simply animated his corpse. His face was blotchy and pale, a thick sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. He looked towards Villius, his eyes plaintive. “Please?” he begged.

Villius seemed to flinch and shrink slightly as if the weight of his noble conscience weighed down on him.

Sometimes ignoble actions are required for the greater good.
Martius had always known it was so, but for a man like Villius it would not be an easy idea to absorb.
 

“We would rather not kill you.” Ashferon shook his head. “It leaves such a mess. Now, tell us everything you know.”

“I told you.” Guttel’s voice cracked. “I d-don’t kn-now anything.” Martius thought he might have sobbed.

Ashferon turned his eyes to Martius. There was a question in his gaze, but it was one that Martius had already answered.
Why are you faltering?
“Do it,” he stated.
He knows. He has to know.

“Tituss.” Ashferon waved a lazy hand.

Tituss gripped Guttel’s throat again. He exerted so little effort – the act was so easily within his capacity – that he almost looked gentle.

“Sir.” Villius’s whisper seeped into Martius’s consciousness where a shout might not have. “This is torture. Remember what you said after the decimation.”

Decimation.
Fifty-one men poisoned and killed in the centre of Adarna. ‘It is no different to public torture!’ Martius had railed against the Emperor before the event. ‘We are not barbarians…’ But the Emperor had not listened. The men had died in the heart of the civilised world.

Now Ellasand would not wake. She might be dying because more men lacked the most basic of human emotions – empathy.
A leader must always behave with the utmost integrity if he is to expect others to do the same.
His own words rang hollow in his ears.

“Stop.” The word escaped. Martius’s head felt light. “Enough.”
What have I done?
He could not become the beast that he despised. He would not.

Slowly, his soul inched from the abyss, and as the distance grew a sudden pain blossomed in his heart.
Ellasand!
he wanted to scream. She might die, but she would never love a man with no compassion, no empathy, no humanity
.

Tituss released his grip.
 

Villius covered his mouth with a hand as if seeking to contain his relief.

Jhan Guttel slumped down, his breath reedy and weak. His legs trembled.

“He’s telling the truth, Martius,” said Ashferon. “I didn’t believe it at first but your proctor here is right. I should have seen it earlier.” He shook his head slowly. “I think we were both blinded in different ways here… you know I have always been fond of Ellasand.”
 

From anyone else it would have sounded like an admission of love or transgression. From Ashferon, it was simply a statement of respect. Ellasand had loved her occasional debates with the grand inquisitor – she always said she found him entertaining, although Martius could never understand why.
He is highly intelligent, but there is something missing.
Nevertheless, even Ashferon, for all that he seemed to lack some basic aspect of the human psyche, had guessed – had seen – what Martius could not.
 

Jhan Guttel was telling the truth.

What have I done?
As quickly as the thought struck him, another followed.
If Guttel
is
telling the truth, then more than one person is trying to kill me.
‘You have many enemies, Martius.’ Turbis’s old admonishment rang in his ears. ‘You must be careful…’