“Amenable, loyal, forthright. My brother is incredibly lucky to have you, Arki.”
Had any other attractive woman paid me so many compliments, I would have been equally suspicious. But I was doubly on guard, given who I was speaking to. “Well, many thanks. That said, I probably should return before the captain wonders if he needs to recruit yet another archivist.”
Soffjian chuckled. “Only a few moments more, if you would. I don’t know how many other opportunities we’ll have to discuss things so openly and honestly.”
“Very well. I stay at your pleasure.” Even as the words were out, I silently groaned at myself.
“So,” she said, “I know you’ve only been among my brother and his men a short time, but I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on something else for me. You see, despite occasionally wearing armor or serving our armies close to the front lines, I do not count myself an expert on anything military. But I couldn’t help but notice my brother’s new weapon. It is quite striking, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
My breath hitched in my chest, thrown off rhythm completely. I considered forcing a laugh, but knew that it would be the falsest move possible, so did and said nothing.
Soffjian continued, “He was always partial to more traditional sidearms, if I recall. It seems curious that he would suddenly opt to switch to a flail. Syldoon soldiers train at proficiency in all weapons of course, but like the rest of us, they are not immune to favoritism. And Bray-apologies, Captain Killcoin-was always partial to small axes. I do wonder why he chose to adopt a flail now. Do you have any idea?”
I did, and tried to clear my mind of that fact. “Again, this predated me some years, so I can’t speak to it with any authority. And being armed only with quills-”
“And the occasional crossbow.”
“And the occasional crossbow,” I amended. “I’m less martial than you are, by a fair margin. So the proclivities of soldiers are a mystery to me.”
She let that hang there for a moment before saying, “Be that as it may. It is equally curious-maybe more so-that the flail heads are in the likeness of Deserter Gods. Impossible to miss that.”
“Impossible. For certain.”
“And yet I never took Bray for an especially pious man. Even if he opted to pick up a new weapon, challenge himself perhaps, certainly he could have chosen a flail less holy. Or unholy, depending on your vantage.”
Again, I was left wondering how much more she might have known than she was letting on, but I got the distinct impression she wasn’t merely toying with me, or trying to get me to incriminate myself in some fashion. I was nothing to her. She was seriously hunting for new information, or at least information that confirmed already formed suspicions.
I said, “While I suspect you and your brother have had a falling out of sorts and haven’t seen each other for some time besides, I’m sure you know enough about the captain to know he is not really… communicative. Especially to one such as me. I’m no confidant. So I’m afraid I can’t really tell you very much. All I know is that the flail is terrifying, and even if he chose to pick it up relatively late, he uses it to great effect. Beyond that,
your best bet would be to question someone like Hewspear or Mulldoos.”
She didn’t reply right away, and in the dark, I had no expressions to try to read. I said, “This has been a lovely chat, but-”
Soffjian spoke up, suddenly sounding much less gracious and tolerant. “I’m sure you’re right. I really am asking the wrong questions, or posing them to the wrong person. Let me try another then, before you return to your master. It’s come to my attention that Braylar was interviewing a little waif just before I arrived. One accused of being a witch, rumor has it. I believe she found herself into the Grieving Dog kitchens or some such thing, at his request. So, still something else odd-why was he interviewing a hedge witch? And why did he extend himself to help her? Certainly the captain of a Syldoon company has not forgotten that recruiting Memoridons is the sole province of, wouldn’t you guess, Memoridons.”
My mind was suddenly buzzing with answers, each somehow a worse choice than the last. I swallowed hard. “A waif? Hmmm. I can’t say. I don’t-”
“Before you go down dissembler’s road too far and spoil our little conversation here, I do want to tell you one thing. Being a Memoridon, I have certain… skills. For instance, I could step into your mind and sift your memories any time I choose. While Syldoon sometimes pick up tricks to frustrate us, I am sure you would pose no problems at all. Skeelana is much more deft at such things, and could do so gingerly if instructed, but I confess, I am something of a brute when it comes to sifting. So if I enter you looking for answers, I will rend you apart. Shred you. Destroy you, most likely, to discover what I search for. Not with malice, mind-I just don’t happen to be especially gifted in this way.
“Now, you are my brother’s ward, under his protections and purview, so unless I harbor serious suspicions, I won’t do this thing. We are merely talking right now. Exchanging information. I do hope we can continue merely talking. Don’t you?”
I gripped my writing case so tight I thought I might dent it and my mouth was drier than dirt ten feet underground.
Falsehoods would get me nowhere. But revealing even an inkling of what I knew would damn me forever in the captain’s eyes, and most likely result in me pleading for my life in a ditch as Mulldoos laughed and put an end to it.
I was trapped. Utterly.
So, breathing fast, I did the only mad thing I could think of. I went on the offensive. “Do you prefer Soffjian or Soff? I’ve heard you called both. And of course much worse by Mulldoos. Horrible barbarian that he is.”
She maintained a level tone and replied, “No doubt. Soffjian is preferable.”
“Now, we are having a nice conversation, Soffjian. As nice as you can have in a dark empty barn in a plague-ravaged village, anyway. I do like a good conversation. I prefer it with mulled wine in front of a nice fire. But still. I’m glad you sought me out. Up until now, I’d been wondering why the Syldoon were so wary of you and your kind. But I think I’m beginning to understand. Captain Killcoin-my apologies, Bray-he obviously mislikes you for reasons that are his own. But the entire company tensed up the moment you joined them and probably won’t unclench until you leave. And it makes sense now. I do understand.”
“Do you?” she asked, and two words never sounded chiller. “And what-”
I pushed on fast before she decided to simply excavate my skull. “You asked a question, so in a good conversation, it is your turn to listen. You make soldiers nervous, but you terrify me. Silly to pretend otherwise. It is what you wanted, and you achieved that. But I will tell you something else. I am the captain’s ward, as you said. And his man. And that loyalty you lauded, earlier? It is to him. Not you. Not anyone else. Him and his retinue and his company. That’s it. I have nothing to hide, and frankly, I’m not sure how much he does. The captain is secretive, to be sure, but I am the last person to know anything in this company. So you are really having a conversation with the worst person possible if you are hoping to unearth anything. There is nothing I can tell you.”
When I stopped, my head was pounding, I was shaking, and I was sure any moment my eyes would be filled with bright lights as she ripped my skull open and poked inside. I waited for her to do something, say something, but she sat there, frozen, silent, and it was all I could do not to jump over the bench and run for it.
So when I heard a voice calling from somewhere just outside the barn, my bladder almost voided. I looked at Soffjian, or her silhouette, and was at a total loss for what to say.