The Enterprise of Death - Jesse Bullington [144]
“They’re gone.” Kahlert closed the second door, and locked that as well. “Shall we start?”
They did. Awa was rolled onto her stomach and the chain around her ankles was removed, but before the bruised skin could enjoy the sensation of freedom for even a moment manacles were slid into the grooves the chain had left in her skin and locked into place. Then they removed the chains wrapped around her knees, and by working a crank at the side of the table heavy ropes attached to rings in her manacles tightened and then pulled her legs apart until she felt like she would be split down the middle. They repeated the process with the chain binding her arms to her sides, and then the second crank was tightened and Awa was splayed out facedown on the table, a board shoved underneath her chin to keep her looking straight ahead. All the chains had been removed, but when she gritted her teeth and focused despite the strain in every muscle and tendon she found that the iron shackles around her wrists and ankles were completely smothering her ability to work any sort of necromancy.
“Start with the slut she brought,” said Omorose eagerly. “Take her on the floor so the witch can see. While you fuck her I’ll use the comb to peel back her scalp.”
That was without a doubt the single evilest thing Awa had ever heard. She moaned again, hoping against hope that the mild-looking man would balk at this, perhaps even remove her gag, hear her side of the story, listen to—
“I want to shoe her first,” Kahlert said firmly. “If she’s as powerful as we suspect, the iron on her arms and legs might not be enough. I still think we should take care of her—”
“Fine, fine.” Omorose twitched, clearly displeased. “But you’ll do it, won’t you, Ash? You’ll do it so the witch has to see?”
“Of course,” said Kahlert, knowing that what a witch hates most is what most needs doing, no matter how distasteful the act might be were an actual human involved. “What choice do we have?”
Omorose shrieked with laughter, dropping down to look Awa in the eye as she did. Awa was hyperventilating, her pupils dilating, and Omorose yanked out her gag.
“I gave you another chance,” Awa finally managed as Omorose shimmered before her. What Awa at first took to be a spell revealed its mundane cause when the tears tickled her chin. “Life, I gave you another life! I gave you everything I could!”
“You gave me everything, alright,” Omorose whispered. “You think I wanted you to dig me up and play with my bones, you nasty bitch? You think I wanted to become some rotten monster instead of lying at rest? You’re just as selfish as you were on the mountain!”
Omorose laughed again, and Awa knew they were both lost. Kahlert came over beside the still tittering Omorose and held up a small V-shaped piece of iron, several holes punched through the flat surface of the metal.
“This is your test, witch,” the man said softly, almost kindly. “The lady Rose has told me you conceal a cloven hoof under the skin of your left foot, like the devil himself, and that she knows the method of removing the glamour you disguise it with. If you are innocent obviously your foot will remain your foot, and I will release you, and your friends. Conversely, you may admit to your crimes now, in which case you will be burned at once, your soul cleansed.”
“The fuck she will,” Omorose growled at Kahlert. “What’s the meaning of this fucking pardon?!”
“It is not Christian to use the stronger methods when—”
“I confess!” Awa wailed. “I confess I confess I confess!”
Omorose was livid, her pretty face taut and wild, but Kahlert held up a gloved hand and said, “You confess to what?”
“I confess!” Awa hiccupped. “I confess to whatever you want, to whatever she said!”
Kahlert shook his head slowly. “You know what you have done. Confess.”
“I confess to being a witch,” said Awa, eyes darting between the patient Inquisitor and the fuming Omorose. “I confess to bringing Omorose back from the dead, and raping her, and trying to kill her again, and—”
“What?” Kahlert furrowed his brows. “Back from