“You got them?” asked Vick.
“We got them,” said the Practical, voice muffled through his mask.
His black-clothed colleagues swarmed over the white-tiled bathhouse like an infestation of beetle, necks and foreheads beaded with sweat, sticks in their hands or blades wetly glinting. Men naked or wrapped in towels cringed against the walls. One lay on his side, sobbing, bloody hands clapped to his mouth. Another was sprawled face down in a dark slick, a dagger lying nearby, a pink bloom spreading into a pool beside him.
Vick stepped over the corpse and into the steamy little chamber beyond, a mosaic of intertwined snakes just visible on the floor. Appropriate. Two men sat on a bench, naked except for cloths around their waists. One was blond-haired and handsome, with moustaches he’d clearly put a lot of effort into cultivating.
“Lord Heugen,” she said.
As the steam thinned, she saw the other man more clearly. Older, grey-haired, the whole left side of his body oddly withered. His left arm was gone above the elbow, a long-healed stump.
“And Lord Marshal Brint.” Vick allowed herself the thinnest smile. “There’s one riddle solved.”
“And who the bloody hell are you?” sneered Heugen.
“Vick dan Teufel, Inquisitor Exempt.”
Brint gave a resigned sigh and ever so slowly sagged back. Heugen kept bristling. “One of Old Sticks’ cronies, eh? Well, he’s gone too far this time—”
“He’s gone altogether,” said Vick. “Retired. Didn’t the lord marshal tell you? I’m here on the king’s personal orders. So you can forget about appealing to a higher authority. There isn’t one.”
Heugen’s voice had gone shrill. “There’s no law against visiting a bathhouse!”
“No, but judges take a dim view of planning treason in one.”
“How dare you! The marshal and I are old friends. We’ve been talking of surprising our families with a joint garden party—”
“Hope I get an invite,” said Vick. “I love an outdoor function.” She glanced over at Tallow, lurking in a steamy corner, dressed like an attendant in sandals and loincloth, almost as skinny as the mop he leaned on. “Well? Did they talk about surprising the relatives? Or maybe giving someone else a shock?”
“Lord Marshal Brint discussed a meeting of the Closed Council this morning,” said Tallow, calmly. He was actually getting good at this. “Said the king had discovered their plans. Then Lord Heugen talked of sending warnings to their friends, and of moving up the schedule. He also mentioned leaving the city at once and gathering his troops.”
Vick raised one brow. “Sounds like a hell of a party.”
“You led them straight to us!” Heugen bared his teeth at Brint. “You one-armed dunce!”
“The king’s idea, in fact,” said Vick. “The man’s not half the fool you’ve taken him for. He knew someone on the Closed Council was betraying him, just wasn’t sure who, so he rattled the cage and I caught what dropped loose. And here we are.” Damn, it was hot in there. Her jacket was already clinging wet from the steam. She started unbuttoning it. “So tell me. Who else is on the guest list for your garden party? Your little conspiracy against the Crown?” She peeled her jacket off and tossed it to Tallow, leaned down over Heugen in her vest, hands on her knees. “I want names. Now.”
“Don’t tell her a bloody thing,” said Brint.
“Don’t worry about that,” sneered Heugen. “My lips are—”
Vick slapped him across the face, and not gently. He gasped as his head snapped sideways, turned slowly back to stare at her in stunned disbelief, one trembling hand raised to his pinking cheek. She wondered if it was the first time someone ever hit him hard. A life of luxury is poor preparation for a beating. Who’d know better than her, the pampered daughter of the Master of the Royal Mints, suddenly snatched away to the mines of Angland?
Maybe that thought put a bit more venom in her next slap, hard enough to get his mouth bleeding. “You’ve given me no time to be subtle,” she hissed at him, “so this is going to get very painful very fast.” She slapped him again, even harder, her fingers stinging and blood speckling the wall beside his face. “Give me names.”
Tears glimmered in the corners of Heugen’s eyes. The sudden pain, and the confusion, and the terrible, terrible shock of finding the world was not at all what you had thought. She knew how it felt. “I… demand—”
Her fist thudded into his ribs and he gave a breathy grunt, eyes bulging. No doubt, safe in the armour of his wealth and status, he’d always thought himself a strong man. Now, surrounded by Practicals and with all his armour stripped away, he learned how strong he really was. Her other fist sank into his side and he twisted over, groaning, his loincloth slipping off, leaving him stark naked and helpless on the bench.
“Names!” She climbed on top of him, knee in his back, the smacks and thuds of her punches falling dead on the steamy air.
“Names!” He gasped and gurgled, tried to curl up into a ball, and she leaned over and punched him in the arse, caught his fruits and made him howl.
“Names, fucker!”
“Isher!” he squealed, sobbing. “It was all Isher’s idea!” He talked so fast he was almost sick, the names tumbling over each other. “Isher and Barezin! They brought Brock in! And Brock brought Stour Nightfall, and that woman Rikke, the Dogman’s daughter! Lots of others on the Open Council. There’s Lady Wetterlant, and… and…”
“What’s happened to the world?” whispered Brint as he watched Heugen spill his guts with a look of disbelieving contempt.
“Far as I can tell, it’s always been like this.” Vick jerked her head towards the Practical. “Get him to the House of Questions. See what else he knows.”
“Wait!” slobbered Heugen as he was dragged out by the wrist, trying to cover his prick with his other hand. “I can be useful!” He clutched at the archway. “Please! No!” With an annoyed grunt, the Practical ripped him free and he was gone.
“Have to say I’m surprised it was you.” Vick frowned over at Lord Marshal Brint. “Always took you for an honourable man.”
“Why do you think I did it? We’re supposed to be a Union!” He roared the last word with sudden anger, clenching his one fist, and Vick stepped back, watchful. She reckoned him far more dangerous than Heugen, however many limbs he was missing.
But all he did was sag back against the tiles. “I fought the Northmen in the High Places, you know. Held my best friend while he died. Then again at Osrung. Lost my arm there. Lost my wife there.” And he looked down at the ring on his little finger. A woman’s ring with a yellow stone. “I gave my whole life for the Union. For the idea that we stand together. Then they attacked our Protectorate. Land the king had sworn to defend. And what did we do? Nothing.” He said the word as if he couldn’t believe it. “We left Lady Finree and our brothers in Angland to fend for themselves. And why? So we could make a few more payments to the Banking House of Valint and Balk? The Closed Council sold our principles for a few marks. And they dare talk of treason?”