Ripka hung her lantern from the hook above the small window in the wooden door, placed so that it was just out of reach of the inmate but still close enough to cast some light into the cell. Then she pulled a heavy metal key from her pocket, and stepped inside.
Unknown lay on the bench opposite the door, curled on her side with her arms cushioning her head. Lank, greasy-brown hair streaked her cheeks, and the whites of her eyes glinted wide and wary as Ripka entered her world. Taking a deep breath of the fetid air, Ripka shut the cell door behind her.
The woman swept her gaze over Ripka’s mourning clothes and raised her brows. “Is this a personal call, captain?”
“I need answers from you. Evidence.”
With a grunt the woman sat up. The chains binding her wrists together hissed against one another like a disturbed viper. “I’ve been through this about a half dozen times with your lackeys. I’ve got nothing to say, and you don’t have the spine to force it out of me.”
Ripka eyed the woman with care. She was in good health, even if she could do with a bath. The records her watchers kept said she ate well, sending back empty platters after each meal time. Ripka made sure of it – she checked those reports every night, and did what she could in the morning to see to it that those who weren’t eating had their diets adjusted to please them. Ripka would never allow it to be said that her jail treated its inmates poorly.
She could only hope her successor gave the same care.
“You’re right.” She spun the cell door key around her finger. “We’re not interested in forcing answers from you. We’re not brutes. Though I’m sure if the situation was reversed Thratia would have cut the answers from you by now.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Never said that’s who I worked for but, I’ll tell you this, I woulda’ cut the answers outta you myself if the tables were turned.”
“Charming.” Ripka moved the key, very slowly, to her pocket and gave the button flap a hasty loop. She stood there alone, unarmed. The key to the cell protected by no more than a flimsy piece of cloth. The woman licked her lips, chains rustling as she leaned forward. Ripka’s heart stuttered with a burst of adrenaline, her muscles growing taut though she didn’t dare take a fighting stance.
The woman’s eyes widened and she grinned to bare her teeth. “Why, Captain Leshe. You are the clever one.”
“Does that mean you’ll answer my questions?” Ripka fought to keep her voice smooth, to keep her hands from twitching toward the empty holsters of the weapons she had set aside before entering this cell. The fight she sought would already be unfair. No need to make it worse.
“Maybe. What it does mean, is, I’ll take you up on your offer.”
A fierce grin split the woman’s face, and Ripka’s whole body thrummed with anticipation. Do it, then! She wanted to scream, but she bit back the words behind a falsely perplexed frown. “I’m not sure what you–”
The woman lunged. Fierce joy shot through Ripka, the burst of elated strength so overwhelming she grabbed Unknown by her outstretched arms and pivoted at the hip, swinging the over-leveraged woman into the wall. Unknown’s hip and shoulder cracked against the hard stone, loud enough that Ripka feared for a fleeting moment that she’d overdone it, that she’d knocked the woman out in one blow.
Luck was with her.
Unknown turned to face her and lurched forward, fists raised, and forced Ripka to circle around lest she let the woman get within her guard. The woman grinned and wiped blood from her lip onto the back of her fist. “You surprise me, Leshe, an upstanding woman like you starting a fight with a prisoner.”
“You attacked me,” she said, too fast, but she didn’t care. It was done. Now she needed to press her advantage, to keep Unknown off guard. “What’s your name?”
“Oh, is that how this works? Blow for blow, eh? I guess you earned it. Name’s Dekka.”
Before she’d finished her sentence she lunged, landed a jab on Ripka’s right side so hard she spluttered and stumbled back. The great wooden door of the cell slammed into her back, and her lungs burned as she strained to retrieve the breath she’d lost. Dekka stepped into it, turning her body wide to come across with an uppercut.
But Dekka hadn’t been locked up long enough to know the cells as well as Ripka.
Ripka shoved her hands down and grabbed the iron loops protruding from the door at hip-height. Bracing herself, she drew her knees into her chest and kicked out with both feet. The connection sent Dekka reeling, but Ripka was too busy trying to quiet the rattle of her own teeth to see where she went. Ripka dropped the loops, her fingers too numb and her shoulders too jarred to keep on holding them, and fell into an awkward crouch.
Dekka lurched to her feet and let loose with a roar as she charged with both her hands held up in a hammer blow. Ripka scurried away, crawl-hopping like a rabbit, and grabbed the bench Dekka had just abandoned to pull herself to her feet.
Dark compacted around her eyes just a breath before the pain reached her, lancing up from somewhere about her lower back. Damn woman was blasted strong. Ripka whirled, teeth clenched, and somehow managed to get the chain that bound Dekka’s wrists caught in one hand. She swung her around and then pulled, Dekka’s back slamming into her chest, and they went staggering backward until Ripka’s back slapped the wall.
Gasping, snorting, they fumbled and grabbed and twisted until Ripka had one elbow snapped tight around Dekka’s throat and the other pinioned her arms. The blasted woman’s legs flailed, clubbing Ripka’s shins with her heels. Ripka screamed against the pain, screamed against her loss, then pushed forward and spun around, slamming the woman face-first into the wall.
Her chest heaved, her knees threatened to quake, but still Ripka held the squirming, cursing, agent of Thratia against the cold yellowstone and fought back an urge to break the woman’s neck.
“Who is supplying Thratia’s weapons?” Ripka growled, her throat raw from her gasping.
“Fuck yourself,” Dekka hissed.
Ripka tightened her elbow, felt the woman spasm as she struggled for air, then eased the pressure. “Again.”
“Some bitch-faced imperial.” Dekka spat a wad of blood and spittle against the wall, wheezing as she drank down the air.
Callia. “Why? What’s the imperial get?”
“I don’t–”
Ripka squeezed. Galtro’s rotting body floated before her mind’s eye, rank and discarded. Tossed against the wall like a broken toy. She gasped and eased her hold.
“Shit!” Dekka fell into a coughing fit, and Ripka let her heave until it passed. “Freaks, all right? Any weirdo fucking sensitive she can round up. But she’s not happy about it, she wants to keep one for herself.”
A smile broke across Ripka’s face, and she closed her eyes for a moment in rapture. Perfect. If Thratia wasn’t happy, that meant somewhere she was keeping records. Keeping notes that could be used to turn against the imperial should the need ever arise. If Ripka could use them to destroy the imperial’s authority, then Thratia would have no official backing. No claim to make on the wardenship… And the people wouldn’t be too pleased, either, to hear proof she dealt in human trafficking. Even if the poor souls being bought and sold were deviant sensitives. But first she’d have to prove to Callia that Thratia was planning on holding out on her, drive a wedge between them so she could investigate deeper.
“The records of these shipments, where are they kept?”
“I don–”
She squeezed, and Dekka thrashed so hard Ripka nearly lost her grip.
“Where–”