By the third time, Edouard was half-drowned, lying limp and listless on the deck, leaking fluids.
Septimus Rousse prodded him with a booted toe. “Would you rather the flogger?” he asked. “That’s what’s next for you, my lad.”
I winced.
“My lord captain,” Balthasar addressed him in a casual tone. “Forgive me for this breach of protocol, but I have a proposal.” His dark blue eyes glinted, and I felt the uneasy stirring of his gift and a sharp taste like metal in my mouth. “As no doubt you know, members of House Shahrizai are well versed in… certain arts, which can be put to many uses. And it’s been far, far too long since I had a chance to employ them.” He bared his teeth in a smile. “Would you be willing to consider allowing me to question this man?”
On the deck, Edouard made a faint sound of protest.
The captain gave Balthasar a long, considering look. “You know, that’s not the worst idea I’ve heard.”
Balthasar’s smile widened. “I’m glad you think so.” He nodded at the prone sailor. “Have him cleaned up, put some dry clothes on him, and bring him to the wardroom. I don’t want him dripping and bleeding all over the place. Yet.”
Although I didn’t want to undermine him in public, belowdeck I confronted Balthasar. “My lord, you’re proposing to torture the fellow for your own pleasure! I cannot condone it.”
“If it works, does it matter whether or not I take pleasure in it?” he inquired. “How is that worse than the punishment the captain’s already meted out? Or the further punishment he had in store?”
“It’s just… wrong!”
He sighed. “Moirin, listen. What I proposed and what I plan to do are not entirely the same thing. Tell me, have I earned a measure of trust from you?”
Reluctantly, I nodded.
“Then give it to me now.” Balthasar’s gaze was steady and grave. “I swear on my honor, I know what I’m doing.”
Clemente DuBois essayed a feeble jest. “Couldn’t you find something more convincing to swear on?”
Balthasar ignored him. “I would ask all of you to trust me,” he said, glancing around the wardroom. “Watch, but don’t intervene. And if I ask you to leave us alone, go immediately. Are we agreed?”
After a pause, everyone nodded.
“Good. Now someone go find out the fellow’s surname for me.”
In short order, one Edouard Durel was escorted to the wardroom with his hands tied behind his back. He was clad in dry clothing, and his wounds had been dusted with powdered alum to halt the bleeding. Although his expression was stoic, I could smell acrid fear-sweat on him.
I daresay Balthasar could, too. “Edouard Durel,” he drawled in greeting, pointing at the long table with the tip of his belt knife. “Do have a seat, won’t you?”
The fellow sat. The rest of us stood in the doorways of our cabins, watching while Balthasar paced around the table, toying idly with his knife. Light from the lantern glinted on its razor-sharp edges. The sailor tracked Balthasar’s progress warily.
“Not a very pretty toy, is it?” Balthasar said apologetically, pausing to stroke the sailor’s cheek with one keen edge. “Pity I didn’t bring a set of flechettes, but I didn’t think I’d have a chance to play.” Leaning down, he whispered in the fellow’s ear. “Thank you so very much for this opportunity. I’ve never inflicted pain on anyone against their will, but I must confess, I’ve always wondered what it would be like.”
Cords in the man’s neck tightened. “You commit heresy!”
“Do you think so?” Balthasar increased the pressure, opening a thin gash, which he then probed lovingly with the tip, working it beneath the skin. The sailor gritted his teeth. I caught my breath, and Bao squeezed my arm. “I don’t see it that way at all. Mayhap you would be interested in hearing my perspective?”
The sailor didn’t answer.
“You are a thief, Messire Durel.” Balthasar prowled around the table and took a seat opposite the fellow. His eyes were unnaturally bright in the lamplight, pupils dilated with arousal. “That is not in question. And since your actions could quite possibly have doomed the lot of us to death by starvation or worse, one might consider you guilty of attempted murder. I do.”
Edouard Durel looked away.
