Chapter 18
In which blackmail and whisky are persuasive
Dacian
Dacian was angry.
Not only had he been forced to fight like a cock in the ring this morning—against inferior combatants—he was still hungry.
He had drunk deeply from the carafe that his opponents had shared, but he was avoiding the food, for good reason.
Pretending to eat was difficult with so many eyes on him, so he had resorted to the surly paranoia of the mentally addled, lashing out at his keepers, and tipping over plates of food in orchestrated fits of rage.
His pretence was close enough to the truth.
His anger was a simmering furnace, ready to erupt.
He had been taken here against his will, drugged, locked up, and manacled, and he was beginning to suspect that the stated grounds—his duelling crimes— weren’t the real reason.
Why had Drumpellier started him on a training regime, otherwise?
Of course, the captain thought he was witless, without any memory, and that he would accept his allotted role as a brainless weapon.
More fool him. Dacian was trying to convince him that the weapon might explode in his hands. And it seemed to be working.
It had been an hour since the captain escorted Judith out and agreed to undo the wristbreakers.
Dacian had to watch her go without saying a word.
He’d had to stare at her like she was a stranger, and snarl like an animal, while she stood white-faced and afraid.
If only he could have blasted everyone else to oblivion and swept her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly enough to make her confusion vanish.
He remembered now the taste of her lips, the softness of her body against his, her confiding smile and mocking eyes.
He had experienced such a small taste, after so many years longing for it, and now heaven had been snatched away from him again.
Maintaining the act of scornful ignorance had been worth it, for Drumpellier had offered a compromise in her presence.
Did he mean it? Rewards for good behaviour made Dacian grit his teeth, but he was in no position to negotiate.
His fits of wildness were an attempt to gain leverage, but they could equally land him back where he had started.
He had not expected these damn manacles, thrumming with power and chafing against his skin.
He paced around the small cell, his bare feet cold on the stone.
Then he heard boots approaching, at least three men.
Quickly, he arranged himself against the back wall, sprawling, his cuffed hands nonchalantly resting on his knees.
He did not want to show uncertainty. Better to bargain from a position of authority, even like this.
Drumpellier’s voice came from behind the door. “Your grace?”
Dacian said nothing for a moment. Your grace? This was a turnabout. A trick, surely. He growled, “What did you call me?”
Drumpellier sighed heavily. “Don’t pretend anymore. I know you have regained yourself. I have come to talk to you about how we should proceed. A discussion—not between a duke and gentry, or captain and prisoner, but man to man.”
“Show me a man first, and I’ll think about it.”
“I’m opening the door.”
Dacian said nothing. It was not as if he could do anything to stop him.
The lock clicked loudly and the lever swung.
Drumpellier stepped into the room, backed by his two thugs.
Ltn Greene hung back, watching anxiously.
The lieutenant had not risked another delivery of untainted food, and Dacian was careful not to meet his eyes.
He didn’t understand what game the lieutenant was playing, but he was willing to take his help if he needed it.
Indeed, it may have been the lieutenant who had convinced the captain to try this new tactic of compliance.
Drumpellier strode up to him, fearless. Dacian narrowed his eyes, wishing that just one ounce of his power remained. Then Drumpellier sat down next to him and leaned against the wall. Dacian blinked and turned his head to look at him.
The captain smiled grimly. “Lowering myself to your level, your grace. So we can talk properly.” He jerked his head at the other soldiers. “Leave us.”
Threadbow and Ltn Greene looked uncertain, but they backed out of the room, leaving the door open.
Dacian knew they could hear everything, but he found himself appreciating at least the appearance of privacy.
Though of course Drumpellier still had the advantage, with these damned wristbreakers confining him.
Briefly, Dacian wondered if he should throw another fit of rage and pin the captain to the wall. Then caution and curiosity got the better of him. “What do you want?”
“I want your help.”
“You have a strange way of asking for it.”
Captain Drumpellier’s lips twisted. “I underestimated you, certainly. I don’t know how you are resisting the drug and avoiding food for so long, but I do know that you are not abiding by my plans.”
Dacian did not deny it. “I don’t like being a pawn.”
“In times of war, we must all concede to be moved on the board.”
“Not blindly.”
“Yes, I concede the point. Which is why I will tell you now that I need a weapon to send into Austria. To commit an assassination.”
Dacian was silent for a long, shocked minute. He knew enough about the front to know what was implied. “You want me to assassinate Bonaparte?”
The captain simply nodded. “There is no other way.”
“I beg to differ.” Dacian began to feel angry again.
