Interview at the Mill

Germain stood outside the old mill watching his companions disappear into the city proper. The rush of his recent combat had long since subsided, and now his muscles ached and sweat sat cold and clammy on his skin. The past hour had been full of unpleasant surprises, none of which bode well for him or his allies. He was hoping, possibly in vain, that the next hour would be more pleasant.

He lingered a few thoughtful moments.

The faces of Gil and Holm flashed before his eyes--not the pathetic failed assassins he had interrogated six months ago, but the twisted abominations they had just put to rest for good. With the help of the pretty and deceptively delicate LE, some valuable information had been coaxed past their lips. It seemed they had paid dearly for it, and he felt bad for them. Even Holm, who would have been no more alive today if he had stayed in Germain's custody, would at least not have spent these long months as whatever he died as today.

With a slow, deep breath, Germain recovered his composure and turned towards the mill. He pushed his shoulders back, stretching out muscles tight from swinging his sword and shield. Settling into a confident stance, he walked back inside.

Although the room was dim, his sharp eyes could still make out the four prisoners, still safely bound, in the corners of the room. One of them was partially conscious, and had propped herself up against the mill's hopper. He stood quietly, listening to the labored breathing of the captives, the stream outside flowing around the sluice, and the rats scampering around the rafters. Confident that they were alone, he began to light the candles ensconced in the wall, bathing the room in flickering yellow light.

Four prisoners, Germain thought, are much better than one. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link, and he doubted that all of them would be hardened or cunning criminals. Which one would be smart enough to open up? Which one would rat them out if they got free? What sorts of affections did they hold for each other? Who is in charge? These are the questions he would keep in mind as he got them talking. Hopefully, he could get through the evening with a minimal amount of suffering. He simply wasn't in the mood to make any enemies or spill any more blood tonight.

The woman against the hopper glared at him groggily. Her left eye was swollen and red, and coagulated blood was pooled around her lashes. He opened his wine skin and wet his handkerchief, and squatting beside her gently wiped the blood away from her eye. When he was done, he leveled a cool and discerning look at her. "Have a drink," he said, holding the wine skin to her lips. Not waiting for a response, he tipped it back.

His captive parted her lips to receive the wine. Germain looked into her eyes, and although they were still suspicious and wary, they betrayed a slight softening of her mood. Seeing it brought him a welcome moment of relief.

"I knew those two before... well... I don't know what, exactly," he said, looking up towards where he had battled what remained of Gil and Holm. "Looks like their friends in the Guild didn't take kindly to them cooperating with me. Not that I gave them much of a choice." He punctuated the last sentence with a brief but stern look. "If I could let you go without talking to you, believe me I would. They tried to kill me, and I still wouldn't wish that fate upon them. Unfortunately, it's not an option--I need information. But I promise if you work with me I'll do my best to keep you safe."

Germain leaned forward, their cheeks gently touching, and spoke softly into her ear. "I don't know your friends... perhaps one of them is a rat? Speak quickly and softly before they come to, and you could save yourself and your friends a lot of unpleasantness. Here are the names I care about: Mantatlus. Fenn. Gil. Holm. Katellian. Antishara. Vilari. Flint." His plan was vague: pressure her to make a quick decision, put the fate of her friends in her hands, or comfort her with subtle intimate contact. Hopefully something would work.

The captive was afraid, Germain could feel it, but she was also on the verge of speaking. Slowly, hesitantly, she replied to him, "I know you can't keep us safe. No one can."

He leaned back gently, and smiled. Her employers held her in a fearful grip, and she was more afraid of them then she was of Germain. A fact that, on its own, might make her unwilling to talk. But he and his allies had been busy the past few months, their connections and reputation had grown, and they were certainly a fact to be reckoned with. He held the captive's vision as he stood up, chuckling lightly. He had inherited his father's aptitude for instilling confidence in people, and he hoped it would be enough to win her over.

"It seems we get underestimated a lot these days," he said, breaking eye contact and turning towards the three captives in the other corner. "Gil and Holm thought the same thing, but we drove Mantatlus from his estate, slaughtering his undead army and burning his precious Garden of Delights to the ground. And Mantatlus thought that the hateful abominations that were once Gil and Holm would cause a lot more trouble than a few cuts and bruises and a trip to the church, didn't he?"

He walked towards the other captives, letting his statements sink in. He scrutinized the three bodies lying bound as he moved across the room. The light seemed to be rousing them, but they were still shy of the point of consciousness. Wary of an ambush, he stopped just at the edge of the nearest captive, and kneeling down, took him firmly by the shoulders. Germain dragged him a few short feet, just out of reach of his two allies, and propped him against the wall. He started to squirm as Germain checked his bonds.

"I can't help you?" He stood up, and pacing slightly, spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. "I could leave you with a few weapons, some gold, and most importantly your health. I could write you a letter that, if you are careful and considerate, might ease your travel with our friends in the Bog Wraiths and the River Folk. I could help you get to Sherdam where you might lie low for a while. I can offer you a fighting chance. Or perhaps that's less than what they," and he nodded towards the remains of the coffins, "would offer you?"

