A Veteran Returns Home: Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
The door slammed shut. He was dragged to the centre of the room and dropped to the floor. Rust red stains remained on the floor from previous questioning. He could smell the sweat in the air. The stale screams and iron tears from before.
He pushed himself up on his elbows and pulled his knees underneath him.
‘Good of you to come up to me so I don’t have to bend down,’ one of the guards laughed and snatched his wrist into a shackle.
Before Nemo could react a lever was turned and his right arm was hoisted into the air.
‘Now the other. You should remember this by now,’ the guard trudged over blood stained cobbles and rattled another shackle and chain. He attached it to Nemo’s left hand and hoisted him into the air. How many times have I been here? His mind span. Memories blurring together.
Tendrils of fire ran across his body as the skin was stretched and recent wounds tore open. Pus oozed from his wounds and trickles of blood from new skin splitting, too weak to hold.
His shoulders popped as they twisted upwards. His knees relaxed as his feet were lifted off the ground not enough to be hanging free but a touch too high to stand. He arched his foot and pointed his toes to reach the floor and steady himself.
The room was laid out as he remembered. A table on his right carried all manner of pointed instruments. Some long. Some short. All deadly under the right settings. The table to his left held a few blunt instruments, hammers, tongs, a fire poker, and a number of clean, white, towels. Between both tables was a high stool, similar to those found at bars across the city of Tanussi and back at Tura’s inn.
Tura. That seems like a lifetime ago, when he was the hero. Unblemished and could do no wrong. Now. How does that end like this, he thought.
A knock sounded at the door opposite him. A heavy iron plated wooden door with a sliding lookout to peak through when needed. The guard stepped across from his post at the side of the door and slid the panel across. He closed it after a glance, unlocked, and opened the door.
The short man, round at the edge, dressed in dazzling yellow ochre robe with maroon collar strode into the room. He wore raised shoes to prevent his gown catching the floor.
‘Ahh, are we all ready for another day of interesting questions?’ He addressed the room with joy.
The guards mumbled their laughter, two flanking him, one by the door, and another behind Nemo. He never saw the one behind him only felt the effects of his actions. The tug of a chain, the pulling of his hair, or a calloused hand against his spine.
‘And maybe we will have some insightful answers? Hmmm,’ Stipi leaned up to Nemo somehow seeming to look down at the bounty hunter.
Nemo refused to answer but knew better than to spit. He had done that already and received a nasty gash along the inside of his thigh.
‘Somehow I suspect this will be the same as the previous days,’ he smiled crooked. A wave of chortling passed through the guards. ‘In that case,’ Stipi stepped back and pulled the stopper from his hair pin. He extracted the jewelled pin from his hair and laid it, sharp point unprotected, on the table with the other instruments of questioning. ‘We should really begin,’ he pulled his hair into a tail at the nape of his neck with a twist of silk.
Stipi perused his choice of implements. His hand floating over the table, fingers twitching with anticipation. His hand hovered over a long, straight, length of pointed steel that twisted from point to end with four sharp edges coiling over its surface. Stipi chose in an instant, his hand snapping towards a simple knife. Nemo recalled the knife, its bite familiar.
Nemo had never felt the bite of another instrument. Always the same wooden handled knife. A simple thing more for kitchen work than harming. His heart slowed a little at the sight of the knife. He knew how it cut, how it behaved, how it could be used. A flurry of memory came to him, each of his wounds screaming its history.
Stipi stepped towards Nemo smiling. Then looked away and hummed to himself, ‘No I think not,’ he returned the knife to the table and picked up the twist of sharp steel.
Nemo’s heart raced as Stipi picked up the sharpened, twisting, blade, by its smooth metal handle. Sweat beaded beneath his eye, rolled down his cheek, and rested at the corner of his mouth.
‘You look worried,’ Stipi said, ‘Don’t be. This is a new instrument, certainly, but it will do much the same as the old one,’ Stipi stifled a laugh. ‘Okay, maybe some new things too.’ Stipi returned to his stool. One leg perched on the foot rest, and one almost reaching the ground. ‘So, why did you try and kill me?’
The same question every time, Nemo weighed the odds again. Is it worth it? Are they worth it?
Stipi waited for three taps of his foot. ‘No answer. Well you know what that means,’ he leaned forward and placed one side of the new tool against Nemo’s leg. He pulled it down along Nemo’s skin with little effort. A thin red line bloomed on Nemo’s leg. The bounty hunter winced as the slimmest of cuts stung, the multi-sided steel rod cutting in parallel dots and dashes no deeper than a hair’s thickness.
‘The funny thing about you not answering is that the first few questions I already know the answers too. I just want you to answer them truthfully,’ Stipi withdrew the four bladed coil of steel. Nemo’s blood ran in coils down the grooves and collected in a drop at the end. Stipi waved the coil from left to right sending droplets through the air.
Nemo watched the drops blood fly through the air and crash onto the cobblestone. Lost. ‘I don’t believe you,’ Nemo whispered as he stared off to the left.
