Still more silence.
He returned the inquisitor's gaze as calmly as he could and thought he was doing quite well at that, although one of the lanterns was uncomfortably close, illuminating his face clearly but also dazzling him. The crucifix was worrisome, because any of those colored-glass jewels on it might harbor a demon, and Brother Bernat had said that the Inquisition must use gramarye of some sort. So it was possible that the hob was helpless already, or could be quickly curbed if it started anything.
Flash!
Rumble.
"Does the witness understand Castilian?" asked the slug. The redhead reached for his quill to record the question.
"I know some Castilian."
"Does the witness agree to be questioned in Castilian?"
"I do."
"The witness will state his name and birth date and place of birth."
"Tobias Longdirk." That was not the name on the poster, but they weren't going to mention the poster. "The seventh day of September, 1501. I was born at Tyndrum, in Scotland."
The recorder did not ask to have the names repeated; he must have heard them several times already.
"The witness is traveling with certain other persons. The witness must list their names."
And so on. Where had the witness come from? Where was the witness going? Why? "I am a retainer of Don Ramon." Was the witness a deserter? This was how they had managed to waste a whole afternoon and half an evening. More trivia—what was the witness going to do in Barcelona? "Senor Brusi has offered me employment if the don does not wish to extend my service." Thunder, much closer, so close that he had to ask for a question to be repeated. Hob! Come on, hob! Do something! What languages did the witness know? (Why should that matter?) Why had the witness come to Spain? Could the witness read and write? Among the feints, a sudden punch: "What gramarye has the witness seen on his journey?"
"None."
"The witness states categorically that he has never observed evidence of hexing or demonic possession?"
"He does. I mean, I do."
"Never? Anywhere?"
"None whatsoever."
"Other members of the party have reported seeing flagrant displays of gramarye within the last few days. The witness may wish to amend his statement."
"I am telling the truth."
"He was present during these displays."
"If I was, I saw nothing unnatural. Tell me when—"
"Has the witness ever observed evidence of necromancy?"
Toby asked to have that word explained. Conjuring the dead.
"No."
"Or discussed it?"
"No. I never heard of it until just now."
The pasty-faced inquisitor reached down and brought up Gracia's bottle to set it on the table. Toby's heart went to a fast trot.
Fortunately a deafening crack of thunder interposed to explain any reaction he showed. That bottle had been inside Hamish's pack! Did they search everyone's baggage or had Hamish admitted to having books, which the inquisitors would certainly demand to see? How many lies had Hamish told about Gracia? What had she said about her voices, the wraiths she claimed to see? What had he said about Toby, hobs, demons, amethysts, Wanted posters...? Lying to the Inquisition was a major crime, evidence of possession or gramarye. And what would happen to Gracia herself? The Inquisition tortured women, too. Not Gracia! Had Toby brought disaster to all of them? Fury burned like acid in his throat.
"Has the witness ever seen the bottle he is now being shown?"
"Yes. It belongs to Senora de Gomez. Or she has one just like—"
"What else does the witness know about the bottle?"
Shrug. "It seems to have great sentimental value for her. She asked Senor Campbell to carry it. As far as I know, there's nothing in it."
"How does the witness know that?"
Demons! "He... I don't. I just assumed it was empty. Perhaps I asked her, I don't recall. I'm sure she can tell you if—"
Father Guillem had warned him to keep his answers short.
"Does the witness possess any jewelry?"
Toby laughed. "Me? I'm as poor as beggars' lice."
"The witness must answer the question."
"The answer is no."
"Does the witness wear a locket?"
"No."
Thunder! Very close.
Come on hob! Do something. Distract them so I can kill that tormentor and make a break for it!
The hob did nothing.
"Other persons have stated that the witness wears a leather locket around his neck."
Pepita? "The other persons are mistaken."
"The witness will remove his doublet and shirt."
An order to strip was the traditional preliminary to torture. He did not expect that here—unless this time was to be different from the vision, which it might be—but they could not suspect how much he already knew of their procedures. His heartbeat surged again as he realized that this might provide the distraction he needed, but he pretended to be alarmed. "Why? I've told you you're mistaken."
"The witness will obey or he will be forced to obey."
He glanced around to locate the two landsknechte, one at the end of the table to his right, the other at his back, guarding the door. They both met his gaze with cheerful smiles, as if to say a little exercise would be a welcome relief from boredom. He shrugged and removed his jerkin, dropping it at his feet. He unlaced his doublet, and did the same with that, being glad that his Onda hose were so loose that he had taken to wearing a rope tied around his waist. Finally he stripped off his shirt and balled it up tightly in both hands.
No locket.
The inquisitor's eyes narrowed. He peered around Toby to address the landsknecht by the tent flap. "Go and bring the two men who were set to guard this witness." He was guessing that Toby had hidden the locket somewhere.
The flap flapped. So now there was only one of the Germans present, and there would be four very shortly. Lightning dimmed the lanterns for a moment. Thunder rocked the world. Come on hob! Wake up!
"Search the witness," said the inquisitor.
The tormentor strode forward with a contemptuous sneer and snatched the shirt from Toby's hands. He pawed at it and found nothing, of course. Toby drew a deep breath, readying his move.
Flash! Very bright, very near.
The clerk bent over to pick up the doublet. Toby grabbed his head in both hands and wrenched it around. Bones in the neck snapped with an audible crack. Cojones to you, friend! He swung around to the landsknecht, who had already drawn his sword but did not manage to wield it before he received a fast-moving foot exactly where it would do the most good. The padding absorbed some of the impact, but even a cannonade of thunder did not drown out his scream. He crashed back into one of the poles, the wall buckled, the roof sagged.
The slug-shaped inquisitor started to rise, grabbing for the crucifix. Toby snatched it away from him, caught up the bottle in his other hand, and overturned the table with his knee, tipping it onto the friars. He spun around and dived out through the flap.
The night was pitch black. He had not expected that. Two seconds took four hours to pass, then his eyes adjusted and the streaming fires in the kitchen enclosure emerged from darkness to give him some bearings. The world flashed white and roared as lightning struck a tree not fifty paces away. In that split-second brilliance he saw three landsknechte coming straight for him, two with pikes and the third with drawn sword. He turned to run, and there was another, about six feet in front of him, with sword drawn.
Hob!