The acolytes had thought it safe to make this deal because, under the rule of the Empress Justina, the Temple of Torture was not supposed to exist at all; hence no legal remedies could have been pursued against them had they been caught out. To their great discomfort, the sudden advent of a new wazir had altered their situation diametrically.
‘I’ll deal with you later,’ said the wrathful Tin Char to his trembling acolytes. ‘If you wish to redeem yourself, find me some scorpions. Or some centipedes at least.’
So the acolytes fled from the Temple of Torture. Proceeding with a haste most unsuited to the climate, they rushed to the waterfront, where a path of crushed coral and broken bloodstone stretched all the way from Marthandorthan to the harbour bridge. Along this path lay the markets of Untunchilamon where one could buy all products and services imaginable, from a bunch of bananas to the tender attentions of Doctor Death the dentist.
Everything was on sale.
Except scorpions.
And centipedes.
Scorpions had always been hard to come by in Untunchilamon, since Jarry the chef had always made great demands upon the available supply. Whether Ganthorgruk’s clientele actually liked eating scorpions is a moot point; nevertheless, the fact is that bits and pieces of these predators went into every hash, curry and pie that was served to the denizens of that enormous doss house. As for centipedes, Injiltaprajura had suffered a great shortage of these myriads ever since the Crab had been introduced to this addictive delicacy; for the quantities of centipede soup which can be consumed on a daily basis by a gourmandizing Crab are nothing short of prodigious.
While the acolytes were desperately questing for scorpion and centipede, there was a disturbance at the Temple of Torture. The perturbation of the smooth flow of events was caused by the intrusion of a soldier, Shanvil Angarus May. This warrior was an Ashdan from Ashmolea North, which explains the impetuous manner in which he tried to storm the Temple single-handed to rescue his Empress.
Shanvil Angarus May was overpowered and disarmed. Then he was taken to the naos of the Temple so he could watch the destruction of his Empress before suffering a similar fate himself.
Shortly, the wizard Pelagius Zozimus arrived at the Temple in the company of Ivan Pokrov. The wizard and the analytical engineer hoped to free Justina by bribe or bluff, or, if all else failed, by carefully timed violence. A desperate dare: and a dare which failed. For they were overpowered, bound, gagged and then dragged to the naos of the Temple, where they were tied to iron rings set in the walls. They too were doomed to wait, witness then die.
There was then a somewhat more prolonged disturbance — a regular stramash, in fact — when a furious Juliet Idaho burst in upon the Temple with mayhem on his mind. He too was disarmed, though not without difficulty. Then he was taken to join the other captives. His feet were tied to iron rings set in the floor; his hands were bound behind his back; and a noose was strung around his neck and tightened till Idaho had to stand on tiptoe lest he strangle.
It will be seen, then, that four formidable residents of Injiltaprajura were loyal enough or desperate enough to dare all in an effort to free their Empress. Had they been able to combine, conspire and agree on a concerted effort, they might have succeeded. Possibly. But the speed of events, the difficulties of communication and the failure of intelligence-gathering activities had prevented such combination.
Strangely, the accumulation of so many prisoners did not hearten Tin Char. Rather, he began to worry. He began to suspect he had been rash in proposing to indulge himself in acts of extended torture. The politics of Injiltaprajura would remain unstable until Justina Thrug was quite dead.
It was the acolytes who were to blame.
If they had not dabbled in thievery, then the torture would already be well on its way to a terminal conclusion.
As Tin Char was so thinking, the acolytes at last returned with two centipedes in a wickerwork cage. Only two? A pair would suffice, for these were malevolent monsters of purple hue, each as long as a man’s forearm.
‘At last,’ said Tin Char. ‘Fetch me the centipede tongs, or have you perchance pawned them?’
‘Master,’ said the younger of the acolytes, ‘the centipede tongs will be with you instantly.’
A protracted delay followed, a delay in which Tin Char became so agitated he felt quite sick; but at last the tongs were produced. Tin Char took the tongs.
‘Out of my way!’ he said, giving one of the acolytes a push.
Both acolytes squeezed in beside Juliet Idaho. The Yudonic Knight looked sideways at them and whispered:
‘Cut me free.’
Unfortunately, the naos was far too small for private conspiracy. Tin Char heard the whisper and gave Idaho a dirty look; whereafter the helpless Yudonic Knight said no more.
Tin Char already had to hand the pry-levers which he planned to use to open a certain portion of the imperial anatomy so the scorpions could be inserted into a particularly sensitive part of the body.
But first, the preliminary sacrifice must necessarily be made. The rites of the Temple of Torture require the sacrificing priest to drink the blood of whatever animal is slaughtered in such a ceremony. Tin Char, however, was in no mood for drinking fresh hot blood, never a pleasant beverage on a humid day in Injiltaprajura. He wondered if he could inflict this duty on the quick-blinking Jean Froissart.
‘Friend Froissart,’ said Tin Char in his sweetest tones, ‘do I have your permission to invite you to take part in this ceremony of torture?’
Froissart hesitated. He had conceived a great terror of this cramped, hot, shadowy place, a bloodstone tomb ever infiltrated by screams from some agonized creature enduring great trials elsewhere in the Temple, a close-packed place crowded with the rank and hot-breathing bodies of prisoners, guards and terrified acolytes.
‘Of course we wish to participate,’ said Manthandros Trasilika, annoyed by Froissart’s hesitation. ‘What do you want us to do?’
‘I would be greatly honoured if your priest would consent to make an initial sacrifice for me,’ said Tin Char.
‘Of course he will,’ said Trasilika, before Froissart had a chance to protest.
Whereupon Tin Char lifted the lid from a copious covered dish. Within lay a vampire rat, its paws tied together with threads of gold and silver. Despite these cords of bondage, it had thrashed around inside the dish. And, as it had befouled its place of imprisonment, streaks of brown smeared its luxuriant orange fur.
The vampire rat screamed in agonies of intelligent anticipation. Froissart grabbed it. The rat twisted, snapped, bit. Blood streamed from Froissart’s hand. If this rat was rabid — and rabies was endemic amongst the vampire rats of Injiltaprajura — then Jean Froissart was going to endure a very unpleasant death.
‘Gath!’ said Froissart, swearing in his native Toxteth.
Then the child of Wen Endex smashed the rat with his fist, grabbed the knife and cut its throat. Blood streamed forth into the dish, mixing swiftly with urine and excrement.
‘There,’ said Froissart, smearing blood across his forehead as he wiped away a lathering of sweat. ‘It’s dead.’
At that point, a servant intruded. A low-browed young man who had but one eye, the other being covered with a black patch.
‘Master,’ said the servant.
‘Silence!’ said Tin Char. ‘You have the manners of a drummer.’
‘Master, I-’
‘Silence!’ roared Tin Char.
And resolved to have the man beaten as soon as the ceremony was finished. To thus intrude on holy ceremony was perilously close to blasphemy.