“Mighty Kushiel was in charge of administering punishment to the damned.” There was a terrible tenderness in Balthasar’s voice. “They say he loved his charges too well. You have condemned yourself to Kushiel’s ungentle mercy, Messire Durel, and as a proud scion of Kushiel’s line, it is my duty as well as my pleasure to administer it.” He stroked the blade of his knife. “How well shall I come to love you, I wonder?”
“I didn’t kill anyone!” Sweat beaded on the sailor’s brow. “You can’t punish me for something that never happened!”
Balthasar made a tsk-tsk sound. “Do you imagine Kushiel does not judge you for your intentions?” he asked, leaning across the table to tickle the fellow under his chin with the knife tip. “Hmm?”
Durel jerked his head backward. “You cannot prove it!”
“Ah, well, no. But I have the certitude of faith, and I am willing to risk my immortal soul for it.” Balthasar prodded harder. “Tell me, did you intend to hide the logbook or toss it overboard?”
The sailor resumed his silence.
“No matter.” Balthasar withdrew the knife and took a whetstone from his purse, running it over the blade’s edge in a hypnotic rhythm, his overbright gaze fixed on Edouard’s face. “More important, who are you protecting?”
Again, the fellow looked away, his jaw tight.
“Oh, I don’t mean the Regent, or whoever put you up to this.” Balthasar waved the knife in a careless gesture. “No, no. I’ll come to that in time. Right now, I’m interested in getting to know you, Messire Durel.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his fists, still holding the knife and whetstone. “You attempted a heinous deed that might well have condemned you to a miserable death along with the rest of us. What stakes could possibly be high enough to prompt a man to do such a thing?”
Edouard Durel was sweating profusely now, sweat running in sheets down his face, mingling with the blood from the gash on his cheek. The wardroom stank of his fear, and I felt more than a little sick.
“Ah, now I begin to see! You got yourself in trouble, didn’t you?” Balthasar asked softly. The sympathy in his tone sounded genuine, and for all I knew, it was. “Who was going to pay the price for it?”
“No one!” the sailor choked out.
“Aged parents, vulnerable in their twilight years?” Balthasar speculated. “A younger brother who fell in with a bad crowd? No?” He tapped the table with the hilt of his knife, thinking. “The wife and children?”
Durel flinched as though he’d been struck, tears filling his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. Kushiel’s mercy, indeed. Somewhere, I thought I heard the sound of bronze wings clashing.
“Ah. And there we have it.” Balthasar Shahrizai laid down the knife and whetstone, folding his hands atop the table. His handsome face was solemn and stern, and the air in the wardroom was thick with the barbed coils of his gift. “Edouard Durel, I speak for mighty Kushiel himself when I tell you that there is only one way to protect your loved ones from the consequences of your actions. Will you make your confession?”
It was not a pretty sight.
The sailor Edouard Durel broke into ragged, anguished sobs, his broad shoulders heaving. Between sobs he stammered out a tale of having fallen deep into debt after returning from the ill-fated voyage to Terra Nova, drowning his sorrows and wagering at Bryony House. He’d wagered and lost everything in his possession in a matter of days, even down to the roof above his wife and six-year-old daughter’s head.
And when it came to matters of finance, Bryony House was merciless.
At some point during the fellow’s confession, Balthasar mimed for Denis to cut his bonds and bring a bottle of brandy. He poured a generous glass, pushing it across the table. “Who approached you? Was it Duc Rogier?”
Edouard Durel downed the brandy and shook his head. “His wife, with that eldest son of theirs in tow.” He shuddered. “Hateful lad.”
I quite agreed.
Balthasar refilled the glass. “So she offered to make good on your debt in exchange for your compliance?”
“Aye,” he said wearily. “She promised they’d never want for aught for the rest of their lives, that they’d live like peers of the realm so long as I did what she asked and never, ever spoke a word of the matter.” He rubbed at his tears. “I thought… I thought there was a chance we’d live through this. Captain Rousse is one of the most resourceful sailors I’ve ever known. He might have found a way to plot a course homeward.”
“Gods, man!” Denis de Toluard interjected. “How could you possibly imagine you’d get away with it?”
