Captain Fennel looked up nervously at the naked girl chained to the wall. He was well groomed and immaculately turned out in full uniform. Stark contrast to his dreary surroundings. He held a scented handkerchief over his mouth and nose and coughed trying to rid himself of the stench of burning flesh and human excrement. He turned again to the city torturer. A man called Cross.
“You said she’d talk by now. He’ll be here soon and I promised him information.” Fennel said anxiously.
Cross was a thin man with a wiry body and dirty wiry hair that stood out wild on top of his head. He had an almost permanent smile of yellow and brown teeth and he wore a bleached white leather apron that was covered in the stains of his work. When Cross spoke he spoke calmly, not wishing to agitate Fennel more.
“You must understand dear Captain, the craft of extracting information is a delicate one. She had already been badly treated by your men when she was brought in here. Now I know what you’re going to say,” he said as he held up the flat of his palm to halt Fennels protests. “They’re a rather unruly lot, and I do sympathize with you. Trying to keep them under control must be difficult, even at the best of times. I’m only trying my best to salvage what I can from what can only be described as a rather sloppy job.”
Captain Fennel’s anger could be seen clearly. His face turned a rather bright red very quickly. He stepped back from Cross as the torturer drew a hot iron from the brazier beside him and swung it under the captains face on its way to the sole of the girls left foot. The smell of burning flesh and the screams of the girl filled the cell and no longer able to bear the pain she fell into unconsciousness.
“Oh dear.” Cross said with a rather perplexed look on his face. “I really don’t work well under pressure you see.” He turned to Captain Fennel still holding the smoldering iron. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable outside captain. I think it would be better for both of us.”
“You’re doing this on purpose. You’re trying to ruin me.” The captain spat, spraying Cross with saliva.
Cross took a dirty handkerchief from his sleeve and daubed at the captain’s spit. “If that is the way you get people to talk captain, then I’m not surprised you have little understanding of my craft.”
Frustrated at the lack of progress in their questioning of the girl and the constant taunting by Cross Fennel moved towards the torturer, intent on teaching him a lesson in just how much he knew about inflicting pain. Then the sound of a deep commanding voice behind him froze the Captain in his tracks.
“Fennel! You know it’s a crime to assault a city official.”
Fennel and Cross turned around to look at the figure framed in the doorway. He stood well over six feet and had the muscle tone of a war-horse. But the most startling thing about him was the inhuman way in which everything about him seemed dark. His eyes, his hair, even his skin had the colour of dry ash about it.
The light from the torches ensconced on the walls cast a dim light about the cell and made the man’s face look all the more inhuman still. But of course Lord Murdoch was never fully human anyway. His ancestry was from the shattered islands and formorian blood ran in his veins. In the past when the race was pure no two formorians had been the same. Some had the body parts of animals some were misshapen and horrible to behold. Others still had the beauty of the most perfect human.
