Chapter Nineteen

The silence was broken by harsh screams. They echoed in from another cell, somehow piercing through the thick metal door to mine. I did my best to ignore them, just as I had been doing my best not to think about the weapons on the wall in front of me. I had opened my eyes only once since the director had left, to glance quickly around for any possible means of escape that I hadn't seen the first time. There was nothing.

However, despite the screaming and the probably unavoidable torture, I felt calm, almost resigned to what was going to happen. I had a simple plan: tell the director everything I could without putting Tannix under any suspicion. If he was going to get me out, he needed people to trust him.

The amount of trust I was piling on Tannix was frightening. I couldn't remember the last time I'd relied so much on another person. This was the first time I'd been in a situation where there was no hope of me getting out without help, and all I could do was try to survive long enough for help to come.

I wasn't sure how much time passed before my door unlocked. I opened my eyes to see what was happening, managing not to look at the weapons. Two guards walked in, one carrying a small table and one a chair, both of which were placed in front of me. The two guards returned to the door as the director walked in. He was carrying a pile of paper, which he put on the table before taking a seat. The door was shut, and the room went silent as we looked at each other.

Finally, he picked up a piece of paper from the top of the little pile and cleared his throat before he read aloud. "Lord West Draulin's son, Tandrix, seems to have picked up a companion. I suppose it was only a matter of time, given his position, before he would draw the lesser nobles towards him. There is something about this boy, however, which I find suspicious. First and foremost, I do not recognize him. Granted, I have only been with these boys for a week, and I have yet to get to know all of them. It is entirely possible that I simply did not notice him before he joined Tandrix. I will look into it further."

The calmness I'd been feeling seemed to break apart piece by piece with every word. I barely managed to hold back the panic when I realized what the director was reading. He paused to look up at me, his expression confident, as if he knew I would quickly crumble away. He remained like that for a moment, giving me a chance to speak. When I didn't, he turned back to his piece of paper.

"I overheard Lord Tandrix and the boy speaking today, and the boy referred to himself as Finn. I will look into my records for any sign of him." The director paused to flip the page over. "I had the boys practice climbing walls today, and I have realized what it is that unnerves me about this Finn. His Native appearance can easily be attributed to a Native parent, which is common enough among the lesser lords. However, I spoke to him after observing him climb to a roof with no hesitation along the way. He speaks with a distinct Native accent, and particularly he sounds like a Native from the city. During the noon meal I heard him say "Telt," which is a term used mostly by lower class Natives, rarely by upper class Natives, and never by Teltans."

I noticed that I was biting my lip only when I tasted blood. Malte had figured me out so much earlier than I'd thought, but aside from that, I knew the account was condemning. I had been hoping to claim to be an exploring thief who accidentally came across a fight. There was no way the director would believe that now. My mind raced, trying to figure out a way to explain it all away.

"I am planning to take Lord Tandrix and Finn on a trip to the lower city today, to gauge the boy's reaction and mannerisms. I have concluded that he snuck into our headquarters and somehow managed to blend in without anybody noticing. This can be partially explained by his friendship with Tandrix, since many of us, myself included, are hesitant to upset the young lord. I do not believe Tandrix has any idea that his friend does not belong in the Order. The only thing my theory does not explain is the boy's Order ring." The director paused and glanced up to look at my hands. I tensed, then remembered that Tannix had it. "While in the lower city today," he continued, "I noticed that Finn seemed unusually comfortable with the surroundings. Most young lords are confused and mildly disgusted when they see firsthand the way the Natives live. He told me that his name is Finagale, and that he is from a farming villa near Kitsi. It is possible, but unlikely."

The director put down the piece of paper to pick up a second one. "I attempted to conduct an interview with Finagale today. He kept to his story of being from near Kitsi, and claimed to have a Native mother, which he used to explain away his name, accent, and physical appearance. I was interrupted by Lord Nata Co. He reported to me that he believed a young thief had taken his Order ring weeks before, during his last trip to the capital. I called the alarm instantly, but unfortunately, after a search of the area, it was clear that the thief had escaped."

The director put down the piece of paper. He leaned forward in his chair and rested his forearms on his knees. I avoided his gaze, and since I didn't want to look at the weapons, that meant I had to stare at the ground. The silence drew out until he shifted and his chair creaked. I glanced up involuntarily.

"Tell me, boy. What is your name?"

There was no point in lying. "Finagale."

"Ah." The director leaned back in his chair. "So, four years ago you managed to get into the headquarters and remain there for about a week. You befriended Lord Tandrix. Now, more recently, you left a note hinting to an attempt on the king's life in my office. Then, during an attack on the same Lord Tandrix, he arrested you. Did he decide that he didn't want any part of the assassination?"

"No," I replied sharply, my desire to protect Tannix completely overruling the need to protect myself.

"No? So tell me what happened."

"I... I want food," I replied. "Then I'll tell you." The delay would give me some time to put together a story, at least.

The director chuckled. "You are in no position to bargain. I could just as easily torture the information out of you."

