One Quest, Hold the Dragons

by Greg Costikyan

  The man blinked in surprise, then looked down at himself. "Ah," he said. "It is I, Timaeus; surely you recognize the voice?"

  Sidney did; it was Jasper, whom she had never before seen in the flesh. Apparently, the snake-thing did more than prevent spell-casting; it drained the power of Jasper's magic rings as well.

  The masked man now stood before them, attracted by the sound of their voices. "Good day, Master Torturer," said Sidney. "Did you do the decorating yourself?"

  "You like it?" said the torturer in a pleased voice. "Oh, my dear, you can't imagine what I've gone through to get a proper dungeon look. I mean, heavens, the Lodge was built with timber and plaster; they even went so far as to stucco down here, can you imagine? I had them rip all that rubbish out. And I had to do something with the drainage; quite dry, when I came-all very fine for a basement, but it just won't do for a good, professional dungeon operation. I had pipes specially installed."

  "I appreciate it, I really do," Sidney said. "I've been in dungeons in my time, and I've always thought there was something missing. This has just the right sort of menacing sensibility."

  "Oh, it's very kind of you to say so, very kind," said the torturer.

  "I was imprisoned briefly in Biddleburg," said Sidney, "you know of it? No? Little barony up in the Dzorzia. They actually had a sofa in my cell. Can you imagine?"

  The torturer snorted in laughter. "A sofa?" he said. "Whatever can they have been thinking of? Bed of nails, yes, I can see that; lice-infested straw, yes, fine; rotten vegetable marrows with maggots would do quite well, buta sofa? I suppose you just have to chalk it up to provincial ignorance."

  "Have you seen the dungeons in Urf Durfal?" Sidney asked.

  "Mm?" said the torturer. "No, don't get out of Hamsterburg a great deal, I'm afraid. Just an old homebody, that's me."

  "The old Grand Duke filled them up with horse dung," said Sidney sadly. "He was very big on mushrooms, was Mortimer, wanted the space to grow specimens."

  "That's criminal!" said the torturer. "Why, the old Durfalian dungeons were legendary! A shame, a crying shame. Ought to preserve such things for posterity. There's a new duke, I hear, though."

  "Yes," said Sidney.

  "Not a fungus fancier, I hope?"

  "I don't believe so," said Sidney.

  "Probably want to open the dungeons up again, then," said the torturer thoughtfully. "I suppose they can be restored. Probably take years to get the smell out, though."

  "Well, an overwhelming smell of animal dung might go very well, I should think."

  The torturer perked up. "Well, yes, it might," he said. "You'd have to work around it, but it could be an effective element."

  "Well, at any rate," said Sidney, "I shall be proud to be tortured in first-class surroundings like this."

  "I—I really appreciate that," said the torturer, practically choked with emotion. "We don't get many who understand, you know. Probably be just as happy being tortured in a music room, or a salon."

  "Would you know when we're to begin?" asked Timaeus hesitantly.

  "Oh," said the torturer, "fairly soon, I should think. As soon as Wolfe arrives." He shook his head sadly. "You're the third lot today, you know; busy, busy, busy. City in unrest, traitors everywhere, a torturer's work is never done."

  "It must be very hard for you," said Sidney sympathetically.

  "Haste makes waste, I tell them; try to get something quick, and you'll just kill the subject," said the torturer. "Violates my contract, it does, so many in so short a time, but just try to get the Guild interested in a grievance like that. Excess overtime, too many victims—they couldn't care less. Now, client stipulating technique, that's what pisses them off. Bunch of sadistic twits, that's what they are."

  "Terrible," said Sidney.

  "Look here," said the torturer. "They get you down here, they're not going to be satisfied without a little pain. Clients too prone to lie if there isn't any pressure, that's what they claim. You see? Me, I think folk'll say anything under torture-especially when I torture them. I'm a professional; seven years apprentice, six as journeyman, eight as master now. Haven't had a subject yet who hasn't spilled his guts—figuratively speaking. Well, no, not always figuratively."

