Jimmy’s head snapped backward as the soldier stepped through the blow. Jimmy’s eyes watered from the pain and his vision turned red for a moment. His knees wobbled and he felt himself start to go, but the other two guards who held him kept him upright.
“All right,” said the interrogator, speaking the King’s Tongue with a very heavy accent. “Again.” He paused. “Let’s start again. Why were you sneaking into Krondor?”
Malar was held by another two soldiers. His nose bled and his right eye was puffy, as he had stood his turn at interrogation. Jimmy was now very pleased that he and Dash had told him nothing.
Jimmy shook his head to clear it, and said, “I told you. I’m a mercenary from the East, and this is my dog robber. I’m looking for work.”
“Wrong answer,” said the man, and he struck Jimmy again. Jimmy collapsed, unable to make his legs obey, and was held entirely by the two soldiers.
Jimmy spat blood, and through rapidly swelling lips said, “What do you want me to say?”
“Every mercenary outside the walls has been told to stay out of Krondor. If you were a freebooter you would know this.” He nodded and the two men moved to the wall, and let Jimmy slump to the floor. The man knelt, putting his own face down near Jimmy’s.
The soldier was a brutish-looking fellow, with a beetle brow and thick black hair that hung down over his shoulders. He sported a short black beard, and at this close quarter, Jimmy could see he bore an assortment of scars on his neck and shoulders. The man grabbed Jimmy’s hair and said, “Either you’re a fool or you’re a spy. Which is it?”
Jimmy paused for dramatic effect, then slowly he said, “I came looking for my brother.”
The soldier stood and motioned and the two other soldiers picked Jimmy up and moved him to a chair. They were gathered in a large bedroom of an inn, converted to a cell of sorts.
Jimmy and Malar had been dragged there the night before and the interrogation had started at once. For an hour they had been routinely questioned and beaten, then left alone. Just as they were able to relax, the door would open and the questioning would begin again. Jimmy knew the oddly timed schedule was deliberate, designed to unnerve them. Despite the overt brutality of the man questioning them, the entire process was very well thought out and subtle. It was designed to disorient him without rendering him incoherent. It was a methodical approach looking to ferret out mistakes and inconsistencies. Jimmy had fought to concentrate to the limit of his ability to prevent any such lapse; he was attempting to turn the situation to his advantage.
One fear of his was that they already had Dash in custody. If so, the admission he was searching for his brother might dovetail into Dash’s arrest if he was already here. In a way, it was the truth, and being the truth, it would prove far more convincing than the most artfully concocted lie.
“Your brother?” said the man, holding a fist cocked to deliver another blow. “What brother?”
“My younger brother.” Jimmy leaned back in the chair, letting his left arm hang over the chair back, keeping him upright. “We were jumped a few miles from the city by bandits and rode toward Krondor.” He paused for a long moment, then as the interrogator started to menace him with his fist, he blurted, “We got separated. The bandits chased him, so we doubled back and followed after. We dodged the bandits, as they came back our way, so we know they didn’t have him—couldn’t see any leading his horse, and it was a good horse so they’d have kept it.” He swallowed. “Can I have some water?” he croaked.
The man in charge nodded and one of the guards stepped out of the room and returned a moment later with water. Jimmy drank eagerly, then nodded toward Malar. The man who had been questioning Jimmy nodded and the servant was given a cup of water to drink.
“Go on,” instructed the interrogator.
“We checked all the camps outside. No one had seen him.”
“Maybe someone already cut his throat.”
“Not my brother,” said Jimmy.
“How do you know?” asked the interrogator.
“Because I’d know. And because whoever cut his throat would be wearing his boots if he was.”
The interrogator looked down at Jimmy’s feet and nodded. “Good boots.” He motioned to one of the men in the room, who ducked out and returned a moment later holding a sack. He opened the sack and dumped the contents on the floor. The interrogator said, “Are these your brother’s?”
Jimmy looked at the boots. He didn’t need to pick them up. They were identical to Dash’s: the same bootmaker in Rillanon had made them for the brothers. Jimmy said, “In the left one you’ll see the mark of the bootmaker, a small bull’s head.”
The man nodded. “I’ve seen it.”
“Is my brother alive?”
The man nodded. “At least he was until two days ago. That’s when he escaped.”
Jimmy couldn’t help but smile. “Escaped?”