– Aaaah!
– Talk, scoundrel! Tell the truth!
Akino, chained to a beam slippery with dampness, had just emerged from an icy tub. Water streamed from his graying hair, flooding his eyes, nose, pouring down his collar. He choked, coughed, trembling with a fine shiver.
– I... am telling... the truth... honestly... – he rasped, spitting out water.
– You're lying, dog! – roared the head of the fifth investigative squad. His face, furrowed with a scar from ear to chin, was darker than a storm cloud.
He didn't like interrogating psychos. And that this baron was a psycho, he had no doubt. Especially after the stories about whispering stalagmites and walls that had framed him.
"The delusions of grandeur are clear... But this latest tale..." – about a vile thief stealing his victory – after several hours of "work" had taken on more plausible outlines.
Beaten like a lousy rat, he fled the battlefield, and "Whitey" (as the investigators had dubbed the mysterious youth) sent him to his grave with a well-aimed stone throw.
But Akino flatly refused to acknowledge Linsi's version about a whole group of mercenaries. "Understandable: the punishment for deception in an imperial trial is one thing – death." The investigator decided privately that he'd have kept quiet too in his place.
– Get him out! – he commanded the guards, turning away from the wet, sobbing heap on the floor. Maybe his colleague in the next wing was having better luck? Their lady's patience was clearly not infinite.
Stepping out into the damp corridor, reeking of mold and urine, the investigator hastily pulled out a short pipe, struck a flint, and drew on the acrid smoke. He headed to the adjacent wing; loud shouts were already reaching his ears from there.
– You have no right! I am Linsi von Altshtadt! The crowned hero!
The voice was loud but hoarse with fear. Linsi was stretched on the rack. His expensive doublet was splitting at the seams under the arms, his face purple with strain and humiliation, seemed ready to burst.
The investigator from the second department, a man with an empty gaze and quick hands, stood nearby, methodically turning the lever.
– We do, – Marten replied evenly and dryly. – Talk, you market bitch. How it all happened!
– I already to... Aaaah! – Linsi squealed as the lever jerked another notch. The merchant's joints cracked like logs in a fire.
– And I don't believe you, – the investigator continued, leaning toward his ear. – Once more. With feeling. With detail, but only the truth.
– You... vile worm! I... AAAH!
– See? – Marten tapped his knuckles on the wooden frame of the rack. – You're on it, and I'm commanding it right now, so talk and don't waste my time.
Someone knocked on the door. His colleague's face peered in with a nod.
– Lucky bastard, – the investigator hissed, looking at Linsi. – Don't relax. I'll be back soon. – He went out into the corridor. Both investigators, veterans of palace filth, silently sat on a dirty wooden bench.
– Well? – asked the newly arrived investigator, lighting his pipe from his colleague's.
– They're not breaking, – he exhaled smoke. – Yours is yelling about rights. Mine is raving about Whitey. So maybe... – he lowered his voice, – ...they're telling the truth?
– I've been thinking about that. Katarina definitely won't like that version.
– So what do you suggest? We can't drag it out until they die. And your Linsi is close to popping like a bubble. Got an idea?
– We have to continue anyway, so we'll see... – Linsi's tormentor stood up. – I'm going back to my "hero." Let me know if your psycho says anything useful.
Returning to Akino's cell, the investigator found him sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. The guy was pale, but his eyes burned with a strange fire.
– I'm back, and I have news for you. You're exonerated, well, almost.
Akino even flinched in surprise. Hope flickered in his eyes.
– Of course not, – the investigator smirked, shattering the guy's hopes to smithereens. – One of the surviving mercenains told everything. About the "Whitey" guy, and about your conspiracy, and how they... well, how they entered the cave. So get ready. Your execution is scheduled for tomorrow and signed by the Empress herself. Take him off! – he nodded to the guards.
– What?! How?! – Akino jumped up. – But I... no! It wasn't like that! – The blow was worse than any rack lever. Hope shattered. His heart beat wildly. But he... fell silent. Pressed his lips together. "Hm, interesting..." – thought the investigator. "And if we ask Linsi's servants... for real, not pretend... what will they tell us?"
Unlike Akino, who, upon hearing the news of the execution and the "betrayal" of a surviving mercenary, screeched like a wounded animal, accusing the whole world of ugliness and unworthiness of his greatness, Linsi was unshakable.
Even when a guard told him that "one of his servants" was allegedly waiting with a confession outside the door, Linsi just snorted with contempt.
