Hugh Cook - The Wicked and the Witless

'All Plovey needs is a list of names in your handwriting,' said Jarl. Then he'll move heaven and earth to get warrants to interrogate everyone on that list under torture.'

That was not just Jarl's opinion – it was also the truth. Plovey obviously did not have the documents as yet – but somebody did! The conspirators were doomed if Plovey got to the papers before they did. So the conspirators went hunting.

First, Thodric Jarl raided the premises of Madam Sosos- tris. He took twenty men, armed, masked and hooded. They smashed their way in, ransacked the place, inter- rogated the staff – but found no trace of the documents.

What they did find was that Jaluba was missing. She had disappeared, and Madam Sosostris had no idea where she had gone. Sarazin bethought himself of Madam Ix – but a raid on that fortune-teller's lair proved equally fruitless.

Sarazin briefed Glambrax, then sent his dwarf into the taverns of Jone to listen for rumours. But someone stomped the hapless mannikin in a tavern, and he was put to bed with a set of broken ribs.

Then Sarazin thought of Benthorn. His half-brother, yes! Little trusted, and little deserving of trust. He had not seen him around for the last few days. Why?

Sarazin conferred with Jarl, then the two led a raid on Benthorn's residence. But Benthorn was not there. Diligent enquiries – conducted at swordpoint – established that Benthorn was in Androlmarphos. Sarazin's half-brother had departed for the trading port days before Sarazin's goods had been stolen. 'So it wasn't Benthorn,' said Sarazin.

'It might well have been Benthorn,' said Jarl. 'He'd know we'd suspect him. He might well have briefed a thief to do the dirty work while he absented himself from the city. Likely we'll hear from him sooner or later demanding blackmail money.'

'I think it would be better if we heard sooner,' said Sarazin.

'Right!' said Jarl. 'For then at least we'd know where the danger lay.'

At Glambrax's suggestion, to force Benthorn to show his hand, they sent a courier to Androlmarphos to deliver to him a brief, anonymous note. It said: 'To love me is to love life. And vice versa.'

Then, when Sarazin's fear and panic had reached its peak, Jarl came to him by night.

What is it?' said Sarazin, startled from dreams of blood- stump torture and public execution. The Watch has caught the thief,' said Jarl.

That had Sarazin sitting up in a hurry.

'Good!' he said, spitting out the word with explosive force, punching his open hand with his fist. 'Have we got it all back? The book? The papers? The bard? The-' Was there something else missing?' said Jarl.

'A few trinkets,' admitted Sarazin. 'Souvenirs of travel. A little jade snuff bottle and a couple of other things.'

Well, nothing like that's turned up,' said Jarl dourly. We haven't even got the papers back. Or your pro- phetic book. But we've recovered the bard. The thief was wearing it,' 'Where is he?' said Sarazin. The Watch are holding him prisoner,' said Jarl. 'Let's go and see him. Now!'

'No,' said Jarl. We wait. Give him time to stew in his own juices. Then we have him brought to us. Then we work him over in a really major way. Torture, that's the thing. We'll have the truth soon enough. He's not going anywhere in the meantime.'

'How long?' said Sarazin, desperately. 'How long before we can start torturing him?'

'Oh, three days… maybe four,' said Jarl, watching Sarazin sharply. There's no hurry.'

There was in fact every reason for the most urgent hurry imaginable. But, by insisting on this delay, Jarl was putting pressure on Sarazin. Jarl suspected – rightly! – that Sarazin was withholding important information. With enough pressure, Sarazin would crack.

'So,' said Sarazin, taking a deep breath, 'we wait, then.' And the two glared at each other.

Sarazin suspected – and he was of course correct in his suspicion – that Jarl suspected Sarazin of holding out on him. Moreover, Sarazin suspected that Jarl suspected Sarazin of suspecting Jarl of such suspicion.

'While we wait,' said Sarazin, 'how about telling me the thief's name? Is it anyone we know?' 'No,' said Jarl. 'He's Drake Douay. Nobody I know.' 'Nobody I know either,' said Sarazin.

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt of this Drake Douay who was now his enemy. The thief who had made off with his bard, unique treasure of Untunchilamon. And with his prophetic book, his documents

… and his enchanted valuables.

'Douay,' said Sarazin, in his dreams, 'when we meet, you die.'

Drake Douay: a man arrested by the Watch after a brawl in Libernek Square, and subsequently found to be wearing a piece of jewellery which his captors recognised as Sarazin's bard.

After Drake Douay had been in captivity for three days, Jarl concluded that Sarazin was not going to crack and confess whatever secrets he was hiding. By this time, Jarl was near cracking himself, for every day's delay increased their danger.

So Jarl had the thief Douay brought to Farfalla's palace. Jarl and Sarazin dressed up in their most impressive costumes – princely silks for Sarazin and ornate armour for Jarl – and, after letting Douay stew for a while, proceeded with the interrogation.

Sarazin had imagined that Douay would be a dark and dirty inarticulate thief with a scowling mien. Instead, Douay proved to be blond and dirty. And young, smooth- tongued and as cocky as they come. Both Jarl and Sarazin were infuriated by his attitude.

Douay seemed completely unaware of the enormity of his crime. Worse, at first he refused to confess his guilt, and told the most absurd lies. The young punk claimed, for example, that he had once won dozens of bards by fighting in some place called Ling. Of course Sarazin was not fooled by such a tale for even a moment, for he had learnt from Epelthin Elkin himself that the bard was a unique object, there being only one in all the world. Two things in particular annoyed Sarazin.

First, that Douay had managed to damage the bard in the short time it had been in his possession. There was a gouge ripped through the skin of the precious thing, suggesting the punk Douay had tried to cut it open to see what was within.

Second, that Douay had not the slightest idea who Sarazin was. Sarazin's dearest wish was to have his battle-name, 'Watashi', on the lips of every citizen of the Harvest Plains. But to Douay the name appeared to mean nothing. The fact that the Watch had reported that Douay was also ignorant of Farfalla's existence was scant consolation.

Eventually, after a most unsatisfactory interview, Douay was gagged and taken to an abandoned store room. Over the last three days, this had been converted into a horror house. Many ugly instruments of iron had been gathered together; a torture bench had been installed; and Jarl had slaughtered a chicken in the room to make sure it was suitably blood-bespattered.

Sarazin did not follow Douay to the torture chamber. To tell the truth, despite his anger Sarazin was somewhat fearful of what might happen in that ugly room. Torture was an acknowledged road to the truth, of course, and was much used by Selzirk's judicial system. Even so… somehow Sarazin did not like the idea.

However, nothing dreadful happened inside the torture chamber. Once Douay was ungagged he started talking very, very quickly. Then, as soon as a saw was applied to his ankles, he screamed – and confessed. According to Douay, Sarazin's quarters had been burgled by criminals from Jone. Douay named and described the ringleaders – and said where they could be found.

Whereupon Jarl had Douay thrown into solitary confine- ment, conferred briefly with Sarazin, then organised a raiding party to capture those ringleaders and bring them in for interrogation.