"Of course." I was glad to notice that the tremor had left my voice. "Of course you could, sir. But certainly you know that under torture, I'll just tell you what I think you want to hear so you'll stop hurting me. And that information might not be accurate. However, sir, if you would consent to have food brought, I will be more than willing to tell you what you want to know."

"Lord Malte warned me that you are an adept speaker when cornered." The director was smiling, as if I amused him. I couldn't decide whether that was good for me or not. After a moment's consideration, he looked to the guards by the door. "One of you get some food and water. You," he added, turning to me, "are going to start your story."

I knew I couldn't push for more time, and I hadn't been expecting the food at all, so I nodded. "Yes sir, of course." I hesitated though, until one of the guards had left the room. As soon as the door closed, I launched into my story before the director could get annoyed. "Yes, I stole Lord Co's ring, but I took it because I'm a poor thief. I needed it for money. I had no idea it was important. I climbed over the wall completely by accident while trying to escape from some guards. I arrived during some sort of wrestling practice, where Lord Tandrix attacked me. I was wearing the ring at the time; he saw it and assumed I was part of the Order. I made up lies to protect myself, and I fully intended to run the first chance I got, but I had to go into the building with him to avoid suspicion. I decided to wait out the night and leave the next morning, but then I heard about a breakfast. Sir, when someone grows up on the streets, money and food became very important. I decided to risk being caught to get some food. I found Lord Tandrix and stayed with him because I knew who he was."

As if summoned by my mention of food, the guards returned carrying a tray. I stopped talking, my eyes drawn to the tray. It held a jug of water and some pieces of bread. Not in any way a fulfilling meal, but I'd long ago learned not to be choosy. It was placed on my lap, and the director reached towards me to undo the strap on my left wrist. I ate the bread quickly, and managed to drink half of the water before the jug was taken from my hand.

"Keep talking," the director said, placing the jug on the table beside him.

"So yes, we became friends, but he never knew who I was. When Lord Malte discovered who I was, I realized that the food was no longer worth the risk and I ran. I didn't even think about the Order for fours years, until I stole the letter from some men in the upper city. I can't read, but judging from the look of the letter, I thought it might be important. I decided to give it to someone who would know what to do with it, if it did turn out to be useful. I knew I could get in and out of the Order's grounds, seeing as I'd done it before, so I decided to leave it with you. I knew where your office was because Tandrix pointed out the window four years ago, and I have a good memory for locations."

He handed the jug back to me. This time I took my time drinking, trying to buy myself some more time before I had to explain the arrest. I finished it sooner than I hoped, and reluctantly passed it over. He took it and looked at me expectantly.

"Yesterday, I was desperate to get some food, and I decided to try to sneak back into the Order's building. I climbed up the wall out of sight of the guards, like I had before, but this time I noticed Lord Tandrix standing there. Well, I thought it was him, so I moved a bit closer to get a better look. That was when he was attacked. One man fell over the edge, and then he stabbed the other one. He noticed me, and he attacked me before realizing I didn't have any weapons. He did something to my wrist, but aside from that, I wasn't hurt. I don't think he recognized me."

"So it was all a coincidence?" the director asked.

I nodded. "Yes, sir. A very unfortunate coincidence."

"Well, that is a huge relief," he said thoughtfully. "I would hate to think that Lord Tandrix was involved in any sort of assassination attempt."

"He isn't, sir," I agreed, starting to feel more at ease.

"Good, good." The director motioned to one of his guards, and got to his feet. One of the large men walked over. I was still watching the director, so I didn't realize what was happening until the guard had grabbed my left arm and strapped it back to the chair. Alarm suddenly replaced the relief. The director looked down at me. "I truly am glad to know that Lord Tandrix is not involved. Although I find it odd that you are so certain of that fact, when you have not spoken to him in four years. If I am to take you at your word, the only way you could know he is not involved is if you know who is." He paused, probably to let my mind process what he was saying. "And you will tell me."

I shook my head, but I couldn't think of anything to say. He smiled at me, and I knew that it was not a good thing that he found me amusing. He clasped his hands behind his back and strolled over to the wall of weapons. My eyes followed, although I didn't want to watch. The guards were working together to move something into the room. I looked over at them and regretted it. It was a brazier, a metal pot on legs, which was filled with coals. They placed it near the wall and used a torch to light the coals.

"I believe you are a smart boy," said the director, drawing my attention away from the brazier. He had picked up an iron rod, the end of which twisted into a shape I couldn't make out. He turned it in his fingers and walked slowly towards the brazier. "You know what this is, correct?"

I nodded slowly.

"Good." The branding iron clanged against the metal as he shoved it into the fire. "Unfortunately, that will take some time to be ready for use. I think for now I might settle for a knife." He wandered back over to the wall and lightly ran his hand over a few of the knives' handles before picking one no longer than his hand. "This is one of my favourites," he said. He returned to his chair, but moved it a little closer to me before sitting down. "Let me see, which wrist was it that Lord Tandrix injured?"

He slid the blade of the knife up under my left sleeve. I flinched at the touch of the cold metal, but tried not to give him any more of a reaction. He used the blade to cut up through the fabric, exposing my forearm. My bracelet came into view, and the director thoughtfully ran his finger over it. "What is this?"

