Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
Up close he appeared greyer than before, and it didn’t help that his terror intensified when he saw me. Not so invisible now, huh? I flashed my dagger and that did the trick: his body sagged and he stopped trying to get into the house.
‘Who … who … who … are you?’ he stammered, straining to deliver each word as if his throat was closing up. ‘Wh … wh … what do you want?’
I didn’t answer: I was there to ask questions, not respond to them, and after two days of watching my words and my behaviour in the Understream, I was enjoying the chance to display a different version of myself.
I didn’t know if the thrall had anything to do with the attack on me or the worms’ disappearance, but until I knew otherwise I classified him as an enemy.
He was the best lead I had; hell, he was the only lead I had.
My silence finally spurred him into action and he turned on his heel, abandoning his attempt to get inside the house in favour of running away – but Thane was blocking his only exit. The thrall looked from Thane to me and appeared to decide that I was the lesser evil.
Wrong decision.
He gave a strangled yell, which I supposed was his version of a war cry, and rushed at me with his fists raised. I ducked and snapped out my hand to punch him in the stomach. He doubled over, even though I’d held back to avoid hurting him too much.
‘Who is in the house?’ I demanded.
Tears leaked from his eyes. ‘Nobody,’ he whispered.
Another person might have hit the thrall again before repeating the question to ensure the veracity of his answer. I didn’t need to do that – and I wasn’t that kind of person. Unnecessary torture wasn’t my gig and I was already certain the thrall was telling the truth.
With one arm I hauled him up and dragged him to the front door. With my free hand, I finished unlocking the door and pushed him inside. Thane followed and closed the door behind us. At least now we could continue our conversation without any unhelpful passersby getting involved.
The interior of the house was much as I’d expected: grand, like that of any vampire who’d lived for far too long.
There was a sweeping staircase and a wide hallway lined with flocked red wallpaper and paintings.
The air felt still and silent, confirming my suspicion and the thrall’s affirmation that the house was empty.
‘Let’s sit down somewhere,’ I said. ‘I still want that little chat.’
Resignation flickered in his eyes; he had already accepted his fate. ‘Why bother?’ he muttered. ‘Just kill me and be done with it.’
‘Why would I kill you?’ I asked, genuinely curious.
He rolled his eyes and gestured helplessly, indicating that if I’d been prepared to attack him then surely murder was my goal. I clicked my tongue. If I’d wanted him dead, he’d already be dead. To be honest, assassination was far easier than interrogation.
‘She won’t hurt you,’ Thane said softly. ‘Not unless you give her reason.’ He smiled disarmingly though that didn’t relax the thrall. ‘I won’t hurt you either.’
‘Then what the fuck do you want?’
‘I already told you. We only want a little chat.’ I didn’t smile because I didn’t think it would help, though I patted him awkwardly on the shoulder and released my hold on him.
It was a little late to start employing Captain Montgomery’s techniques but I’d give them a try. ‘I apologise for scaring you.’
The thrall rubbed his stomach.
I took the hint. ‘And I apologise for punching you. Let’s sit down. Give me ten minutes of your time and some honest answers and I’ll leave you in peace.’ I paused, because it was important that I was truthful too. ‘Unless recently you magicked up a monster to attack me.’
The thrall’s mouth fell open with astonishment so I guessed that answered that question. My approach had obviously been unnecessarily heavy-handed. I scolded myself and vowed to do better in future.
‘There’s a drawing room over there.’ He pointed to a closed door down the hallway. ‘We can talk in there.’
‘Thank you.’ I motioned ahead. ‘Lead the way.’
He swallowed then nodded reluctantly.
As we moved down the hallway, Thane pointed at a painting. ‘Why is that one covered?’ he asked. One of the frames was completely shrouded by a black cloth.
‘Help! Intruder! Help!’ a muffled voice shouted.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘A Cursed Portrait?’ I asked.
The thrall nodded glumly and I took that as an opportunity to soften him up. ‘I don’t blame you for covering it. Those things can be bastards.’
‘Fuck you!’ the portrait screeched from behind the shroud.
‘I don’t know what to do about him,’ the thrall mumbled. ‘I’m not supposed to be here so I can’t simply pass him on to someone else.’
Interesting. I gave him a sympathetic glance but didn’t comment. It would be easier to question him once we were all sitting down.
The drawing room was full of mismatched furniture that seemed out of place.
