Two watchmen stood there, one so tall he had to stoop as he entered—and Miles fought to keep his face contorted in fear while hope leaped in his heart.
“What matter is so great as to make you disturb my work?” Renunzio demanded.
“An order that you bring the prisoner before the Protector himself,” the shorter man answered, “without the slightest delay!”
Miles went limp with relief.
CHAPTER 21
The huge sergeant slouched into the torture chamber behind the ordinary-sized one.
“I’ve almost brought the man to the point of telling me all I—the Protector wishes to know!” Renunzio glared. “What possesses him to need the fellow right now? This is a devil of an inconvenient time!”
It struck Miles as a very convenient time indeed.
“I don’t ask questions,” the smaller man said. “Let him up now, if you please.”
A disgusted torturer moved to unbuckle the straps that held Miles down.
But Renunzio held up his hand. “Wait! I don’t need to follow that order unless I see it in writing! Show me the written document, guardsman!”
“If you must,” the smaller guard growled, and pulled a rolled parchment from his belt. He stepped down next to the rack and handed it to Renunzio, who unrolled it, scowling.
The guardsman struck him on the head with something small that only made a smacking sound. Renunzio’s eyes rolled up; he toppled off his stool. The paper floated to the floor, but as it went, Miles read the single word Surprise!
The chief torturer recovered from his own surprise with a shout of anger and turned to fight off the invaders.
There really was no contest, though. The torturers were strong, immensely strong, and brutal—but they were used to striking men who were tied up or tied down, and couldn’t fight back. The guardsmen, though, were seasoned soldiers, used to fighting men who fought back, and were armed into the bargain.
The guard blocked the chief torturer’s haymaker and drove his own fist into the man’s belly, and the chief doubled over with an agonized grunt. His two assistants leaped for the guardsman with a shout, but the giant sergeant wrapped a hand around the neck of one and yanked him off the floor. The smaller guard whirled to face his attacker, who stabbed at him with a white-hot poker—but the guard struck it aside with his halberd and whipped the butt around to crack the torturer’s head.
The giant pulled the hood off his strangling captive and gave him half a dozen slaps with a hand the size of a dinner plate. The torturer’s head rolled back, and his eyes rolled up.
But the smaller man was already unbuckling Miles. “We had to come back a little early,” he confided. “On the last planet we visited, the new king turned out to be a reformer, and had very good bodyguards.”
“Of course,” the huge one said, “anyone who claimed that Dirk had something to do with the old king’s abdicating would have been telling vile lies.”
“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” Miles said fervently, “but you have no idea how glad I am to see you both!”
“I think we can guess.” Gar frowned down at his feet, then took a small jar out of the pouch at his side. “This should ease the pain a bit.”
His touch, at least, made it worse. Miles ground his teeth to hold back a howl. Dirk was busy unscrewing something above his head. He took Miles’s hands out gently and brought his arms down to his sides. Miles groaned with relief.
“Sorry,” Gar said, “but it really will feel better when I’m done.”
“No, no! I was groaning at having my arms back.” Miles realized how ridiculous that sounded, but before he could say so, Gar straightened up, screwing the lid back on the jar and slipping it into his pouch. The fire in Miles’s feet cooled instantly, and he groaned again, then said quickly, “What a blessing!”
“You’ll have to stay off them for a few days.” Gar’s voice was tight with anger. “Up with you, now! We need that bed for the next patient!” He scooped Miles up in his arms and deposited him on Renunzio’s stool. “Keep your feet up.”
Dirk steaded Miles while Gar hauled Renunzio off the floor with much less gentleness than he had shown the rebel leader, and laid him down on the rack. Miles bit his tongue to keep from protesting; he knew what was coming.
Sure enough, Gar shackled Renunzio’s ankles and wrists, then turned the wheel until the unconscious man lay stretched out on his own bed of pain. Gar stepped back, surveyed him critically, then decided, “There’s no real tension on him.”
“Gar,” Dirk said, voice shaking, “this is beneath you.”
“Just a little,” Gar qualified. He moved the wheel two more notches, then nodded, satisfied. “No damage, and no pain—yet. But I think he’ll have a very rude awakening. Gag him, Dirk.”
He turned away, and Miles realized he hadn’t put the gag on with his own hands because he couldn’t trust himself not to strangle Renunzio. Dirk tore a strip of cloth from the inquisitor’s coat and bound it around his mouth. He stepped back to survey his work critically, then offered, “I could jam it down his throat.”
Somehow, Miles found the strength to say, “No. Leave him for the guards to find. Your mercy will mean more to them than my revenge.”
“A good point.” Dirk turned back, pulling ajar of salve and a roll of bandages out of his own pouch. “I think we’d better give your thumbs a little ease, too.”
As he bandaged them, Miles looked up just in time to see Gar finish tying the chief torturer into a chair that was bolted to the floor under a bucket with a hole in the bottom. Drops of water struck his head, about one every two seconds. Miles looked around and saw the man’s two apprentices bound into torture machines of their own. Gar stepped back to survey his handiwork. “Neat enough, I think. Gag them, will you, Dirk?”
As Dirk bandaged the apprentices’ mouths, the giant turned back to Renunzio, scowling down at him. The inquisitor moaned and turned--or tried to. He froze as he realized he was bound, and his eyes flew open. He took in his situation with one quick glance, then stared up at the huge man who towered above him, resting one hand on the wheel. Renunzio went stiff with terror.
Gar saw and nodded, satisfied. “Yes, he’ll have punishment enough for the time being. We’ll leave him for you to judge, Miles, after we usher in the New Order.”
Renunzio’s gaze flew to Miles, saw the somber, weighing look on his face, and his eyes sickened with horror.
“Enough of him.” Gar turned away with sudden decision. “No one could have blamed us if we had drawn and quartered him, but they’ll respect you more for leaving him to the process of the Law. Off into the night, now! It’s high time we hauled you out of this hole!”
Dirk produced a guard’s uniform, and they helped Miles dress in it, though painfully. Then Gar slung the rebel leader over his shoulder, Dirk opened the door, and Gar turned back for one last glare at Renunzio. “Be glad it’s Miles who will judge you, torturemaster, and not I. He, at least, has some notion of mercy.” Then he turned away, and Dirk closed the door behind him.
In the hallway, Dirk snorted, “Phony!”
“I prefer to think of myself as making an insightful impact,” Gar returned placidly. “Besides, if I did have to decide his fate, my anger just might get the better of me.”
“Might.”
“Anything is possible,” Gar reminded, “including this revolution—but we’ll discuss that after we’re back in the forest.” They went up a flight of stairs, and the sentry at the top frowned. “Why can’t he walk?”
“They worked on his feet,” Dirk said shortly.
“Well, it’s your back, not mine,” the sentry said, shrugging. He opened the door. “Get on with you, now.”