The prisoner eased his shoulders and hips in a clink of chain. Drained of blood, the hands over his head shone unnaturally pale, like white bats clinging to the stonework. "Mounted how long?"
"As long as I please, dear boy. You and your resident hob are an interesting problem in gramarye. I used no less than eight demons to ward it on the way here, but it is powerless inside this chamber, as I told you, so we shall leave it—and you—until I have time to think about it. I may try to extract the hob, because it could be useful if properly trained, but the operation is likely to rip out large parts of your mind as well. I may decide to leave the hob in you and hex both of you to obey me. We shall see. All I really needed, and what I have now obtained thanks to your generosity, is the amethyst containing the soul of..."
He had worked the packet open. The stone that fell out was a smooth black pebble, nothing at all like an amethyst. He looked up and stared hard at his prisoner, who smiled mockingly back at him. It was a smile that said the game was not quite over yet, however hopeless it might seem.
"Where is it, Toby?"
"Are you sure we cannot bargain, Excellency?"
Oreste bit at his bottom lip with small white teeth. He might reasonably be seething with fury at this absurd defiance, but if he was, he concealed the fact admirably. He laid the hook on the floor beside him so gently that it did not even clink. He tucked the pebble and locket inside his cloak; then he crossed his legs and folded his hands.
"You have nothing to bargain with, Toby. Not now. Granted, you managed to escape from Castile, although King Pedro swore on his mother's eyes that he would catch you and hand you over to us. I expected you to head for Portugal, or even Africa, but I knew you might try doubling back, as you have before. So I set up a few trip-wires for you in Aragon and Navarre—I do rule those countries now, useless as they are. One of the groups I had looking out for you was the Inquisition, specifically a group of Black Friars led by Father Vespianaso. You eluded him, too, which really surprised me, I admit. How did you manage that?"
The prisoner shrugged. "Ask him."
Oreste smiled. "I have. Father Vespianaso is extremely indignant. He feels you insulted him—all Castilians are excessively prickly, as I'm sure you know, even their preachers. He feels you, um, belong to him, you understand? Were I to mention to him that you are chained up here in the Inquisition's own dungeon, your life would at once become nasty, brutal, and much too long. Sometimes the Inquisition holds prisoners for years, Toby. I am sure you have heard stories of its methods, hmm?"
The young man just glowered defiantly. He had discovered the Sway already, moving his right foot and left hand as far as possible, then left foot and right hand, then back again... clink—clink—clink—right—left—right—left... They all discovered the Sway sooner or later. It could not do very much to help his circulation, but now he had started, he would keep it up for hours, until his wrists and ankles were bloody and torn by the fetters. Only exhaustion would stop him. That might take a long time in his case.
Oreste seemed peeved by the lack of response. "That's just one possibility, you understand. His Majesty has expressed admiration for your abilities and may well take you into his service, with or without the hob. You will be hexed to absolute loyalty as I am, but you will be a man of authority and power, respected and obeyed. You will have a team of demons of your own to serve you. This is a glittering future you have earned, Toby!"
"I'd rather go to Father Vespianaso."
Absurd defiance! Oreste rose to his feet and strolled over to him. "That decision is not yours to make. Now, little Toby, listen well. The chase has ended. You lost. Don't be a sore loser, lad. Let bygones be bygones, ja? I need that amethyst. I also want Hamish Campbell. You will give me both of them."
"You can hex me into doing anything you want."
"Yes, I can. Anything. So why struggle? We may be working together for many years, serving his Majesty. It would be a pity to have unhappy memories stand between us."
The young man stared at him without expression, just swaying: right—left—right—left—clink—clink—clink—
"Tell me what really happened at Mezquiriz."
No response. Clink—clink—clink—
Oreste clenched a fat fist. "Toby, Toby! I only put you in here because of the warding. Just answer my questions and I will let you have enough chain to sit down, even lie down. I will get you some blankets and leave you a light."
No one in the prisoner's position could refuse that offer, and yet somehow the baron knew it was not going to be accepted this time. He might not keep his side of the bargain if it were.
It wasn't. Nothing, absolutely nothing except that steady, heavy-browed stare and the animal Sway. Clink—clink—clink—
"How curious!" the baron said softly. "Why is the sweetness of victory soured when the vanquished refuses to concede? It should be even sweeter. No, I shall not hex you, boy. Having spent three years hooking you and landing you, my foolish pride wants to gut you by hand. Gramarye is a battleaxe, and in such cases I still prefer the stiletto. I can break you easily enough without it." He ran his tongue over his scarlet lips. "I have lost a lot of sleep over you in the past, Tobias Longdirk. Tonight I shall sleep soundly, knowing I have you safe. Tomorrow, unfortunately, I believe I have other business to attend to. I hope I will be able to spare some time to drop in and see you later in the week."
Simpering, he patted the prisoner's cheek. "Sleep well, Toby."
He took the guttering lantern and walked to the center of the cellar. There, safely out of earshot, he issued orders to one of the demon gems on his fingers and repeated his little dance. The supernatural light died away. When the door closed behind him, the crypt returned to total darkness.
Clink—clink—clink—clink—clink—
PART TWO
The Road to Barcelona
CHAPTER ONE
On their second night out of Valencia, Hamish said, "I am still not certain that going by way of Barcelona is a wise move. It will take us a month to get there at this rate, and we're going to starve to death first. Supposing Oreste is there? He'll detect you with gramarye. You'll never slip past him."
Toby did not answer. He might be asleep already, or else just not want to repeat an argument they had rubbed raw several times. He insisted that the best way to escape from Spain was to tiptoe past the monster's lair. All other ways out would be more heavily guarded, he said, and once Toby made up his mind nothing would ever change it.
"We ought to head inland," Hamish muttered. "Back to Navarre."
Still no reply. Toby must be asleep. It had been a hard day. The walking was not so bad—they were seasoned walkers—but the heat was absurd. This was September, after all, or perhaps even October, and weather like this was ridiculous. Every night Hamish dreamed of fine misty rain blowing down the glen, wet moss under his toes and shaggy, long-horned cattle wallowing in the bog. How wonderful it would be to shiver again! Spain was just sweat, sweat, sweat.
Hamish sighed and went back to his book. He was stretched out on his belly in the ruins of a cellar with the stars above him and too many ants and sharp pebbles underneath. The ruin was ancient, not part of the recent devastation, and although it was a zitty uncomfortable place to camp, it provided shelter for the fire—a very small fire, just enough to cast a little light on the pages of the book. No one would see it down in this hole, and in Aragon these days the wise traveler did not attract attention to himself.