Martin Scott - Thraxas at War

'Who sent you?'

As soon as I'm out of this chair I'll kill you, fat man.'

I hit him across the face again and he falls silent. Silent, but not cowed.

'You want me to use a truth spell on you?'

My prisoner laughs.

'Everyone knows you don't have that sort of power. All you can do is send a person to sleep, fat man.'

It's getting on my nerves, the way he keeps calling me fat man. I stare at him, unsure of my next move. Being a private Investigator isn't like working for the Civil Guards or Palace Security. You can't just brutalise people, it's against the law. Not that I'm too worried about the law, as this man has twice tried to kill me. But if I hurt him too badly and he goes complaining about it to the authorities, I could find myself in trouble. I press my sword right up against his throat. He looks at me coolly.

'It won't take my friends long to work out where I am. This time we will kill you.'

He's right, at least about the part where his friends find him. When they wake up and get to wondering where their leader is, they might well decide to take a look in the Avenging Axe. Or they might just decide to go home, depending on how well they're being paid. While I'm wondering what to do, I hear a door closing softly further along the corridor. I stick my head out the door. Makri walks past with her nose in the air.

'Makri—'

'Don't talk to me, oaf,' she says.

I get in front of her.

'I need your help.'

'That's unfortunate. I rarely help people who abuse me and throw me out of their office.'

'Did I do that?'

'Yes.'

'I expect I was being drunk and unreasonable. You know how I get. Incidentally, I've just been in Lisutaris's villa, complimenting her on choosing you as a bodyguard.'

'Oh yes?'

'Yes. We both agreed you were the ideal woman for the job.'

'Forget it, Thraxas. You can't win me over with flattery'

'I understand the Consul himself has expressed satisfaction.'

'Really? Did he say that?'

Makri looks pleased. Then she frowns.

I'm still annoyed at you;

Time was, Makri was easy prey for a cheap compliment. Now, it doesn't work so well. Civilisation has corrupted her. Fortunately she does remain sorely in need of money. Classes at the Guild College don't come cheap.

'I'll pay you five gurans.'

'Ten.'

'Seven and a half.'

'Okay. What do you want me to do?'

I quickly fill her in on the situation. Makri nods.

'So you want me to scare this Kerinox till he starts answering?'

I shake my head.

'No good. He doesn't scare easily and he's expecting to be rescued. Subtlety is required. Back at Palace Security we had a technique for questioning recalcitrant prisoners. Used to call it Good Civil Guard Bad Civil Guard. Or Good Guard Bad Guard for short.'

'What?'

'It's easy. We go in there together. I threaten him, rough him up a little and then you start in with the sympathy. Tell him you know he's suffering and how I'm such an unreasonable guy, and in no time he's telling you everything.'

'Why would he do that?' asks Makri, puzzled.

'I don't exactly know. But it seemed to work back in Palace Security. Something to do with the inner working of the mind. You know, brutal captor followed by kindly sympathy'

Makri looks thoughtful for a moment or two. I'm expecting her to waste time with a lot more questions, but instead she nods.

'Yes, I think I see what you're getting at. Something similar happens in the great Elvish Epic The Tale of the Two Oaks and the Warring Princes. There's a moment when one prince has been thrown in a dungeon—'

I hold up my hand.

'Could we discuss Elvish poetry another time? We have a suspect to question.'

All right. But are you sure I should be the good guard? Shouldn't I be the bad one?'

'No, you're much more suitable for lending a sympathetic ear.'

'No I'm not,' protests Makri. 'Last night I punched out a mercenary when he was telling me about his lover back in the north. He seemed to get confused about where his lover was and started groping my thigh.'

'Well, provided Kerinox doesn't start fondling you, I think you can manage to be sympathetic. Or pretend to be. Don't curse him in Orcish.'

Makri agrees to give it a try and we march back into the office. I start in on the red-haired man right away, slapping him a few times, threatening him with my sword and dagger and generally giving him a hard time. And while he shows no more signs of being ready to talk than he did before, he's certainly becoming uncomfortable under the harsh treatment. I keep it up for a while. Makri sits quietly at my desk, watching. When I judge that I might have made him uncomfortable enough, I pull a face as if disgusted with the whole thing, and back off.

'You better talk soon or I'll kill you right here,' I threaten, before withdrawing. Makri rises to her feet.

'Remember, be sympathetic,' I whisper. I take a seat at the desk and Makri stands in front of the prisoner.

'Is it uncomfortable for you sitting there, Kerinox?' says Makri, managing to sound quite pleasant. 'Should I loosen your bonds?'

'Get away from me,' snarls the man in the chair.

'Would you like a drink of water?'

'Go to hell.'

Makri looks confused.

'Wouldn't you like to tell me your problems?' she ventures.

'Shut up, bitch,' growls our captive.

'Why don't you just answer the damned questions!' roars Makri, and hits him so hard that the chair goes over on to the ground.

I look at the body now unconscious on the floor.

'Well that was splendid, Makri. Now you've killed him. What happened to the sympathy?'

'I got annoyed when he insulted me.'

Makri purses her lips.

'You should have let me be the bad guard. I'm much more suited to it.'

We haul the chair upright. Kerinox sags, unconscious in his bonds. He moans. At least he isn't dead. I spread my arms wide and turn to Makri.

'Now I don't know what to do.'

'How about if you try being the good guard?' she suggests.

'It's too late for that. I've already hit him. Couldn't you have controlled your temper for once?'

Makri brushes this aside.

'Hey, I did my best. The problem as I see it is that you have no real leverage. He knows you're not going to kill him. All he has to do is wait and you have to let him go eventually. The whole thing has been a tactical blunder on your part. You should have thought about it more before you started.'

'When it started I was knee deep in snow with four guys attacking me. I didn't have a lot of time to think.'

'Well, the plan you came up with was a bust,' says Makri. 'Too elaborate.'

'It might have worked if you hadn't slugged him at the first opportunity. You were meant to be good guard, not violent aggressive guard.'

'I can't be blamed for this debacle,' objects Makri. 'I was miscast right from the start.'

By now my captive is beginning to show signs of life.

'You're just not threatening enough,' says Makri.

'What? I'm plenty threatening.'

'You're not. Remember how I scared that guy up in Kushni when we needed to find the green jewel? Now that was threatening. Wait here.'

With that Makri disappears from the room, appearing back in moments with her black Orcish sword. It's an ugly weapon, dark and razor sharp. Rather than reflecting light, it seems to suck it in.

'I'll show you threatening,' mutters Makri. She strides over to the red-haired man, places her sword near to his throat and yanks his head back.

'You see this? This sword was forged by demons in an Orcish furnace beneath the cursed mountain of Zarax. When it cuts into you it'll drink your soul and send you down to Orcish hell, where you'll spend the rest of eternity as the only tortured Human in an inferno of damned Ores. And you see these?'