  "How very nice for you," said von Kremnitz, somewhat hostilely.

  "You think I like it?" the torturer said. "Disgusting line of work, that's what it is. Appalling. I wanted to be a florist, but my dad wouldn't hear of it. His dad had been a torturer, and his dad before him, and so on and on and on. Every first-born Fenstermann is destined to stick burning bamboo shoots under people's fingernails, apparently." He scowled. "Well, water under the bridge, and it's a living, I suppose."

  "Um, yes," said Timaeus. "All very fascinating, but see here, it's really quite unnecessary. If you'll unlock these blasted manacles—"

  "Now look," said Fenstermann hotly. "What kind of atorturer would I be if I let subjects free without management's okay? Utterly out of the question. A matter of professional pride."

  "Yes, I quite see that," said Timaeus, "but might I—"

  "No, you might not," said the torturer. "Don't even think about it. Wolfe will be here shortly, and then it'll be onto the table. Now listen up, you lot. You seem like very nice people, for felonious enemies of the state. I said they won't be satisfied without a little torture, and they won't. But please, do cooperate; let's make it a little torture, yes? A second-degree burn or two, maybe a small incision; some bandages, and a couple of stitches, you'll be right as rain. But if you balk, I shan't be responsible. Out in a wheelbarrow if you get out at all. I do hope you' 11—"

  "Making friends with the meat again, Fenstermann?" came a voice.

  "Wolfe," said the torturer resignedly, turning. Beyond him stood a woman, clad in loose black blouse and gray pantaloons, a jagged scar across her face and nose, closecropped graying hair in a helmet above her forehead. The lines about her mouth gave an impression of permanent impatience. Almost, Sidney admired her: The woman projected a strong air of competence, of power, of energy. "You must talk to them upstairs," the torturer continued. "I just can't do an adequate job with this many subjects. I realize there's a revolution on, but—2'

  "Shut up, Fenstermann," Wolfe said. She walked down the line, examining each of them in turn. When she came to the leftenant, she said, "You von Kremnitz?"

  "I am," he said.

  "Where did you get this?," She wafted the safe passage under his nose.

  "It was given to me," von Kremnitz said stiffly, "by His Serenity, Hamish the First, of the House Siebert, Lord Mayor of the Most Serene Republic of Hamsterburg. It requires you to lend me every assistance; wherefore, I demand—"

  "I don't give a good goddamn," said Wolfe. "You clowns were plotting to hold me hostage."

  "Gish!" said Kraki menacingly, shaking his manacles.

  "That too," Wolfe said. "I want to know what you know about the statue, why you want it, and who you are."

  "Trade you," said Nick.

  Wolfe blinked. "What do you mean?"

  "A question for a question," said Nick.

  "You're not in any position to bargain," said Wolfe. She turned to Fenstermann. "We'll start with him."

  "Oops," said Nick.

  "I'd rather torture her," said Fenstermann, pointing to Sidney.

  "Why?" said Wolfe.

  "She's got a real feel for things," said Fenstermann. "She'll appreciate the technique."

  Wolfe snorted. "Fenstermann, sometimes I don't understand you. If you like her—"

  "No, it's all right, really," said Sidney. "I'll go first."

  Wolfe glared at Sidney. "What are you, some kind of masochist?"

  "N-no," said Sidney. But she could always turn into a cat and quite possibly escape, while Nick had no such option. "Anything to be helpful."

  Wolfe eyed Sidney warily, and said, "If you want to be tortured, you've got a reason. The man."

  Fenstermann shrugged and went to unlock Nick, then carried him over t
o one of the tables.

  "Stiff upper lip, Pratchitt," said Jasper. "Never surrender. You can do it, lad."

  "Please," said the torturer in a long-suffering tone. "I am a professional, you know. Of course you'll talk. And if you'll take my advice, you'll do it quickly."

