Rob Scott - Lessek_s Key

‘Is he waking up?’ Brexan’s voice came from far away. ‘I think so too. There he is.’

Carpello opened his eyes.

‘Welcome back. Did you miss us?’

Pain lanced through his lower back, his side and especially his head and face. He had been clubbed into a stupor twice in one evening and his thoughts were coming together more slowly than usual. He had difficulty clearing his mind, and he couldn’t focus properly; he was certain irreparable damage had been done to his head. Panic overtook him and he tried to scream for help, but to no avail, for his mouth had been bound with the same bandaging Sallax used to stem the flow of blood from his nose. Carpello guessed his entire head was wrapped in it, with just enough room for him to draw shallow breaths through his disfigured nose. He trembled, and he felt his bowels let loose, filling his leggings and adding to the already disagreeable smell.

‘There we go,’ Brexan said lightly. ‘I was wondering when that would happen. You are a predictable little milksop, aren’t you? Great gods, but what have you been eating?’

He tried to beg for his life, to promise anything he could to change these madmen’s minds about killing him, but all he could do was grunt. It was dark outside, and he assumed he had not been unconscious for six full avens, so it must be the same night.

Not that long ago he’d sought out and then escorted home the floppy-breasted prostitute with the endearing little roll of flab… it must be quite late now; dawn would soon brighten the sky outside. It was difficult to dispose of a body after sunrise; so if he could stay alive long enough to see the sun crest the horizon, there was a chance he might live through the day.

Carpello checked out the room; he had no idea where he was. A bedside table matched a chest against the wall. No carpets on the floor, no tapestries on the walls: this was a guest room. An inn, maybe? He hoped there were plenty of guests that night: he would wait for dawn and then, when he heard someone moving outside, he would cry for help. It wasn’t the best strategy, but it was the best he could do right now. His head ached and he longed for sleep.

‘I want you to pay attention,’ Brexan said.

His eyes shifted to Sallax, and Brexan slashed him across one thigh.

Both his cry of pain and sobs were muffled. His pulse quickened and his breathing was laboured as he heaved back and forth in the chair he was bound to with leather straps. He stared wide-eyed back at Brexan.

‘That’s better. I want you to pay attention. When you don’t, I am going to cut you. Does that make sense? I’m keeping it simple.’

He nodded as quickly as he could, never taking his eyes off her, trying to ignore the feeling of warm blood trickling across his lap.

‘Very good.’ Brexan leaned forward until her face was close to his. Carpello thought that if he had any flesh left on the end of his nose, it would be pressing against hers. ‘I will ask you a question, and then I will loosen your bonds enough for you to reply. If you say anything that is not a direct response to my question, I will tighten them back up, and I will cut you. Make sense?’

Again Carpello nodded vigorously.

‘See? You’re doing fine.’ Still face to face with him, Brexan asked, ‘What are you shipping to Pellia?’ She reached up and loosened the bandage around his mouth, which hung limp beneath his lower lip, damp with saliva and blood.

Carpello breathed deeply for the first time since waking and took a moment to regain his composure before answering, ‘I’m not sure what it does, but it comes from Rona. There’s a forest outside Estrad Village, and another along the South Coast, forbidden forests, closed off- they have been for almost a thousand Twinmoons.’

Brexan raised the knife. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

Carpello whimpered, ‘I am, but I don’t really know what it is. It’s wood, processed wood, but not lumber – bark and shavings, leaves, and roots and stuff. I don’t know what he wants with it, but he wants as much as I can ship. He pays anything I ask.’

Sallax stood. ‘I know that forest, near the old palace. We hunt in those woods; there isn’t anyone in there harvesting any trees.’

‘I’m trying to save my life,’ Carpello said, ‘what chance do I have if I lie? I’m telling you the truth.’

Brexan pressed her lips together; she believed him. ‘My platoon used to patrol the edge of those woods. Every now and then we would hang a poacher, but most of the time, we looked the other way.’

‘Did you hear of people cutting down trees?’ Sallax’s scepticism was evident.

‘No, and it isn’t possible that wagons of timber could come out of there without us knowing. You need to do better than this, Carpello.’

The fat man spoke rapidly, filling the air with as much information as he could. ‘It doesn’t come out in wagons; then everyone in Rona would know. Prince Malagon is aware that patrols along that forest are token; it’s the end of the world out there, and anyway, no one really cares what happens in Estrad. The cargo comes via launch to my ships – my captains moor off the peninsula. The loads are ferried out. There hasn’t been a Ronan boat around that peninsula since Prince Marek closed the forest five generations ago; not even the bravest fishermen go out there, for fear they’ll be sunk immediately by the Malakasian Navy.’

Sallax shook his head. ‘Versen and Garec have hunted that forest since we were kids. It’s a competition with them, who can get the most deer. They would know if there was cutting going on.’

‘How far out do they go?’ Carpello asked, glad for the excuse to keep the two partisans talking. ‘Is it all the way to the coast? Do they go out onto the peninsula?’

‘I would guess…’ Sallax hesitated, looking at Brexan. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Can we loosen these a bit more?’ Carpello ventured, warily.

Brexan’s hand moved so swiftly he barely saw it. Blood seeped through the new gash, parallel to the first. ‘Don’t stray from the topic, or I will gut you right now.’

Carpello whimpered; he was almost paralysed with fear. His eyes were red with fatigue.

Brexan worried that he might pass out on her. ‘Stay awake,’ she ordered. ‘I need you focused on the conversation.’

‘Whatever you say, just please don’t cut me,’ he pleaded. ‘Please don’t cut me again.’ His body shook, great rolls of fat quivering as he sobbed.

‘How much have you shipped?’

‘Twelve vessels in the last eighteen Twinmoons – as fast as they can harvest it.’

‘What are you paid?’

‘Five hundred silver pieces per ship.’

Brexan did a quick calculation. ‘Six thousand pieces of silver! You have done well, haven’t you? You could live like a prince on that much – for eight or nine lifetimes.’

‘I have costs,’ he said, a little sulkily. ‘Ships are lost, sailors die, cargoes sink. There are always risks.’

Another slash, this one deeper, in line with the first two. ‘Did I ask about your overheads?’

The merchant emitted a high-pitched whine. He kept it going, without a break, for a surprisingly long time, until Brexan slapped him hard, drawing blood from his lip.

‘Stop that squealing – you sound like the pig you are. I’m losing patience. What happens in Strandson?’

Carpello stopped shrieking and after a moment replied, ‘It’s where we pick up shipments from the South Coast. I transport the cargoes via wagon to the village.’

‘Why not moor and ferry them out from down south?’

‘No good anchorage off the coast where Prince Marek closed the forest. It’s easier – cheaper – to run the wagons into Strandson and pick them up there.’