The sailor looked at him with dull eyes. “I didn’t. I reckoned I’d be found out sooner or later. But as long as I kept my mouth shut, my Adele and Mattie would be safe.”
“And Prince Thierry and all his comrades doomed to whatever fate befell them in Terra Nova!” Denis shouted.
Edouard Durel gave a broken laugh. “Do you really think you stand a chance of finding them, my lord?” He gestured at me. “Just because some half-breed bear-witch with a grudge claims to have had a vision?”
“In fact, I do.” Denis glanced at me. “I have more cause than most to put my faith in Moirin mac Fainche.”
To that, the sailor made no reply.
“A few further questions, Messire Durel,” Balthasar said. “Did you have an accomplice, or were you working alone?”
Durel shook his head. “If I’d had an accomplice, I’d have posted a lookout.” He grimaced. “I wasn’t expecting Lord de Toluard’s midnight stroll.”
“Did the Duchese de Barthelme approach anyone else with a similar offer?” Balthasar asked.
The sailor shrugged. “If she did, she didn’t say anything to me about it.” He picked up the refilled glass of brandy and downed it in a series of gulps, setting the empty glass on the table. “So far as I know, I’m the only traitor about the ship,” he said in an unsteady tone. “That’s what I am, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so,” Balthasar agreed. Reaching across the table, he put his hand over Edouard Durel’s. “Don’t worry about your wife and daughter. If we return safely, I’ll make sure they’ll pay no price for your sin, and be well cared for. And if we don’t…” He smiled wryly. “Well, you’ve already seen to it that they’ll be fine.”
Fresh tears spilled from the fellow’s eyes. “Thank you, my lord. I don’t deserve your kindness!”
“No, you don’t,” Balthasar said judiciously. “But neither do they deserve to be punished for your folly.”
Durel nodded. “What’s to become of me?”
“That’s the captain’s business for now.” Balthasar retrieved his whetstone from the table and stowed it. “Assuming we’re all in agreement, I’d ask him to spare your life so that you might stand trial in Terre d’Ange and testify against the Regent’s wife and her poisonous brat. I trust you’re willing to do so?”
“Aye, my lord.” Edouard Durel took a deep breath, his gaze on the knife still lying atop the table. “I was wrong to doubt you. I felt Kushiel’s presence here. I am willing to accept whatever penance you give me.”
“Ah.” Balthasar plucked up his belt knife and sheathed it. “As it happens, I am more modest than I pretend. I will leave the matter of penance to the priests, and rest content with my role here.”
With that, he sent Clemente to fetch the sailors to take Edouard Durel into custody once more.
When they had gone, Balthasar heaved a mighty sigh, running his hands over his face. “That,” he remarked to no one in particular, “was challenging.” He gave us all a surprisingly sweet smile. “Thank you for your trust.”
“Don’t thank me,” Brice de Bretel said flatly. “I really thought you meant to skin the man alive.”
Balthasar’s smile tightened. “Nothing quite so crude, I hope.”
I thought about the brightness of his eyes, the tenderness of his voice; and I thought that the sense of deadly desire it evoked was quite genuine. There was a part of Balthasar Shahrizai that would have relished giving in to his darkest urges and carrying out the punishment he threatened, and the most frightening part was that he would have done it out of a kind of love. “You wield a dangerous gift, my lord,” I murmured.
He met my gaze. “Not lightly, Lady Moirin.”
“No.” I came forward to rest my hands on his shoulders, feeling the latent tension in them. Leaning down, I kissed his cheek. “It was well done. Thank you.”
He nodded in acknowledgment.
Denis de Toluard shuddered. “Let’s just hope there aren’t any more. That was far too near a thing.”
“Good thing you couldn’t sleep, huh?” Bao observed.
“It is, isn’t it?” A look of wonder touched Denis’ face. “Ever since the King’s death, I’ve had nightmares. I never thought I’d be glad of them.”
“And I never thought I’d be so glad to have you on this expedition, my lord Denis,” I said to him, inclining my head. “We all owe you a profound debt today. Were it not for your acuity, we’d be in dire straits, and Thierry’s cause nigh hopeless.”