The thrall perched on the edge of a chaise longue and I took the chair opposite.
Thane stood next to the door to ensure the thrall didn’t escape but I quickly shook my head at him and he sat on a chair near me.
I didn’t want my prisoner to think he was a prisoner, even if it was true.
‘What’s your name?’ I kept my voice soft and unthreatening.
He flinched. ‘Eric.’
That was a good start. ‘I’m Kit,’ I said. ‘That’s Thane. I apologise again for the way we approached you. I thought you might be dangerous.’
‘I’m a thrall,’ Eric pointed out, with an edge of sourness. ‘I’m no danger to anyone other than myself.’ He was probably right. His head drooped. ‘That’s not true,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not a thrall any longer. I wish I was but I’m not.’
Thane and I exchanged glances. ‘Is that because you were in thrall to Chester Longchamps and he’s dead?’ Thane asked.
‘No.’
My spine stiffened. ‘He’s not dead?’
Eric looked up, momentarily surprised. ‘He is dead – well, that’s what everyone says.
No, I’m not a thrall any more because he sacked me.
’ He sniffed wetly. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong but he still sacked me.
I’ve been a thrall here for twelve years – twelve years!
And I have nothing to show for it. Now nobody will make me a vampire or even take me on as their thrall. ’
Almost all new vampires were thralls first; they had to prove themselves and their worth to the existing vamps before they were allowed to be turned.
I reckoned – although I wasn’t sure – that the Bureaucratic Suite probably dealt with such petitions.
If that were the case, it would be a lengthy and painful process – and that was just the paperwork.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. I was making far too many apologies and this one wasn’t even because of my own mistake. ‘You’ve obviously been through a great deal.’
‘I have.’ His dull eyes were sorrowful. ‘I really have.’
I waited for a few beats so that Eric could gather his thoughts and compose himself, then I asked, ‘Did you buy a monster conjuration spell in Chester’s name five days ago?’
His head whipped up. ‘What? Of course not!’ He stared at me. His shock appeared wholly genuine.
Damn. It had been unlikely that Thane’s black market seller would mistake a thrall for a vampire but I was disappointed nonetheless. ‘Can you think of anyone who might have pretended to be Chester to buy such a spell?’
He shook his head. ‘No! Who would do that sort of thing?’
Who indeed? It was clear that Eric didn’t know.
Thane eyed him. ‘Eric,’ he said softly, ‘if you were sacked, why are you here? Why do you still have a key for this place?’
‘Lord Chester forgot to take it back. And I'm here because … because … being in this house makes me feel closer to him. I miss him. He wasn't always kind.’ He laughed sadly. ‘I'm lying. He was never kind. But I loved him anyway.’
Jeez. As I eyed Eric sympathetically, I noticed the shadow of an old bruise across his cheekbone. I reckoned I knew who had caused it. ‘What happened to Chester?’ I asked. ‘How did he die?’
‘Lord Chester!’ Eric snapped. ‘Not Chester!’ His shoulders sagged.
‘I don’t know. All I know is that he thought he could be a hero for the other vampires and that he died in the process.
He spent months trying to get hold of some weird magical map and a special jug to keep it in, then he went into the Understream and died.
I’ve been searching for clues as to what happened to him but I haven’t found anything yet. ’
He pouted. ‘I’m not supposed to go into the Understream. No thralls have been allowed there since April.’
Nothing about this was making sense. A magical map? A special jug? None of it fitted together. And did any of it relate to the missing worms?
Montgomery had told us that interviewing witnesses and suspects was an art; unless you were careful, you could end up with complete gobbledegook, especially if the interviewees were already traumatised.
The trick was to take things one at a time and guide your subject through a series of questions that would reveal the story from beginning to end.
Backtracking could be a useful technique, as could rephrasing the same questions in different ways.
Those ploys could help discern lies, although that didn’t appear to be the case here.
‘Let’s go back to the start,’ I said. ‘Lord Chester thought he would be a hero?’
Eric wrapped his arms around his thin body.
‘Yeah. There’s something wrong in the Understream – that’s why thralls aren’t allowed there.
Lord Chester was planning to make everything better.
I don’t know what the problem is, only that it’s bad.
He wouldn’t tell me any of the details but he was sure the magical map would help, so he got it from the witches and then he worked really hard to get the special jug to carry the map in and then he sacked me and…
’ His words were getting faster and faster, tumbling one after the other.