“Bonaparte is unstoppable. It is only a matter of time before he makes his move. And then England will fall.”
“You have too little faith.”
“I prefer the virtue of wisdom over faith. And wisdom tells me that we have a chance now, which we must grab with both hands. Your hands.”
Dacian stayed uncompromisingly silent, though he had an inkling of how Drumpellier had reasoned himself into madness.
Drumpellier sighed. “I had cousins in France, you know. They were Chouans, Musors. They were summarily executed by Bonaparte without a proper trial. That same ruthlessness guided him to power, and now he has crowned himself emperor.” He paused. “If we are to stop him, we must be equally merciless.”
No doubt these Chouan cousins had been fighting with underhanded methods and had not been granted honourable treatment.
Yet Dacian was aware of some sympathy, as well as curiosity as to what Drumpellier proposed.
Such an insane plan might give him a way to escape.
And he wondered what authority was the captain was acting under.
His own? Had his zealousness led him astray, into paranoid fancies?
Or was he under someone’s command? Either way, a journey into Austria could shift the board.
The captain continued, his voice dry. “Before you start plotting, your grace, I think you should remember that I now possess a valuable card. Now I know of your true relation to Lady Avely.”
“That woman earlier?” Dacian tried for insolent surprise, but he feared it was unconvincing. Fear curled in his gut. “And, pray tell, what is she to me, exactly? I would like to know it myself.”
“She is dear to you. Very dear, I suspect.”
This time Dacian’s silence was damning. His heart twisted.
Drumpellier continued. “And I think you will do as I ask, on the condition that she is left in peace, rather than arrested for treason.”
Dacian scoffed through gritted teeth. “She is a lady, not a soldier. You cannot arrest her for treason.”
“Lady Avely has entered this fort unlawfully twice, by means of Travel. At the very least, it is trespassing on military ground. Furthermore, she rifled through strictly confidential communications in my headquarters. I can argue a very convincing case that she is working for the enemy. Unless,” he paused, “you prove both your loyalty and hers, by taking on this task. You have the nerve and the brains to do it, as well as the Gift. And you will be saving England single-handedly from a monster.”
Dacian wet his lips. The iron was heavy against his wrists, and his heart even heavier. “If I agree, you must leave her alone entirely.”
“I suspect it is more a matter of her leaving me alone,” Drumpellier muttered.
“If I can show her that you are collaborating with full awareness, she might back off and leave me be.” He paused.
“And I confess that her convoluted tale of your innocence was marginally persuasive. If what she told me was true, you’ve been a pawn before this. ”
Dacian stonily let that pass. “If I am to do this, you cannot cast me as a witless fool anymore.”
“No, this will be a new arrangement. Once I have your word of honour that you will cooperate fully, I will grant you immunity from the Custos charges and release you.” Drumpellier put a hand to his pocket and pulled out an oblong, deep blue stone, dark and polished.
He put it on the ground between him and Dacian.
“I will even give you this schorl to help temper your Gift. It is one of my own, and I hope you will take it as a gesture of trust.”
Dacian stared down at the Talisman Stone. “You will pardon me? Forgo the charges against me?”
Drumpellier nodded. “Full immunity. It is not uncommon in the workings of justice, if there is enough reason to grant it.”
Dacian felt a swoop of relief but did not let it show. “We will work together as equals.”
“I swear.”
He wished he had Judith’s talent for Discerning lies.
Drumpellier’s tone sounded sincere, but how could he trust the man?
Yet what choice did he have? At least this new approach gave him room to manoeuvre.
And he could not allow Judith to be dragged into this nightmare fort on some trumped-up allegations of treason.
After a long silence, Dacian said with a sigh, “Only if you bring me food and share it with me now.”
“I can do better than that. I can take you to the barracks, where the cook is preparing food for the troops. You can eat it hot from the pan, and I will taste any mouthful you want.”
Dacian tried to tell himself this was not a more convincing argument than Judith’s safety. “Fine. And I want whisky straight from the keg.”
“You will have it.”
Drumpellier pushed himself up from the wall and held out a hand to Dacian. Disgusted, Dacian took it and was pulled to standing.
“Right. First, let us dispense with these.” The captain gingerly extracted the silver chain from his pocket and slipped a long flat key into the wristbreakers.
The weight fell off Dacian’s hands as if they weighed ten times their size.
Perhaps they did, with the hefty spells ensorcelled into the metal.
The captain held out his hand again, this time to shake Dacian’s. Grimly, he complied, though not without a private doubt that he was walking into another trap. And this time the gun to his head was far more persuasive: Judith’s safety, rather than his own.