Retribution Falls - Chris Wooding [156]
The confession sat on a small table in front of him. A pen waited next to it. The torturer had obligingly read it out to him yesterday, before they began. It was pretty much as he’d expected: I, Frey, admit every damn thing. I conspired with my crew to kill the Archduke’s son because we’re greedy and bad, and then we all laughed about it afterward. It was all my idea and certainly nobody else’s, especially not Duke Grephen’s or Gallian Thade’s, who are both spotless and loyal subjects of our revered leader and whose very feces smell of roses and almond, et cetera, et cetera.
The torturer picked up the pen and held it out to him. “End it, Darian. Why struggle? You know there’s no way out of here. Why must you make the last few hours of your life so miserable?”
Frey blinked sweat out of his eyes and stared dully at the pen. Why didn’t he sign it? It was only a formality. As soon as Grephen arrived with a judge, they’d be tried and hung anyway, though not necessarily in that order.
But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t sign that paper because he didn’t want to make it easy on them. Because he’d fight for every moment he had left, eke out every inch of existence there was to be had.
Confessing was giving up. He wasn’t resisting in the hope of achieving anything; he was resisting just to resist. It didn’t matter how futile it was. He was bitter that he’d gotten so close, that he’d almost managed to get his crew out of the mess he’d gotten them into. It enraged him.
So he relished the small victories that were left. However she did it, Jez had gotten away and taken the Ketty Jay with her. The fact that Grephen wasn’t hurrying back immediately to dispose of his prisoners suggested that Trinica Dracken had neglected to mention that she’d lost the Ketty Jay en route. Unwittingly, Dracken had bought them some time.
He’d embarrassed her twice. He took solace in that. He hadn’t failed to notice that Trinica kept her compass and charts close to her at all times now. She’d been carrying them as they were shuttled from the deck of the Delirium Trigger to the landing pad at Mortengrace. She was nervous that they might be stolen again and didn’t want to leave them in her cabin.
Small victories. But victories nevertheless.
He didn’t hold out hope of Jez coming back. Not only would it be stupid, she had no real reason to. They were just a crew, like many she’d taken up with before. Though efficient at her job, she’d always seemed standoffish, keeping to her cabin most of the time. He didn’t imagine she held any particular affection for them, and he had no reason to expect loyalty. After all, she’d barely joined before he turned her into an outlaw.
But the Ketty Jay survived, and with a new captain at the helm. That was alright with Frey. If he couldn’t have her, he was glad that someone could, and he’d always liked his diminutive navigator. He’d always wonder how Jez did it, though he took consolation in the fact that he wouldn’t have to wonder long.
I suppose Slag made it too, he thought. I wonder how he’s going to get on with his new captain.
“Sign!” the torturer urged, pressing the pen into his hand.
Frey took it. “Give me the paper,” he said.
The torturer’s eyes lit up eagerly. He moved the table closer, so Frey could write on it. The leather cuffs he wore were attached to straps that gave him a few inches of slack. The torturer presumably thought a man couldn’t spasm efficiently without a little room to writhe.
“Bit closer. I can’t reach,” said Frey. The torturer did as he was asked. “Can you hold the paper steady? This isn’t easy with one hand.”
The torturer smiled encouragingly as he steadied the paper for Frey to sign. He stopped smiling when Frey stabbed the pen into the soft meaty part between his thumb and forefinger.
A third man in uniform burst through the door and stood bewildered at the sight that faced him. The torturer was wheeling around the room, shrieking, holding his impaled hand, which still had a pen sticking out of it. The guard by the door was in paroxysms of laughter. Frey had crumpled the confession