Prig didn't have to march me through the Hill. I think it was routine that made him. It would have been better for both of us if he'd marched me straight to my interview.
"Prig." Deko had a deep voice and sounded almost lethargic as though sparing any attention at all was a great effort.
"Dipped in goat shit," Prig spat under his breath, and pulled me to a stop. We were deep into the Hill and I could see a number of foremen watching us now. I sagged a little in Prig's grip now that I was stopped again, though he quickly convinced me to stand straighter with a slight raising of my arm. "Don't say a word," he hissed in my ear.
"Come show me what you got there, Priggy," Deko continued. I turned my head to see him sitting on a table with his four most vicious captains lounging nearby. Deko's eyes were fixed on me. I should have looked away. Instead, I stared straight back at him. Defiant. Daring him to take an interest. Refusing to back down no matter how fucked I was.
Prig pushed me forward slowly, it was a meeting neither of us wanted. Deko was a daunting man up close. He wasn't tall, but he made up for that lack in girth. His arms were thick with muscle and his belly bulged. It said a lot that down in the Pit a man could grow so fat. He had black hair, long and matted and streaked with grey. But by far the most striking thing about him were his eyes; they were dark and shone like lamplight reflected off a pool of oil.
"She's got an interview with the overseer," Prig said. It was the first time I had ever heard the man sound humble. It might have made me smile had I not been near crippled with pain, seething with rage, and still very much at the fucker's mercy.
"I don't give a rancid poxy shit," Deko said with a grin. His captains laughed like the good little sycophants they were. Well, all except Horralain, but then I'm fairly certain that monster didn't know how to laugh.
"He don't like her being late," Prig said. As far as I had been able to tell, the overseer barely cared if I was late or not. But then that day was a special day, and Prig knew it.
"Priggy, Priggy, Priggy. Are you arguing with me, little Priggy?" Deko asked. I heard the scuffing of boots on the floor behind us and felt Prig's grip on my arm tighten.
"No, sir."
"Good," Deko said. "Best not speak again unless I ask you to then." He sniffed and scratched at his belly. He wasn't wearing a shirt, but then I had never seen the man wear a shirt. I think he liked people to see all the scars he had. A show to make potential challengers think twice seeing all the attempts he had survived.
"I've seen you around, scab," Deko said, turning his full attention to me. "Who are you?" He looked relaxed, but his captains did not. Behind him, I could see all four of them looking as though they were ready to leap at me and tear both myself and Prig to shreds. I almost thought it would be worth drawing out that violence if it meant Prig died with me. A final fuck you to the man who made my life miserable.
There was Karn, the man the other scabs called The Butcher. Poppy, a tall woman with more scars than Deko himself. Rast, who, rumour had it, was an ex-Terrelan soldier sent to the Pit for war crimes even the brass couldn't justify. And finally, Horralain, a mountain of a man who had once wrestled a khark hound down in the arena. I have summoned a few khark hounds in my time. Monsters from the Other World, they are as large as a bear and covered in razor-sharp spikes that grow through their skin. I have seen just one of the Other World beasts tear ten men apart. They are a nightmare of teeth and claws given terrible form, and that said a lot for the man who had wrestled one and survived.
I considered lying to Deko, telling him I was the queen of Polasia just to spite them all. I have since met the queen of Polasia. I have seduced her son and sunk her favourite demonship. It's fair to say our relationship is slightly strained these days, but back then I was nobody and I doubt she would have minded my baseless claim.
"Eskara," I said, still gritting my teeth through the pain of a split cheek and my arm wrenched behind my back. There seemed little point in lying and much more to be gained by telling the truth.
Deko laughed and his captains joined in. I didn't see what was funny, and I could tell by Prig's rapid breath stirring my hair that he was just as unamused.
"How are you liking my little kingdom, Eskara?" Deko asked after a few moments.
I attempted a shrug. It's worth noting that if ever you have your arm twisted behind your back, do not attempt to shrug.
"I wouldn't recommend it to my friends," I managed to growl through the pain.
Again, Deko laughed.
"What's wrong with your eyes?" I asked. Perhaps I could have phrased the question a little better, but I was under some considerable strain.
The laughing stopped and all pretence of a smile slipped from Deko's face. He stood and took a step towards me, bending down so his eyes were level with mine. He had a big face, round, pitted, and covered in a thick mat of oily beard. His eyes shone, an unnerving sight, but I locked my gaze with his all the same, still unwilling to back down.
"What?" Deko goggled his eyes at me and I could see little red streaks snaking out from the edges towards the pupils. "Do my eyes scare you?"
"No." I said. It was a lie of sorts. Of course I was fucking scared. Terror to go right along with the anger burning like a furnace inside, but it wasn't his eyes that scared me. The mystery of why they shone was something I was clinging to. That riddle was perhaps the only thing stopping me from collapsing and sobbing my way out of the situation.
Deko stared at me for a few seconds longer before snorting and backing up to sit on his table again. "There's nothing wrong with my eyes," he said. "It's just carrot juice." Again, his sycophants laughed along with him.
I had heard many times in my youth that carrots granted good night sight, but I dismissed it as an old wives' tale. Of course, I was taking Deko's words literally at the time. I didn't understand the joke. I didn't understand that I was the joke to them.
"Tell me something, Eskara Helsene," Deko said once the laughter had faded. "What do you know about Impomancy?"
Despite the anger burning inside I felt my blood go cold. Deko knew my name— my full name— and he was asking about Sourcery. There was only one explanation. He knew who and what I was. I felt something else as well. Hunger. There was a possibility, slim as it might be, that Deko was asking about Impomancy because he had a Source. I think I would have done anything right then for a Source. Then I would have used it to turn the Pit into a glorious fucking tomb filled with the bodies of every fucking inmate down there.
I felt Prig lift my arm a little and my shoulder blazed in agony. It felt as though it were about to pop from its socket and I have experienced a dislocated shoulder more than once in my lifetime. It is not a pleasant injury.
"I know a little about the school." It was a lie, but I decided it was best to hide the full extent of my knowledge and abilities. Deko might have known I was a Sourcerer, but at the time I wasn't sure he knew just how powerful I was. Or perhaps I should say how powerful I could be. Without Sources I was nothing but a young woman in a precarious situation.
Deko nodded. "Maybe you'll be of some use then," he said. "All manner of nasties down here with us. The last adviser we had perhaps wasn't as smart as he thought. What is it, Prig?" Again, the sycophantic laughing from his captains.