‘What was that?’ Stipi cupped his hand behind his ear.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Nemo said louder bringing Stipi into focus.
‘You don’t believe me? Why would I lie?’
‘Too get me to answer.’
‘A cunning ploy but no. Already we are amassing reports, rumours, and tips from the offer I made to the populace of Tanussi. So many of the questions I ask you, we will know something about. Some we don’t. But you should answer anyway. It is the only way you will see the sun again.’
Son. Avaya, the boys face flashed in his mind. His thick curls of dark hair and baby fat cheeks. Nemo clenched his eyes shut and pushed the image from his mind. Avaya would not help him now. Sentimentality would weaken his resolve. His, potentially, misplaced loyalty.
‘Why do you resist for a group that shows its members such contempt?’ Stipi stroked Nemo’s ribs with the coiled steel blade.
His heart beat faster and he sucked at the stale air. His chest rising and falling making the instrument bounce over his ribs cut deeper.
‘They have left others to die and rot in this hell with no thought. No attempt at rescue, no petition pretending to be family to their release, or even seeking an audience to defend their innocence. No this group, which I am sure you work for, shows its members disdain. Taking everything and offering nothing,’ Stipi led the tip of the blade across Nemo’s stomach, following the curve of his rib, stopping at the base of his sternum. He retracted the coiled blade in a hurry.
Nemo breathed slower, letting his chest fall as much as he could hanging by his arms, and felt his heart slow. The sting of recent cuts burned across his skin. The warm trickle of blood flowed over his muscles and skin in unpredictable patterns.
‘So, we return again to the question. Why did you try and kill me? What was your aim? What was the goal? I want the names of those who command you.’
I could lie. Nemo considered it. Pretend he was a lone wolf acting out of desperation.
‘I won’t buy a lie. You were not acting alone. We know that much,’ Stipi said as if reading his mind.
Nemo shot a look at Stipi revealing his own thoughts before he had a chance to mask his response.
‘Ahh, you were considering such a plan. It will not work. There are no individuals with such intent left in the city. They left or joined larger groups moons ago.’
‘How do you know?’ Nemo croaked.
‘How do I know? Easy we hunted the rest down in the streets. Not literally. Most were holed up in the underground passages or abandoned hovels,’ Stipi stood, holding the coiled blade out to one side, and walked around Nemo. His platformed shoes clacked on the cobblestone floor.
Nemo pushed off the floor with his big toe and twisted to the right.
‘None of that,’ Stipi growled and lashed out with his single fang along Nemo’s torso.
The coil cut deep into Nemo’s right side. Lacerating skin and muscle. Stipi twisted the blade and it gnawed into the skin with perilous ease.
Nemo spun on the spot sweat dripping down his nose and round his cracked, parched, lips. He pressed his toes against the floor and felt the skin twist under the pressure against the stone. He felt the firm hands of the guard he never saw on his back. Steadying him.
‘Thank you,’ Stipi said to the guard from behind Nemo.
Nemo attempted to look behind him, arching his neck downward so his chin was against his shoulder. He saw the flick of a golden sleeve. He shifted to the other side and saw the same. Stipi’s shoes rang out with two steps to either side.
‘It will be much easier if you simply stop resisting. For you. For me. For everyone. Do you honestly think anyone enjoys this process?’
Nemo was sure Stipi did. The guards were following orders and their faces showed nothing but control. If the guards found it nauseating they didn’t show it. And credit to them. Stipi, however, smiled as he tortured. A glint in his eye at times.
‘You enjoy it a little,’ Nemo said.
‘I enjoy knowing more. This is a tedium with few benefits,’ Stipi raked the back of Nemo’s left calf with the tip of the coil.
Nemo kicked out front away from the weapon.
Stipi made a sound of amusement, pushing air through his nose while his mouth remained closed. ‘Do we have an answer?’
Nemo swung in his chains before reaching to catch himself with an outstretched foot. He remained silent.
‘Okay. How about a different question then. Where are you from? You speak Tanussian like a local but not a city local. More of the surrounding area. Either you herald from there or moved there from a nearby city. So where are you from?’
There was no reason to lie. There was every reason to avoid the truth. A simple question with a simple answer with potential complications.
‘Nearby. One of the villages in Tanussi’s protection,’ Nemo answered.
‘Good. We have an answer. I have confirmed my theory and you have avoided a slap from my steel,’ Stipi said pacing behind Nemo.
‘Why are you in the city? My guards have already informed me you entered from the south and tried to leave via the north east.’
When did they do that? Nemo racked his brain for the faces of the guards he had passed and talked to and found he had forgotten the faces as quickly as he had seen them. They, however, had not forgotten his.
‘I’m going home,’ he answered with a pained weight in his throat.
‘Laudable and highly advisable,’ Stipi walked round Nemo’s left and into his line of sight. ‘But why, on the way home, do you try to murder me? That doesn’t make sense.’
Nemo remained silent.
