Free Demon King by Chris Bunch Page B

to.
    “I never had no use for you gods-damned Nicians anyway. Paradin’ around actin’ like you wouldn’t say shit if you had a mouthful, so th’ thought of puttin’ you on th’ long journey to Saionji sounded pretty right.”
    Kutulu’s inquisitor raised his knout. I held up a hand.
    “Let him speak on.”
    “ ‘Sides, killin’ sojers is good trade.”
    “Why? We seldom have money.”
    “Killin’ a sojer makes th’ dirt eaters think you’re on their side. You know, like you’re some kinda hero then, an’ maybe they won’t turn you in, first chance they hear of a reward.”
    I stepped back, curiosity satisfied. Kutulu frowned — I’d had no business breaking the rhythm of his questions.
    “What did this sorcerer call himself?”
    “Didn’t give a name.”
    “What was he dressed like?”
    “Rich. Dark brown breeches, tunic. Had a cloak in th’ same color over it. Must’ve had a spell on it, ‘cause it looked t’ be wool, but cast off th’ rain like it was oiled. Had two men with him. Rough-lookin'. Bodyguards.”
    “So he paid you, and you did his bidding?”
    “We did.”
    “Did he pay the villagers, too?”
    “Hell, no. Tol’ th’ menfolk t’ get outa the village, an’ hide in th’ woods till th’ next day. Guess they thought we wuz gonna tear th’ town down an’ take their women. Would’a, too, but th’ wizard stopped us. Guess he put some kinda spell over us, ‘cause when th’ so’jers showed up, they treated us like we wuz no more’n peasants. Th’ wizard said he’d give th’ sign, an’ he did.”
    Kutulu looked at me.
    “Do you want any details of what happened next?”
    “What was it like, being a snake?” I asked, somewhat irrelevantly.
    A most evil smile came across Slit-Nose’s face. “It was nice. ‘Specially havin’ all your thoughts wi’ you, not like a dumb, real serpent. You could move like lightnin', an’ th’ swords never struck home. Mebbe,” and he managed a chuckle, “mebbe when I reach th’ Wheel th’ goddess’ll think bein’ a snake’d be proper punishment for a rogue like me. I’d like that, I would.”
    The inquisitor saw Kutulu’s nod, and the knout slashed down on the thief’s gore-splattered back. He gargled a scream, and his head sagged. A bucket of water went across his face, bringing him back.
    “You’ll be respectful when you speak to the Tribune,” the warden said.
    “Was this the only task the sorcerer wanted of you?” Kutulu asked.
    “You ast me all these questions a’ready,” Slit-Nose complained.
    “I did. And I may ask them another dozen times, to make sure you’re telling the truth. Now answer me!”
    “He said there’d be other jobs like this ‘un.”
    “How would he contact you?”
    “He said he’d know how.”
    “Could you find him?”
    Slit-Nose hesitated, then shook his head. Again the whip ribboned his flesh. “No,” the man moaned. “Not direct, anyway.”
    “Explain yourself.”
    “That ring I was wearin'? Th’ one this bastard wi’ th’ whip stole?”
    The torturer started to snarl something. Kutulu’s hand came up, and the man’s mouth snapped shut.
    “Go on.”
    “Th’ wizard took my ring for a bit, then give it back, sayin’ he laid a spell on it. If somethin’ came, an’ I needed t’ find him, I was to hold it to my forehead an’ think of him. He’d come, or one of his men’d find me.”
    Kutulu stood. “You,” he said to the torturer. “I’ll have a word with you. Outside, if you please.”
    The burly man’s eyes widened in fear. I followed them out, slamming the cell door. Behind me, I heard a low chuckle of evil glee from the bandit.
    The torturer was twice Kutulu’s size, but cowered before his master.
    “The ring,” Kutulu said.
    The torturer started to protest innocence, but under Kutulu’s hard gaze his hand went, as if self-willed, into his pouch, and came out with a heavy silver ring.
    “I di’n't think,” he started. Kutulu cut him