– You're lying! Everyone's lying! He never would! – he screamed, but a real, animal fear flashed in his eyes. Not for himself for exposure. The guard just twirled his finger at his temple, watching his hysterics. Any attempts to break his version of the glorious victory seemed futile.
Hope lay with his servants, and given that they were real hangers-on and lackeys to the core, eager for money, the conversation with them promised to be very quick.
The door to the prison building slammed open. A crowd guards escorting frightened, pale servants of Linsi in expensive but rumpled clothes passed into the general interrogation hall.
The investigator from the fifth department, standing in the doorway of his wing, finished his pipe. Threw the butt on the wet stone floor. "The hunter and the prey are running..." – he thought with a bitter smirk and headed to the hall. The cat-and-mouse game continued. But the finale was already taking shape, and it promised to be very interesting.
…
– Well now... good job! Working when you can! – Empress Katarina almost babbled, flipping through the indictment.
Her fingers trembled with excitement. The document was impeccable: everything in its place. How Linsi's servants, scared out of their wits, had given up their master, like hay groaning (his favorite expression surfaced on its own). How their testimonies, backed by "convincing arguments" from the investigators, had forced the fat cat to crack. The truth had come out, sticky and stinking: about the Kotto clan, about the mercenary... about Saigo. A name, most likely fake, but it sounded so... intriguing.
She looked up from the papers, fixing the investigators standing before her with a questioning, almost girlish look. The men shifted uncomfortably, not understanding her doubts.
– Well and... – Katarina tapped her nail impatiently on the parchment. – Where is he? Where is this... Saigo? And anyway... the Kotto clan – who are they? – Her voice rang. – Send a messenger to them! Or something? On the double!
The men vanished in an instant, as if blown away by a draft from the dungeons. Only the guard captain, Markus, remained in the office. He silently perched on the edge of the now-vacated chair opposite Katarina.
– We shouldn't rush, Your Majesty, – he said quietly but firmly.
Katarina's face, moments ago radiant with delight, twisted with pure, genuine malice and impatience. She slowly turned her head toward him.
– Repeat that. Or am I... hard of hearing? – each word fell like an icicle.
"Fool!" flashed through his mind. "The Kotto clan isn't a couple of village drifters who decided to take up murder out of boredom! They're psychos to the core! And poking their nest is like sticking your hand into an anthill. We need to set traps more delicately, or you'll wake up with a meter-long blade in your ass! And what do we all do then?" Out loud, of course, he said something else:
– The Kotto clan, Your Majesty... are not just killers. They are the best of the best, and this Saigo... – he pulled a neat stack of worn papers from under his uniform. – I made some inquiries. In the darkest corners of the archive, and here's what I found. Yes, he exists. But information... – he spread his hands, – ...is very scarce.
With the greed of a child, Katarina snatched the papers from his hand. Her eyes greedily scanned the lines.
Mostly nothing. A couple of vague eyewitness accounts ("a man in a cloak", "was fast as the wind"). A couple of in absentia, unexecuted sentences from minor barons.
And a skimpy biographical note: "Saigo. Member of the Kotto clan." That was it.
– Hee-hee... – Katarina giggled unexpectedly, her fingers gently stroking the name on the paper. – And he... seems even kinda good-looking? Probably? – She squinted dreamily, picturing the image.
"Bitch, is that all you think with?!" a storm raged in Markus's head. "What the hell! Another imbecile emperor?! This country really has no luck..." But again – all to himself.
– This is the Kotto clan, – he continued aloud, stifling the internal scream. – They have a presence in the capital?
– Yes, a secret one, but they do: Dozens of safe houses, shops with trusted people, brothels where they'll slit your throat for a kiss. Underground arenas where they fight to the death. And that's – only what we found. Probably the tip of the iceberg.
– So what are you waiting for?! – Katarina jumped up, papers scattering on the floor. – What are you waiting for?!
– I've already dispatched guards, – Markus replied calmly. – To all known addresses. Ordered them to conduct a quiet and very polite inquiry. To find a man named Saigo, and deliver... an invitation.
The girl's face blossomed into a dazzling, almost insane smile. Her eyes shone.
– Soon... – she whispered, looking out the window as if seeing the desired silhouette there. – Soon we will meet...
Watching her face, Captain Markus involuntarily swallowed. A lump of fear and foreboding rose in his throat. He mentally addressed the one his ruler so desired to find: "Boy... run. For your own good. Run without looking back. Preferably... to another continent."
But the office was filled only with a joyful, ominous silence, broken by the ticking of the clock and the soft rustle of papers scattered on the floor – the only material traces of a ghost named Saigo.