The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Interrogation, pt. 2

Tanner rather predictably ground his heel into Able's intestines, the pressure mounting to a jolt up Able's chest and down his legs, screaming at him to move, to get away. He grabbed the chair behind him and strained to pull himself out from beneath Tanner's foot, his own legs still uselessly trapped in the air by the seat. The heel ground worse against his pelvic crest.

—what was that Lark had said before he'd knocked Tanner down? Something about a leading foot?

"He's a fraud, and you know it," said Tanner. Oh. Oh, no.

"I really don't! His evidence was compelling enough to me, but without more, I know y—" It was impossible to spit out more as the pressure increased.

"He is a fraud," Tanner repeated the words that would make the pain stop. For now. Only for now, though, remember that and remember to breathe.

"...please stop," Able found himself begging. "I've told you—told you all I know. You needn't do this."

"Admit it!" Tanner shouted. At least he wasn't stomping—begging had clearly been a better instinct than pointing out Tanner wouldn't be so desperate for this confession if he didn't think it possible that his captain had assaulted a prince of Larbantry.

But Able was losing himself to other instincts as well. He'd already grabbed Tanner's ankle and was failing to pry him off. His flailing feet found purchase on the seat itself. The part of him that wondered if this was a good idea could only watch as his legs pushed at the chair. It grated along his back as he dislodged it but not Tanner.

Tanner was shouting something, but that was language and Able could only understand pain right now. His abdomen was tight as a drum and proving just as effectual as one against the onslaught. But with the floor now beneath him, he rolled to his left, and Tanner's weight slid off.

He had no time to sigh in relief. No sooner was he up on his elbows to make good on his escape than a hand came at him like a striking serpent. He went flat on his back again to bat it away. It caught his wrist. He twisted that hand and clawed with the other. He kicked at the floor until he could push away. And he did. He scrabbled back to the wall and pulled his elbows and knees defensively around his aching innards.

Because Tanner was protesting at the door, "—one more minute! You said if you could just get him to talk—"

"And I got him to talk," came Reeve's voice, sounding like it was dangling on its last thread of patience. He stood in the doorway with Capstone behind him. "Now step away from him."

"You can't do this!" Tanner's hands went to his hair. His face was furiously red. Thank goodness he wasn't lying and saying he had gotten Able to confess.

"Can," Reeve said. "Do I need to order you from the room?"

Tanner kicked the chair. The clatter of it skittering across the stone floor put Able's teeth on edge. He squeezed his eyes shut. But the world would not wait for him. Stomping boots clamoring this way and that, no relief.

"You all right, Houser?" Reeve again.

Able opened his eyes to see him standing on this side of the table now, fidgeting with a square of paper as he stared down dispassionately. Able opened his mouth, but his tongue was dry, fat, and senseless.

Capstone came around from the other side of the table, her face set inimically as ever. "Are you needing medical attention?"

The first sound Able tried failed to form, but he managed to get out the next two, "dunno."

Capstone took two quiet steps then crouched in front of him. "Let me see, then." She took his right elbow and cautiously pulled him from his cocoon to a sitting position.

Able held his hand out to stop her before she touched him anywhere else. It trembled pathetically before her but still managed the task. He undid his belt then gently prodded his own belly. The left side was so tender that he hissed at himself without meaning to. He tried the right side instead.

He didn't recognize his own flesh. His skin was thin and loose and his abdomen hard. Hard was bad. He prodded deeper. There was give, and it didn't hurt, so probably, "there isn't the hardness and bloating that would indicate internal bleeding, I don't think." He heaved a sigh and waited to see if there was more give as his tension dropped off.

"If you say so." She sounded amused. Able looked up to watch her retreat to the side wall beside Tanner. "Stomping on baby chicks, now?"

A smirk found its way into Tanner's scowl. "Went something like that, didn't it?"

"You really are fragile," Reeve told Able, thus putting his seal of approval on making light of what had happened.

Able swallowed and said nothing. Even if he had access to an oversight officer, he had after all been taken into custody outside the count's hall with the Shadow. He had no choice but to accept this.

"Makes me wonder if you are up to this," Reeve continued. "But you talked your way into this, so you and I are going to try a little trust exercise." He held out the paper.

Able took two breaths, then found his feet. His side still ached, but he could hide that. He took the neatly folded and sealed letter from Reeve's hand. It was three pages by the weight of it, all crisply folded in the military style. The wax had been sealed in between the two top folds so that any tampering would be difficult to conceal.

"That is an official missive. You are to take it to General Pillar, stationed in Lionstone. You give it only to him. Among the contents are explicit instructions of what he is to do with you if you give that letter to him with the seal broken. Am I understood?"

No wonder Tanner didn't want Reeve to take this risk. Able was essentially free to go. There was only one thing that would keep him from taking himself and this letter to the Resistance or Driver or any other part of the world he pleased: his own desire to access the archives in Lionstone.

"I understand and thank you."