“Well, well. If it isn’t my old friend Gwilym. Don’t think
about the torch, you’ll be dead before you reach it.”
“Do you think one crossbow bolt will stop me? It will hurt
but then you’ll be dead. I’ll squeeze the life out of you with one hand.”
“Gwilym! Always the brute. You’ve never had a brain to use
so you always have to rely on your giant strength. But I have a plan. I use my
brain. I’m not stupid. Come in boys!”
Two other men entered the room, each with a loaded crossbow.
The room was crowded now.
“You brought a rope! How convenient. Tie him up to that
couch, Brendan. And don’t spare him any pain. He’s strong, you see. Strong, but
stupid.”
One of Tarrant’s henchmen tied Gwilym’s hands together
behind him and then around the back and under the couch and around his ankles.
He secured both his hands and ankles to the couch, then looped the remainder
around his neck and back to the couch. Gwilym’s hands were losing their
feeling. He had tried to keep them clenched so that he would be able to slip
them out when the man was done tying him but Brendan had responded to that by
tying them tighter, then looping rope around the initial loops between his
hands, cutting off his circulation.
The whole time, Tarrant and the other man were pointing
their loaded crossbows at Gwilym’s head and chest, precluding any escape
attempts. When Brendan stepped away, Gwilym tried to flex his muscles to rid
himself of the knots but he soon discovered there was no hope.
“What now, boss?” asked the other man.
“Go back to your job. I think we’re almost through to the
next chamber.” The men walked back through the other entrance. After a few
minutes, Gwilym heard them digging. The whole time, Tarrant stared at Gwilym.
Gwilym’s mind was working fast. He was completely under Tarrant’s power. He had
been in situations before that looked bleak and he had always found that time
helped the person who was in the worst situation. Things rarely became worse.
He had to buy as much time as possible.
“So, dummy. Have you figured out yet why you’re not dead?”
That was the third
time Tarrant had said he was smart and I’m dumb. Why is that so important to
him? He must have some deep-seated fears about his own intelligence to keep
bringing it up. I must use that.
He knew why he was being kept alive and helpless by Tarrant.
Tarrant worked for Palomides. Palomides wanted his book and so he wanted Gwilym
alive. If Tarrant could torture the information out of him, then Gwilym could
be killed. He needed to be prepared to tell Tarrant a lie that would lead him
to be caught by someone. For that he needed time. Let’s live up to Tarrant’s wishes and act dumb.
“Because you want to make me die slowly. You like causing
pain.” Gwilym glanced down at his injured leg.
“Ha!” said Tarrant. “Such an idiot! I will cause you pain,
but I’ll do it for a reason. I’ll do it until you tell me what I want to know.
Do you understand?”
Again Gwilym glanced down at his injured leg, lingering on
the lower part, below the old break, before looking up again to meet Tarrant’s
eye.
Tarrant’s smile grew from his sneer and he asked Gwilym,
“What is the most sensitive part of your body?”
Gwilym’s eyes flicked to his lower leg and then back to
Tarrant’s eyes. “My back, Tarrant. I was whipped in Lebanon once and my back is the
most painful.”
“Really?” Tarrant stepped forward, standing in front of
Gwilym. “More painful than your leg?” As he said the last word, Gwilym watched
him poke his boot into the bone of his calf. As soon as contact was made,
Gwilym flinched, contracted all his muscles and let out an unearthly scream. He
shuddered and gasped breath back into his lungs.
“I have a hard time believing your back is that painful. I
would think you would have flinched from being tied to the couch.” Again he
poked Gwilym’s leg with the same result. “I remember this leg. Last time I saw
it, a bone was sticking out of it. That must have hurt, huh? Wasn’t that bone
sticking out right about here?” He gave Gwilym a vicious kick right where the
skin had been broken through and Gwilym almost lifted the couch in his muscle
flinch, his screams filling the small chamber. The digging sounds had stopped.
Tarrant yelled for them to continue working.
“What…do…you…want?” choked out Gwilym. Tears forced out of
his eyes.
“What do I want? Revenge for one thing. You’ve cost me so
much. First my job!” At that word he kicked Gwilym hard in the shin, resulting
in the flinch, the muscle clench, the scream, and the sweat to stand out on
Gwilym’s face. “Then my little scam!” Another kick, another scream. “Then my
gambling winnings!” Same thing. “Then my lucky dice!” Again. “And now I’m a
wanted man, hiding from the king’s men.” When Gwilym was kicked this time, he
made a choking sound, his eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped against his
ropes.
Tarrant stopped, then kicked him again. This time there was
no response. He pulled an eyelid open and saw the whites of Gwilym’s eyes. He
put his hand on Gwilym’s chest and felt his victim’s shallow breathing. “Damn!”
he muttered. He checked Gwilym’s knots and then moved down the passage to join
his men.
To read the entire first draft in one shot, click here:
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