  "Talk?" said Nick nervously. "You want me to talk? Ofcourse I'll talk. I love to talk. My mother always said she couldn't get me to stop talking, as a matter of fact. And I never could keep a secret, ask any of my friends. Chatterbox Pratchitt, that's me, talk the livelong day. Ask me a question, any question—"

  "How about the iron maiden?" said Wolfe.

  Fenstermann pursed his lips judiciously. "A little advanced for the start, don't you think? Red-hot pokers against the skin, I'd say."

  "Urg," said Nick.

  "Well, you're the professional," said Wolfe dubiously, "but I've always thought the iron maiden was very effective."

  "True, true," said Fenstermann. "Still, I've got these irons in the fire, might as well use them for something." He picked one out of the blaze. "Here we go," he said, approaching Nick. "Lie still, now; this won't hurt a bit."

  "It won't?" said Nick.

  "Well, actually, it will, rather," said Fenstermann apologetically.

  He brought the tip of the iron, glowing with intense white heat, down through the air, down toward"Halt!" shouted a voice. "Put that down!"

  Into the furnace's dim illumination strode a man; an old man, but a vigorous one; a man in the robes of office, a man with the jowly appearance of a basset hound ...

  "My lord!" said von Kremnitz, in wonder. "You live!"

  "Release them instantly," said Hamish Siebert.

  "My lord," said Wolfe in alarm, "you are needed above! The—"

  "Quite right," said Siebert. "We haven't much time. Therefore, release them at once."

  "But they—they're felons!" Wolfe said. "They planned to hold me hostage, to—"

  "Did they really?" said Siebert in interest. "Must have their reasons, I suppose. Nonetheless, young von Kremnitz is one of my most trusted men, and his companions and I have an understanding. I vouch for their good behavior. And I shall stay right here until you free them."

  "You can't do that!" said Wolfe. "If you don't appear before the mob, they'll storm the Lodge!"

  "I imagine so," said the Lord Mayor. "Therefore, you'd better release these good people with alacrity, so I may return upstairs as quickly as possible, nest-ce pas?"

  "You'll get us all killed," said Wolfe in a disgruntled tone, but motioned to Fenstermann to release the prisoners. He failed to move sufficiently quickly for her taste; she grabbed some of his keys and set to work as well.

  "What about—that," said Timaeus, pointing to the black thing on his arm.

  Wolfe, looking at it, shuddered slightly and turned to Fenstermann. The torturer went to get a pair of tongs; he used them to pluck away the slug-like thing and toss it into the fire. He repeated the task with Jasper.

  "Now follow me," said Siebert. "You, too, Magistra." He began to stride across the floor, setting a surprisingly rapid pace for an elderly man.

  "You shouldn't have come down here," Wolfe scolded, easily keeping up. The others, somewhat taken by surprise, lagged behind. "You're running a terrible risk."

  "Magistra Wolfe," said Siebert in a censorious tone, "the good leftenant bore my safe passage; it was my sworn duty to aid him—and yours, as well, I might add. If anyone endangers our lives, it is—"

  "I say," said Jasper, flitting up to join them, "am I to understand that the Lord Mayor is needed elsewhere as quickly as possible?"

  "Yes!" said Wolfe intemperately. "You needn't come if you don't—"

  "I have a ring of magical flight," said Jasper. "Why don't I lend it to you, your serenity?"

  "Ah! That would be useful, if you would," said Siebert, coming to a halt.

  "If I can get the damned thing off-good. Bit of luck, that. Here you are."

  "You have my thanks," said Siebert. "Magistra, if you mistreat these people further, I shall have your eyes put out. Hard to be a shadow mage if you can't perceive shadows, what?"

  "Go, dammit!" said Wolfe. "Move!"

  "Ta," said Siebert. He lifted from the dark rocks of the dungeon and flitted away through the air.