"I don't know where it came from," I said quickly. "Someone was selling it in the market and I stole it. I'm just a thief, sir, I don't know anything about the letter..."

The director cut me off by pressing the blade against my skin, though not quite hard enough to draw blood. Then he reached over to my other wrist and started the same process of cutting back my sleeve, revealing my rough bandaging. With a smile, he cut it away. "This is the one." Underneath the strips of cloth, my wrist was swollen and discoloured. The director prodded at it with his fingers. "It feels broken. It must hurt to have it strapped to the chair."

"No," I lied uselessly, shaking my head slightly. "It's fine now."

He smirked. "Of course it is." Then to the guards, "Is it ready?" Without looking over, I could tell that the guards had nodded because his smile grew. Turning his attention back to my left arm, he ran his knife up under the sleeve up to my shoulder to give himself an easy target for the iron.

As he walked over to the brazier, I closed my eyes again and tried to collect myself. I tried to slow my panicked breathing. At least my story was almost entirely true, it would be easier to remember than if I had made the whole thing up. I ran it over in my head quickly, especially the last part about the letter. That was the part he would ask about. I would keep insisting that I knew nothing about it, and maybe he would believe me, but in the back of my mind, I knew he was unlikely to stop until I'd told him exactly what he wanted to hear, even if it was far from the truth.

I was so concentrated on calming myself that the sensation of heat on my shoulder caught me off guard. I tensed and tried to shy away from it, but the chair kept me still. The iron was not yet touching my skin but it was very, very close. The chair in front of me creaked.

"What do you know about this letter?"

I had to pause before answering, to once again rein in my thoughts. Deliberately, I replied, "Nothing." I kept my eyes closed, knowing that he would love to see the terror in them. With them closed, I could at least keep myself under some control.

"So you do not know what the letter said?"

I shook my head. "No, sir. Aside from what you've said about an assassination attempt, which I didn't even know before you told me." I hoped I sounded convincing.

"So you did not read it before delivering it to me?"

"I can't read," I said it slowly, to stress the fact. Then I couldn't help myself. "Please get that away from my arm."

The director made an affirmative noise, but instead of taking away the iron liked I'd hoped, the guard moved it so that I could feel the heat against my cheek. Alarmed, I turned my head away, but a strong hand forced me to face forward again. The brand was so close I felt like my skin must have been burning even without direct contact. I was afraid to move my head in case I accidentally touched it.

"Do you wish you revise your statement?" the director asked.

My hesitation was for an entirely new reason. "I don't know what that means."

He sighed. "Revise. Change. Correct. So?"

"My statement is as correct as it can be, sir. There's nothing to change."

"Open your eyes."

I did what I was told only because I was worried about the iron touching my face. The director picked up one of the papers he had been reading earlier, which he held up in front of my face. I could recognize a few of the shapes. In a couple places, I thought I could see my name, and maybe Tannix's, but the rest was complete nonsense. I shook my head slightly.

The director lowered the parchment. "Messengers often cannot read," he said, putting it back on the little table. "The information they are carrying is sometimes too valuable to risk a messenger reading it." He gestured to his guard, and to my relief the brand was moved back slightly. It was still dangerously close, but at least my cheek didn't feel like it would start to melt off. "So," he continued. "Who gave you the letter?"

"I stole it."

"From whom?"

"I don't know," I said. "It was two men in the upper city. They looked wealthy so I decided to check their pockets."

"Do you go to the upper city often?"

I almost shrugged. "I guess so. More than other thieves."

"Why is that?"

"There isn't much to take in the lower city," I said. "And there are many thieves looking to take things. It's worth the risk."

"I am not surprised a thief would get drawn into this." The director sounded disappointed. "If the result is getting rid of the king and starting a civil war that might allow your people to regain control, being a messenger must be worth the risk."

"No," I said. "The king is mine as much as he is yours. I'm as loyal to him as I can be. I don't hate every Telt on principle, you know."

The director glanced at the guard. The brand was taken away from my cheek, but before I even had a chance to feel better, pain burst through my shoulder. I instinctively tried to jerk away from it, and clenched my jaw so that I wouldn't make any noise. I knew better than to put on a show. When the brand was drawn away, my whole arm felt like it was on fire. My shoulder was almost numb, but pain radiated away from it like flickering flames. I could almost imagine fire running down my arm and across my shoulder to my neck. Jarring my broken wrist against the bonds caused an entirely different feeling to shoot up my right arm. A sharp pain to compete with the burning.

It took me a moment to realize that the director was talking to me. Nothing seemed to exist but the pain. His words finally started to cut through the fuzziness. I tried to listen to him, but it was hard to fit any of the words together into sentences that made sense. It all seemed jumbled. After some concentration, I made out one statement that grabbed my attention.

"Leave him. He needs some time to himself to think about how much he would like to avoid being branded a second time."

As he walked towards the door, I began to lose control over the fuzziness that was fighting against my thoughts, then the fuzziness turned to blackness and took over.