“More likely he came up with it himself. He does that a lot.”
“You have been here long enough to establish my non-involvement in this matter.” They turned to find Tinkerer standing in the chamber entrance, his gaze fixed on Lizanne once more with the same fierce scrutiny. “I want you to leave now.”
His tone was as flat as before, but Lizanne noted the way Melina stiffened in anticipation of danger, though Tinkerer held no weapon. “Alright,” she said, moving closer. “We’ll be on our way.” Lizanne saw her raise a hand to touch Tinkerer’s arm, hesitate then lower it again. “It’s . . . always good to see you.”
Tinkerer kept his gaze on Lizanne. “I want you to leave now,” he repeated, each word spoken in exactly the same tone as before.
The grate gave a loud clang as it slammed shut behind them, followed by the snick of Tinkerer reattaching the lock.
“Well that was a singular waste of time,” Lizanne said, glancing back at the empty shaft before pulling on her mask. “What do we tell the Electress?”
“The truth,” Melina replied, her one eye suddenly angry above her mask. “Trust me, love, that’s the only thing you’ll ever want to tell her.”
? ? ?
Anatol’s fist made a wet crunching sound as it slammed into the Scuttler’s face. The force of the blow spun him around, the rope securing his wrists to the basement ceiling straining as he sprayed shattered teeth in a wide arc. The Scuttler sagged, all vestige of his former resolve now vanished from his swollen mask of a face. Blood dripped from his gashed lips as he moaned and bobbed his head in defeat.
“Three punches,” the Electress commented through a cloud of cigarillo smoke. “I’m impressed. Most start babbling at two.”
Lizanne had never found torture a particularly effective means of extracting reliable information. The threat of imminent death had a tendency to loosen tongues at a decisive moment but even then the results were often unpredictable. When Exceptional Initiatives needed detailed intelligence they favoured the more subtle approach of abduction and prolonged interrogation, usually augmented by judicious use of sleep deprivation and resistance-sapping drugs. Electress Atalina, however, proved to be an exponent of the more direct approach.
“Now then, Azarin,” she said, rising from her chair to loom over the unfortunate Scuttler. She lowered her gaze to peer into his bleary, bloodshot eyes. “Let’s start with Kevozan. Who’s the Coal King been meeting with recently?”
Azarin exhaled a red vapour as he struggled to reply, the words a barely distinct sputter. “Never . . . meetsh anyone . . . outshide the Scuttlersh . . .”
“Yes, so I heard,” the Electress said. “Leaves all the outside dealings to lickspittles like you. But I find it hard to credit he’d plan a move against me without a face-to-face with the assassin.”
The captive spasmed as he tried to shake his head, succeeding only in dislodging a few more drops of blood from his face. “Washn’t . . . ush . . .”
“Oh dear.” The Electress moved back a little, drew deeply on her cigarillo then stubbed out the glowing tip on Azarin’s eye. Lizanne was surprised at the strength evident in the scream he produced. “And I thought we’d reached an understanding. Anatol, let’s try another three punches. To the body this time, if you please.”
Three rib-cracking blows and some further questioning later it was apparent that if the Coal King had orchestrated the bombing, this particular lackey had no knowledge of it.
“Still a few breaths left in him,” Anatol said, placing a hand on Azarin’s barely moving chest. “You want me to take him to the pit?”
“No. Wait for nightfall then dump him outside that hovel Kevozan calls a palace. We need to maintain a clear line of communication.” The Electress moved to the basement steps, gesturing for Lizanne to follow.
“I’m guessing this isn’t your first dance,” the Electress observed, casting a glance at Lizanne’s unruffled features as they climbed to the inn’s top floor. “Even Melina puked up the first time I had her stand witness to one of my little chats. But then, I didn’t have Anatol in those days so it was more of a surgical exercise.”
“I saw worse in Imperial custody,” Lizanne said. “Though the Cadre’s methods are a little more . . . artful.”
“Really?” They came to the Electress’s office and she sank into the chair behind her desk before reaching for an inevitable cigarillo. “And did they practice their arts on you?”
Lizanne allowed a short interval of grim-faced silence before replying, “Of course they did.”
The large woman shook a match and smiled around a mouthful of smoke. “Then let’s hope you learned a thing or two. Tomorrow you can take yourself off to the house of the Learned Damned. Make out like you’re disgruntled, looking for a new home. Shouldn’t be too difficult to win them over with your prior experience.”
“If they’ve undergone anything like my prior experience they’ll kill me the second I open my mouth.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. A fetching little morsel like you spouting all the right dogma will be hard to resist. They’re all still idealists at heart, y’see. Delusion never really fades for the true believer, even in here. I trust you remember it all? Bidrosin’s Credo and all that shit.”
Lizanne made a show of smothering a sigh. “Yes. I remember it all.”
“Good. Best get some rest for the morrow then, eh?”
Lizanne nodded and moved to the door, pausing as the Electress added, “The Tinkerer. You’re sure he had no part in this?”
“As I said, I saw no evidence. And Melina vouched for him.”
“Melina’s overly sentimental when it comes to him. Saved her life, y’know, when she first got pushed through the gates. She was just a skinny slip of a thing then, didn’t know better than to fight when they swarmed at her, did pretty well too but still ended up short one eye with no friends. She’d’ve starved if Tinkerer hadn’t taken her in, though he was scarcely more than a boy in those days. Y’could say they grew up together, till she got tired of life on the margins and decided to make a real life for herself within these walls.”
“She said he was born here.”
“So they say. I’ve done fifteen years and he was here before me. Not many of us left from that time, I can tell you. The constables weren’t so nice back then.”
“His parents?”
The Electress shrugged. “Never knew ’em. Most likely he got squirted out by some poor cow pushed through the gates with a swollen belly. I expect she hated herself for not smothering the poor little fucker the moment he popped out.”
The Electress winced and raised a meaty leg to the desk-top before tugging off her shoe to reveal a swollen and reddened foot. “Bloody corns. Send Makario in, will you? Time he put those fine fingers to some real use.”