  "Now what?" asked Sidney, eyeing Wolfe uneasily and wishing for her weapons. She checked; yes, even the knife in her boot was gone.

  "Oh, come along," said Wolfe. "Up these stairs."

  The stairs seemed to twine upward forever. At intervals, magic torches flickered. Wolfe led the way.

  "I thought you had killed him," von Kremnitz said wonderingly.

  "Me?" said Wolfe. "Oh, you mean the Ministry. Actually, I might well have been asked to kill him, if Stantz had wanted him dead."

  "How is it that he is alive?" von Kremnitz asked.

  "Faked his death, of course," said Wolfe.

  "Why?" said Timaeus, breathing hard; his legs were beginning to feel the strain of so many stairs.

  "Isn't it obvious?" said Wolfe nastily. "The Accommodationists have been planting rumors for weeks, claiming Stantz had tried to kill the mayor before, and would do it again. And they made Siebert's assassination the signal for their troops to move."

  "Didn't you just-do what they wanted to happen?" said Sidney. "Aren't they moving to take over the city now?"

  "Yup," said Wolfe. "But in a few moments, the Lord Mayor will miraculously appear before the people of Hamsterburg. And then he will lead them toward the Maiorkest, to rally the folk against tyranny."

  "I see," said Jasper. "The Accommodationists had planned for the mob to storm the Albertine Lodge, but instead, the mob becomes a weapon in Siebert's hands."

  "Exactly," said Wolfe. "And-the assassination was not to occur for several days. Their troops are out of position, and they won't coordinate properly."

  "Excellent!" said von Kremnitz. "I had misjudged you and the minister, Magistra. And when the Lord Mayor appears with the Scepter and statue of Stantius, the people will know he is divinely appointed to lead the nation. Patriotic rapture will sweep the urbs, men and women will rally to the sign of the hamster; the Accommodationist host will melt away like snow in the spring!"

  "Ah," said Wolfe. "Hmm."

  "It really isn't your statue, Leftenant," Timaeus pointed out. "I suppose we could permit its temporary use to calm the city, but afterward, we really must continue on our quest."

  "Yes, yes," said von Kremnitz. "Of course." He spoke a little too hastily for Sidney's peace of mind.

  "What I don't understand," said Nick, "is why, if the Lord Mayor knew Magistra Wolfe would be snatching the statue, he didn't let us know. We could have worked together."

  "Quite, quite," said Wolfe absently. "Here we are." The stairs spiraled a final time, and a door came into view.

  VIII

  Wolfe brought them through the busy corridors of the Albertine Lodge to a large chamber, apparently a ballroom, for the floor was polished wood and the space was unfurnished, save for a few couches and chairs drawn up against the walls. The late-morning sun shone brightly through the French doors of the far wall, which opened out onto a large balcony. The middle set of doors had been flung open, and through them they could see Hamish Siebert, in his mayoral robes of office, standing before the crowd, arms outspread.

  Beyond him was the swirling enormity of the mob, packing Albertus Square from one end to the other. They had ceased their chant some time ago, but their roar was no less for that; there were shouts, screams, orations, yells from across the square, an inchoate noise like that of the sea, battering against the Albertine walls. It gave the air a physical quality, as of waves of pressure washing against the ears.

  The Lodge's defenders were out there, still, a thin line against enormity. It was a miracle, Sidney thought, that they had not been overwhelmed, a tribute to their esprit and stamina—and an indication, perhaps, that the rabblerousers the Accommodationists should have had in the mob, to spur it into act
ion, were either cowed or missing.

  At first it seemed as if the crowd were entirely oblivious to Siebert's presence; it was minutes before any diminution in that roar could be perceived. But some folk noticed the single figure standing on the balcony, and realized someone wanted to address them; and of those close to the Lodge, some were able to recognize Siebert, while others recognized his robes of office. Word began to circulate to those farther back in the square. Slowly, slowly, the noise died down, silence spreading outward as waves spread from a stone dropped in still water.