‘Or maybe it does. You couldn’t leave. No one can. Still can’t in fact. People may enter Tanussi but they cannot leave, not until I know who and where these rebels are. Thus by killing me you thought to be able to leave?’ Stipi leaned forward and looked up at Nemo’s face as it hung against his chest and shrouded by locks of hair soaked in sweat and blood. ‘Your expression tells me I’m right.’
What expression? Nemo thought not feeling the slim smile of disappointment or the widening of his eyes. His wounds stung too much. His shoulders ached from the weight of himself and his wrists burned from the shackles.
‘Seems an extreme jump. Why not attack the guard or try and sneak out by the holes in the wall or the underground passages? Unless you already knew they were all guarded or collapsed?’ Stipi smiled knowingly. ‘Which leads back to the question, why try and kill me? To leave the city. It is not that simple. Who asked you to kill me? I know who, the rebels who style themselves as freedom fighters. Those who cling to the past unable to deal with the future. So, names. Places. Their reason why, their names, and where they hide. Those are the questions. And I will have answers,’ Stipi snarled and drove the point of the coiled blade down into Nemo’s thigh.
Nemo shrieked as the blade tore through skin with its four sharp edges and pierced muscle. It severed the muscle in a mess of gore. Stipi twisted the steel buried an inch into his leg and lacerated the muscle and skin further. Nemo felt hot tears roll over his face. His leg twitched and kicked to no avail. The chains rattled as he spun in their grip and he clenched his teeth to gain a semblance of control. Stipi pulled the blade free in another severing of muscle and a shot of blood burst from the wound.
‘You will answer or you may not heal in time for the next round. You may never see home, never see the sun again. You will die in a dank cell as your wounds fester with rot,’ Stipi chastised and slapped Nemo across the face with the end of the coiled blade slashing a shallow wound over his cheek and bridge of his nose.
Is that it for today? Nemo thought at the mention of the next day. A glimmer of hope on the distant, sunless, horizon.
‘But first,’ Stipi began, ‘I will have answers. Today I will have one answer to a question I want. Not any of this playing with questions about your past or lack of future. You are connected to people I want and you will lead me to them. One way or another,’ Stipi stepped back and settled himself on the stool once more, a glisten of sweat beading on his forehead. His rounded face flush from exertion. He reached for a towel on the table to his right and pressed it against his forehead. ‘I do not enjoy this. Maybe that is why you insist on not answering. You want to see me suffer alongside you,’ Stipi said with venom.
Nemo shuddered in his chains. Eyes closed to the torn flesh of his thigh. The multitude of wounds competed in his mind, each worse than the last, each rising in intensity while parading around his mind. The noise of the pain grew louder as each bubbled to the surface in uniform order. The scrape across his face waited its turn and then wailed. Then the wound in his thigh, followed by the gash in his side, the cuts and scrapes along his torso, and the scrape returned a little louder than before.
‘So what will it be? More of this,’ Stipi threw the towel on to the table, ‘or an answer and peace for today? Hmm?’ Head turning to one side, a raised eyebrow awaiting response.
Nemo lifted his head, sweat laden hair obstructing much of his vision. He opened his eyes in a half haze of considerable effort. Running his tongue along his lip he tasted blood and spat it out onto the floor. He dropped his head so his chin touched his chest.
The guard behind him pulled his head up by his hair. Nails scratching at his scalp. He eyes shot open with the sudden movement.
Stipi dropped the coiled steel rod leapt from his seat as he reached for his hairpin and rushed towards Nemo. He screamed as he drove the hairpin up towards Nemo’s right eye.
Nemo felt his vision blur as the gold needle pierced his eye. He saw double to his right for an instant, his vision inverted from the pressure of the needle punching through the hard exterior. Then. Nothing. He could see only the left of the room. His nose a blurred thing to his right.
His mind spun. His stomach somersaulting. Nausea grew and bile rose in his throat. He felt dizzy. He tried closing his eyes but the hairpin stopped his right eyelid closing. Left eyelid fluttering in turn. Rolling his eyes he felt the hairpin, heavy on his eye, scratching at the inside of his skull.
Had he screamed? If he had he hadn’t the sense to notice. Nemo felt Stipi remove the hairpin. Each nerve a burning ruin as the gold needle brushed passed. A spew of fluid followed, blood and something else, shooting out and dripping down his face.
Nemo screamed.
His lungs burned and his throat was as coarse as the desert. He drank down air watching blood drip from his right eye to the cobblestone below.
‘You can’t continue like this,’ someone whispered. The person wore plain shoes of calf leather. Soft and easy wearing. Not a soldier, the thought wormed its way through the pain.
‘He hasn’t answered,’ Stipi growled.
‘And he wont ever answer if this continues today. He needs a few days to recover then start again.’
Nemo wanted to thank the one defending him. But all that emerged was spittle and blood and a huff of agony.
‘Perhaps he will be more amicable in the days to come once he has time to reassess,’ Stipi said. ‘Very well. Take him back to his cell.’
His arms slackened and his knees cracked against the cobblestone. He lay on his side.. His own blood pooled in the grooves between floor stones. He sighed a relief and passed into sleep or something close to it.
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