She burned him twice more. She didn't put the cigar to the black spot, where the nerves were dead, but to the raw, swelling edges where the nerves were screaming. After the second time he concentrated his entire being on telling her whatever she wanted to hear.
"If you didn't see Gaea," Jones said, "who did you see? Was it Luther?"
"Yes. Yes, it was Luther."
"No it wasn't. It wasn't Luther. Who was it? Who sent you to kill me?"
"It was Luther. I swear, it was Luther."
"Is Luther a Priest?"
"... yes?"
"Describe him. What does he look like?"
He hadn't the faintest idea, but he had learned a lot about her eyes. They were far from expressionless. There were a million things to be read in them and he was the world's best student of Cirocco's eyes. He saw the changes in them that meant agony and the smell of burning flesh, and he started to talk. Halfway through his description he realized he was delineating the evil sorcerer from "The Golden Blades," but he kept talking until she slapped him.
"You've never met Luther," Jones said. "Who was it, then? Was it Kali? Blessed Foster? Billy Sunday? Saint Torquemada?"
"Yes!" he shouted. "All of them," he added, lamely.
Jones shook her head, and Conal heard, as though from afar, the sound of whimpering. She was going to do it, he saw it in her eyes.
"Son," she said, and sounded sorrowful, "you've been lying to me, and I told you not to lie." She took the cigar from her mouth, blew on it again, and moved it toward his crotch.
His eyes bulged as he tried to see it. When the pain came, it was exactly as bad as he had imagined it would be.
It was hard for them to bring him back to life, because he would have preferred to remain dead. There was no pain in death, no pain...
But he did wake up, to all the familiar pain. He was surprised to find it didn't hurt ... down there. He could not bring himself to even think the word for the place she had burned him.
She was looking at him again.
"Conal," she said. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Who are you, what have you done, and why did you try to kill me?"
So he told her, having come full circle back to the truth. He hurt badly, and he knew she was going to torture him. But he no longer wanted to live. There was more pain ahead, but there was peace at the end.
Jones picked up the knife. He whimpered when he saw it, and tried to make himself small, but it didn't work any better than it had before.
She cut the rope binding his left foot to the stake. At the same time, the Titanide loosened the knots binding his head to the post. His head fell forward, his chin hit his chest, and he kept his eyes firmly closed. But he eventually had to look.
What he saw was a miracle. Some of his pubic hair had been singed, but his penis, shriveled in fear, was unmarked. Beside it was a small piece of ice slowly turning into a puddle on the rock floor.
"You didn't hurt me," he said.
Jones looked surprised. "What do you mean? I burned you three times."
"No, I mean you didn't hurt me." He gestured with his chin.
"Oh. Right." Oddly, she looked embarrassed. Conal began to taste the thought that he might live. To his surprise, it tasted good.
"I don't have the stomach for this," Jones admitted. Conal thought that, if she didn't, she put on a damn good act. "I can kill cleanly," she went on. "But I hate inflicting pain. I knew, in the state you were in, that you couldn't tell heat from cold."
It was the first time she had done anything like explain her actions. He was afraid to question her, but he had to do something.
"Then why did you torture me?" he asked, and immediately saw it was the wrong question. Anger showed in her eyes for the first time and Conal almost died of fright, because of all the things he had seen in those eyes nothing was so terrifying as her anger.
"Because you're a fool." She stopped, and it was as if twin doors had been closed over a roaring furnace; her eyes were cool and black again, but red heat glowed just beneath.
"You walked into a hornet's nest and you're surprised you got stung. You walked up to the oldest, meanest, and most paranoid human being in the solar system and told her you were going to kill her, and then you expected her to play by your comic book rules. The only reason you didn't die is my standing orders that if it looks like a human, let it live until I can question it."
"You didn't think I was human?"
"I had no reason to assume it. You might have been some new kind of Priest, or maybe some completely different practical joke. Sonny, in here we don't take anything at face value, we ... "
She stopped, stood up, and turned away from him. When she turned back, she seemed almost apologetic.
"Well," she said. "There's no point in lectures. It's none of my business how you've lived your life; it's just that when I see stupidity I always want to correct it. Can you handle him, Hornpipe?"
"No problem," said the voice from behind him. He felt the ropes loosen; everywhere they came away caused pain, but it was wonderful. Jones squatted in front of him again, and looked at the ground.
"You've got a few choices," she said. "We've got some poison that's fairly painless and works quick. I could put a bullet through your head. Or you could jump, if you'd rather meet it that way." She spoke as though she were asking if he preferred cherry pie, cake, or ice cream.
"Meet what?" he said. Her eyes came up again, and he saw mild disappointment; he was being stupid again.
"Death."
"But... I don't want to die."
"Most people don't."
"We're out of poison, Captain," the Titanide said. He lifted Conal as though he were a rag doll, and started toward the mouth of the cave. Conal was not at his best. He felt far from the strength he normally possessed. He fought, and the nearer he came to the edge the stronger he grew, yet it meant nothing. The Titanide handled him easily.
"Wait!" he shouted. "Wait! You don't have to kill me!"
The Titanide set him on his feet at the edge of the drop, and held him as Jones put the muzzle of his gun to his temple and pulled back the hammer.
"Do you want the bullet or not?"
"Just let me go!" he screamed. "I'll never bother you again."
The Titanide did let him go, and it surprised him so badly he did a wild dance on the edge, almost fell over, went to his knees and then his belly and hugged the cool stone with his feet hanging over the edge.
They were standing ten feet from him. He got to his knees slowly and carefully, then sat back on his heels.
"Please don't kill me."
"I'm going to, Conal," she said. "I suggest you stand up and go out on your feet. If you want to pray or something, I'll give you time for that."
"No," he said. "I don't want to pray. And I don't want to get up. It doesn't really matter, does it?"
"That's always the way I figured it." She raised the gun.
"Wait! Wait, please, just tell me why."
"Is that a last request?"
"I guess so. I ... I'm stupid. You're so much smarter than I am, you can squash me like a ... but why do you have to kill me? I swear, you'll never see me again."
Jones lowered the pistol.
"There's a couple of reasons," she said. "As long as I've got a gun on you you're a harmless fool. But you might get lucky, and there's nothing I fear so much as a lucky fool. And if you'd done to me what I've just done to you, I'd come and I'd find you, no matter how long it took."
"I won't," he said. "I swear it. I swear it."
"Conal, there are maybe five humans whose word I trust. Why should you be number six?"
"Because I know I deserved what I got, and I'm eighteen years old and made a dumb mistake and I don't ever, ever want you angry with me again. I'll do anything. Anything. I'll be your slave for the rest of my life. I'll do anything you want me to do." He stopped, and knew to the depths of his soul that what he had just said was the truth. He remembered how little good the truth had done him a few hours ago. There had to be some way of proving to her that he spoke the truth. At last, he had it. A solemn oath.