Germain could see her mind working and her hope growing, however slightly, at the prospects of his offer. His mind whirled, searching for a new avenue to pursue his agenda. To buy time, he turned his attention to the other two captives, helping the woman into a sitting position and moving her away from her partner. Once again, he checked Quin's ropes to make sure they were secure, and helped her get comfortable. They were all alert now, and aware of their surroundings.

"If you helped me, there is something else I might do for you," he said, strutting back towards his original captive with a commanding gait. "If I had good information, my companions and I could quickly dispatch of the very people you fear. I am simply in too deep to leave them be... desperate if you will, to tie up these deadly loose ends. As a simple consequence of my own self-preservation, you'll be free as well. You could return to Wydmoor with a fresh start. Or perhaps you are expecting a better offer from another agency?"

He felt her mood sink and darken--not towards him, he was sure, but instead a fatalism towards her own prospects. She let loose a forlorn, derisive laugh, and said "you will try, I am sure."

Germain was close, and he could taste it. He would not lose this opportunity. He could not. Tense with exhilaration, he scrambled to win her back. "Do you think they still underestimate us? Do you underestimate us?"

"Not for much longer," she said, "and I fear it will add much to your misfortune."

"Good! Then you understand how important it is to strike quickly and accurately." He knelt down again in front of her, his head swimming with anxiety, energy, and confidence. He locked eyes with her. If he could just win her over now, he would have an ally earning the cooperation of the other three. "What is your name?"

"Cinnamon," she replied.

"Even, in the worst case, where all I buy you is a brief diversion, it is better than what awaits you here. Besides, my allies and I are young, arrogant, ambitious, and have powerful friends. If anyone has a chance of shaking things up right now, it is us." Germain had sealed the deal, he was certain. "Cinnamon, I promise you that if you help me, we will do our best and buy you four a chance, if your pessimism is to be believed with our lives. Work with us. Tell me what you know."

Cinnamon's mood shifted again, and she flashed Germain a wicked smile. "I suppose I could use some company in hell!" she sneered, and a wave of relief washed over him. "You had better get us out of here before nightfall, and you would be wise to get yourselves out as well. You have no idea how much you will be hunted when the darkness sets."

"Then we must act quickly," Germain exclaimed, flashing a grin of his own. He stood and walked slowly back across the room towards the other three captives, drawing long, slow breaths to calm his nerves. "What about you? Surely you understand what we are talking about here. I am offering you freedom from a punishment that is likely little less severe than the one Gil and Holm suffered. All you have to do is cooperate with me. What do you think?" He concluded, in a warning tone, "think hard on your answer."

The captives glowered at Germain, and their defiance was palpable. He had known they would be more of a challenge than Cinnamon, but as he watched them exchange looks with each other, he realized they would be much harder than he had hoped. "We know better than to talk to you, and she will too if she knows whats good for her," one said, flashing a warning look across the room.

Germain folded his arms, and arched his eyebrow quizzically. "That so?" he asked, and turned back towards Cinnamon. He wasn't sure she would talk with her companions awake, but he wanted a better feel for the dynamics of the group. "I would think it would be best to strike now, before they have time to react to the news of today. But you think we should go on the defensive? Why? What could be important enough to give them control of the battlefield?"

Hissed voices sprung to life behind him. "Keep your mouth shut, idiot." "You don't want them to do to you what they did to Gil and Holm." "Talk and you'll be sorry." Cinnamon was frozen--her confidence washed away and replaced with terror. She shot nervous looks at Germain and at the captives behind him.

Germain spun quickly and angrily on the bound captives. "I clearly gave you far more credit than you deserved. Seems like Cinnamon understands the realities of your situation much better than you do." If he wanted to keep Cinnamon on his side, he knew he would have to build her up and empower her over her companions. "What sort of options do you think you have here, exactly? I've tried to be," he paused, "polite. I didn't want to soil our nice little chat with unpleasantries. But since you three are so much more dim-witted, it doesn't seem like that's going to be an option."

"Let me make something clear: your chances are grim, and your options are limited. Perhaps you thought you could keep you mouths shut, and I would let you go happy and healthy? If you had a clue like your friend here," he jerked his head towards Cinnamon, "you would have realized that option is not on the table. If you take too long to talk, then you will leave here broken, Mantatlus will catch you, and even you can figure out how that will pan out. If you don't talk and all Mantatlus finds are corpses, he will see you as nothing more than resources to turn against me, and your fate will be just the same. Even if you did happen to escape, do you think you'll get a pat on the back, or do you think your boss will realize he got lucky, and his secrets will be much safer if your tongues were bound by death and slavery?"

Germain dropped his voice low, and continued, "I've fought his abominations. Do you know what the most frighting thing about them is? It is not their rotting flesh. It is not their terrible smell. It is not their violent hunger. They are frightening because, when you look into their eyes, you see a little spark of what they used to be, and you know they are not free. Unless I win this fight, either because I flee or fail, this is your fate: bound to a fetid corpse, enslaved by a cruel master, buried in a yard, forever."

He turned towards Cinnamon, his countenance lightening. "You should be glad you woke up before your friends--their idiocy would have cost you dearly. I appreciate your good judgment, and I'll repay it with all the kindness I can afford." Germain shifted his attention back towards the three uncooperative captives, unhooking his baton and taking it into his hands. With narrow eyes and a hard voice, he announced, "you, on the other hand, have done nothing except upset me with your stupidity. Talk."