“Do you understand?” Starling repeated.
Cade nodded.
“Soon I will have you saying, ‘Yes, Mr. Starling. Whatever you say, Mr. Starling.’ But, a nod will do for now.” The man chuckled, causing his belly to shake. “I could take you to a point where you beg me to hurt you. That you tell me you love me. I know it seems inconceivable now, but I am a master of my art. Isn’t it so, Marcus?”
“Yes, Mr. Starling.”
“See?” the Inquisitor asked, his voice full of mirth. “Even Marcus knows. He has seen me at work often enough. He has even been privileged to have experienced my touch first hand. You should be honored as well, Mr. Harlowe, that my superiors thought you important enough to leave you in my care. We are not here, however, just because I take great pleasure in my art, but for the glory of emperor and empire. The emperor requires that you answer certain questions about your traitorous actions in Mill City, and your purpose in coming to Gossham. That’s a rather brazen move, coming to the emperor’s very door, and I can’t believe you’ve done so just to recover some bratty child and her governess.”
Cade thought of Luke’s betrayal. “Didn’t Luke tell you everything?”
“He told us you intended to bring the uprising to Gossham, and yes, to rescue Professor Josston’s favorite little servant, but not why. Was she just some urchin plucked off the street to be raised by your generous mentor? Well, we shall have answers. Indeed, we shall. And I will tell you what, Mr. Harlowe: the more forthcoming you are, the easier it will go on you.” Starling popped another teacake into his mouth. Powdered sugar dusted his lips and the front of his apron.
“You are just going to kill me anyway.”
“True, true, but there is a difference between going to one’s death easily and without pain, and going to death after feeling as if all your bones were broken and rearranged, tendons severed, flesh grated, and parts of your body immolated and carved off. Trust me, I do know how to keep you alive and alert during these procedures. I also have a colleague who enjoys overseeing a good castration. Now mind, Marcus is good at what he does, but regrowing body parts does not work well. We’ve tried. The results are, well, grotesque. Intriguing for us, but not so much for the recipient.
“So, shall we begin? You do realize your little rebellion has failed, do you not? We know who a number of your accomplices are in Mill City, and they are being questioned, as well. However, I want names. Names of all your conspirators, including those who collaborated with Professor Josston.”
Cade thought of Jax and Mirriam and all the others, and wondered if they’d been found and arrested, or worse. It was all on him, the failure of the rebellion and whatever happened to the folk of Mill City. All his fault. He must not give up names of his accomplices in case they’d managed to remain undetected. It sounded noble as he thought about it, the protecting of his comrades, but the fact of the matter was that as a student of archeology, he had never faced anything like this before, and none of the professor’s training had prepared him to resist an Inquisitor. Back in the early days, when he’d been brought into the fold of the opposition by the professor, all such notions of personal sacrifice had been romantic and far off rather than anything real. He hadn’t considered what it actually felt like to be shot or tortured. A true Weapon, he knew, one who had been through all the proper conditioning, would know how to withstand torture.
Worse than worrying about what might happen to himself was what might happen to all those connected to him, especially Karigan. What did they plan for her?
“Mr. Harlowe,” the Inquisitor said in a voice of warning, “I am waiting. The names.”
“I don’t know any.”
Starling sighed dramatically and glanced over his shoulder. “Marcus, it appears we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” He turned his piercing eyes back on Cade. “Are you sure this is how you want it to be, young man? If not, give me the names.”
“I have no names to give you.”
Starling rose and paced in a slow amble before Cade, his hands clasped behind his back. Cade glanced apprehensively at the tray of sharp tools, wondering what was coming. It appeared not much as Starling continued to pace and mutter to himself. Cade settled in and waited, his thoughts once again turning to Karigan and what would become of her. He had led her into this trap. He—
Starling turned on his heel, pummeling Cade across the face, not once, not twice, but time and again, back and forth so hard Cade thought his head would snap off his neck. The metal studs embedded in the knuckles of Starling’s gloves raked his cheeks open. He was so stunned by the ferocity of the attack he couldn’t even seem to cry out.
It stopped. Cade struggled to catch his breath. Inhaled blood. He wanted to touch his face, for surely his flesh had been shredded to ribbons.
“That, Mr. Harlowe,” Starling said, “was just me warming up.”
Cade blinked, trying to clear his vision. Starling stood before him, hands on hips, his apron and sleeves sprayed with blood.
“I must admit some sentimentality for the old methods,” Starling said. “Some of my colleagues, well, they’ll use a mechanical to do the work, which is very precise, but lacking in artistry. Or, they’ll have an assistant exert themselves. Me? Well, this is my art, and I like doing it myself. No surrogates. I like the old tools, too.” He flexed his hands in the stained gloves. “Now, Mr. Harlowe, would you care to give me those names before I begin to work on you in earnest? If you do, Marcus will heal up what I’ve done so far, and we’ll get you some water or tea, anything you like. What do you say?”