The Outcast (Summoner #4)(46)

“Just give me a few minutes with him,” Rotter growled. He was holding the cleaver from the other rebel, twirling it in his hand. Arcturus gulped—surprised at the sudden change in the happy-go-lucky soldier.

“I don’t think…,” Edmund began, but Sergeant Caulder held up a hand.

“Ask the other one first,” Sergeant Caulder said, his voice low and dangerous. “Maybe he’ll be more obliging.”

He left the spitting rebel wriggling on the ground and snatched the other trussed-up captive’s feet.

“What do you reckon, Rotter?” Sergeant Caulder asked. “Do you reckon he’ll talk?”

“Oh, he’ll talk,” Rotter said, licking the back of the cleaver with an evil look in his eye. “They always do.…”

With that, the pair dragged the other rebel into the darkness of the tunnel, rolling him down until all Arcturus could hear was the frantic moaning from their captive, his attempted screams muffled by the gag.

“Dominic … Dominic!” the rebel near Arcturus yelled. “Leave ’im alone, you monsters.”

“Let’s take this off,” Arcturus heard Rotter say.

“Help me!” bellowed a voice. “Hel—”

The voice was cut short. Then … a bloodcurdling scream, one of a man suffering unimaginable pain. It tore at Arcturus’s heart, but he could not bring himself to put a stop to it.

“Stop,” Elaine cried. “Stop it!”

“I say, that’s enough now,” Edmund called out.

But they went on. Behind him, Arcturus heard Zacharias retch, the sound of liquid splattering on the stone. The acrid stench of vomit filled the air.

“Who do you work for?” Sergeant Caulder barked.

Another scream, higher pitched than the last. It went on and on, so long that Arcturus thought the rebel’s lungs would burst.

“Give him some more encouragement,” Sergeant Caulder yelled. “Again!”

But there were no more screams now, just a raw, throaty sobbing, punctuated by the occasional animal yelp of pain.

Arcturus turned to look at Edmund; the boy seemed frozen in place, his face white as a sheet in the ethereal blue glow of the wyrdlights.

“He’s not going to talk,” Sergeant Caulder said. “Put him out of his misery.”

Arcturus heard a final, desperate yell … that swiftly devolved into a terrible, spluttering gurgle. Finally, silence reigned once more, but for the dripping of the water and the horrified breathing of the nobles.

He felt sick. He had respected the two soldiers. But … they were monsters. Worse than monsters—they seemed to enjoy the torture they had inflicted upon the poor man.

Sergeant Caulder reappeared, climbing back out of the darkness. There was blood on his hands, and even a stain on his forehead where he had gone to wipe his brow. He tugged the red-stained cleaver from his belt, and put it against the remaining rebel’s throat.

“What’s your name?” Sergeant Caulder said, hunkering down beside the man.

“Tim,” the rebel stuttered, his eyes glazed over with fear.

“Who are you?”

“I … nobody. I’m just a shoemaker. I went to a few meetins, down the pub. Complainin’ about the king and the like. His damned taxes were killin’ me business, ye know? They said to wear a black hood, come by one night, armed. I thought it was gonna be another riot. But then they put us on a bunch o’ carriages, said we were gonna change things. I didn’t have anythin’ to lose.…”

Arcturus’s heart twisted. This rebel was no soldier. He was just a desperate man, pushed to breaking point.

“Who’s ‘they’?” Sergeant Caulder snarled, digging in the edge of the blade.

“I don’t know, I swear it,” Tim cried, trying to squirm away. “They always hid their faces. But they came up from the south, I saw ’em arrive one night.”

Vocans. Vocans was to the south. Arcturus knew for sure then. Crawley was involved.

“That doesn’t help us,” Sergeant Caulder growled. “Give me something useful.”

“They’re after the common boy!” Tim said frantically, his eyes rolling into the back of his head with terror. “Him and Prince Harold. The rest of you were just a bonus.”

Cold fear pooled in the base of Arcturus’s stomach, trickling down from his spine.

“I’m a nobody,” he whispered. “What could they want with me?”

But Tim had no answers for him. He had passed out from sheer fright, his head lolling to the side. This time, Sergeant Caulder didn’t try to prod him awake. Instead, he sighed and got to his feet.

“All right, you can come back now, Rotter,” the sergeant called.

“About bloody time,” Rotter replied from the darkness. There was a grunt of exertion; then Rotter emerged from the dark incline, dragging Dominic’s body with him.

But … the body was moving. Struggling in fact, with Rotter’s hand clamped firmly over Dominic’s mouth. At the sight of the unconscious Tim, Rotter released his grip, and the rebel unleashed a tirade of curses.

“Better make use of that gag again, eh, Rotter?” Sergeant Caulder grinned.

“Blimey,” Elaine said, amazed at the endless string of swear words emanating from the rebel’s mouth.