ED -- In Darkness Chained
Standard Spoiler warnings apply.
Picks up right after the last part.
With a certain amount of curiosity (and hope -- Dawson's tone of voice indicated that something important had just happened) Weldon re-entered Skyler's cell, flanked by Mr. Boyd and Mr. Dawson while Mr. Symmonds, his trainee guard remained outside.
Skyler stood stiffly by the bed shelf, a red book clutched tightly to his chest. "I'm ready to tell you what you want to hear." His calm voice belied the seething fury of his eyes.
"Mr. Boyd," Weldon said over his shoulder, "Mr. Skyler is prepared to make his statement." But it was mere formality, for as soon as Skyler had spoken, Boyd had stepped to the door to ask for the writing board and pencils. As soon as he heard Boyd fasten the paper in place, Weldon said, "Mr. Skyler, you may begin."
"Right, then," Skyler hugged the red book even more tightly to his chest and said, "I pushed Nieve down the stairs. There you go."
"Mr. Skyler," Weldon began, shocked to the core of his being by what he had just heard, and the way in which such a monstrous statement had been delivered.
Skyler cut him off. "Isn't that what you've been waiting to hear me say?!" He all but spat the words. "I just … just --" his lip quivered for several seconds as he closed his eyes and forced his composure back into place. Meeting Weldon's eyes once again, Skyler whispered brokenly, "Just tell me your price Mr. Chapman. I mean, it's not as if you need gold quite the same way most men do. All your needs are provided for, and I don't think the life of a Seeker permits many expensive luxuries, I could be wrong, through. For all I know you have palatial apartments, and -- or did she say she could offer you your freedom. Do this one thing for her and there'd be new papers, a new life waiting for you; you could slip away somehow and start all over. Was that it?"
It took a few moments for the completely baffled Weldon to find his voice again. He had dealt with prisoners who had built up such a web of justifications for their acts, that they needed considerable help in destroying their self-deceptions so that they could see and understand the reality of what they had done, rediscover the truth, really. Mr. Skyler was not one of these. There were also prisoners who had such feelings of love or loyalty for another that they were willing to die in the place of that person, and needed to be shown that their actions, though meant for noble reasons, ultimately caused more harm than help, and were misguided. Mr. Skyler had no such person to cover for. But instead of what he should have asked, what he meant to ask, "Mr. Skyler, what are you talking about?!" burst forth from Weldon's mouth.
"Oh sweet blood! Can we just stop this pretense? Can you just please be honest with me about this one thing?!"
The situation was spinning out of control. In an effort to bring it back on track, to get to the heart of the matter of how the Lady Nieve had really died, Weldon pitched his voice low and firm. "Mr. Skyler --"
"No! No more lies. No more games! I fold, Mr. Chapman, it's over. She wins! The whole bloody cursed lot of you win! Just tell me, please." Skyler slammed the book to the floor, almost shattering the binding with the force of his violence.
Weldon glanced at the book. In the dim light provided by the one lantern Boyd had brought in, and the red-orange glow of the flames dancing behind the wall, he recognized the Vomimian alphabet, and thought he could make out the word "sacred". Carefully, never taking his eyes off of the visibly distraught -- shaking, jaw clenched, fists knotted into his hair -- Skyler, Weldon crouched and reached for the book.
"Careful, Mr. Chapman," Boyd cautioned, writing board set aside, as he stepped forward, hand on his whip.
"I am fine, Mr. Boyd, thank you."
The Sacred Cycle. But why would a book that had something to do with Vovimian religion cause such a reaction in Skyler, a man likely barely literate in the language to begin with? "Would you like to tell me more about this book?" Weldon asked calmly, hoping to gain some enlightenment and regain control of the situation.
"I pushed her down the stairs. What more do you want! Just please, please, please tell me how she got to you," Skyler said, ignoring Weldon's question. Pacing back and forth he began muttering to himself. "I should have known. I should have known. Stupid, stupid, stupid."
He was working himself into hysterics. In an effort to calm his frenzy and get Skyler to say something that made sense, Weldon stepped forward and said, "Mr. Skyler, I don't understand." He indicated the book. "This book --"
"I gave you a chance, Mr. Chapman, I gave you a chance and still you mock me," Skyler hissed.
Too late Weldon saw that his prisoner had closed the gap.
"Mr. Chapman!" Boyd shouted.
Weldon staggered back from the force of the blow, ears ringing, vision fading to black and white, mouth flooding with the molten copper taste of blood. Dazed, blinking through tear flooded eyes, he saw Skyler catch Boyd's whip on his upraised forearm, then rapidly snap it down and back, tearing the whip from Boyd's hand. Using the butt, Skyler knocked the dagger from Boyd's hand, then struck him savagely to the floor.
Blood pouring from his throbbing mouth, Weldon sucked in a ragged gasp and screamed for the guards.
---
Gorammit, I aim to finish this thing this weekend.
Picks up right after the last part.
With a certain amount of curiosity (and hope -- Dawson's tone of voice indicated that something important had just happened) Weldon re-entered Skyler's cell, flanked by Mr. Boyd and Mr. Dawson while Mr. Symmonds, his trainee guard remained outside.
Skyler stood stiffly by the bed shelf, a red book clutched tightly to his chest. "I'm ready to tell you what you want to hear." His calm voice belied the seething fury of his eyes.
"Mr. Boyd," Weldon said over his shoulder, "Mr. Skyler is prepared to make his statement." But it was mere formality, for as soon as Skyler had spoken, Boyd had stepped to the door to ask for the writing board and pencils. As soon as he heard Boyd fasten the paper in place, Weldon said, "Mr. Skyler, you may begin."
"Right, then," Skyler hugged the red book even more tightly to his chest and said, "I pushed Nieve down the stairs. There you go."
"Mr. Skyler," Weldon began, shocked to the core of his being by what he had just heard, and the way in which such a monstrous statement had been delivered.
Skyler cut him off. "Isn't that what you've been waiting to hear me say?!" He all but spat the words. "I just … just --" his lip quivered for several seconds as he closed his eyes and forced his composure back into place. Meeting Weldon's eyes once again, Skyler whispered brokenly, "Just tell me your price Mr. Chapman. I mean, it's not as if you need gold quite the same way most men do. All your needs are provided for, and I don't think the life of a Seeker permits many expensive luxuries, I could be wrong, through. For all I know you have palatial apartments, and -- or did she say she could offer you your freedom. Do this one thing for her and there'd be new papers, a new life waiting for you; you could slip away somehow and start all over. Was that it?"
It took a few moments for the completely baffled Weldon to find his voice again. He had dealt with prisoners who had built up such a web of justifications for their acts, that they needed considerable help in destroying their self-deceptions so that they could see and understand the reality of what they had done, rediscover the truth, really. Mr. Skyler was not one of these. There were also prisoners who had such feelings of love or loyalty for another that they were willing to die in the place of that person, and needed to be shown that their actions, though meant for noble reasons, ultimately caused more harm than help, and were misguided. Mr. Skyler had no such person to cover for. But instead of what he should have asked, what he meant to ask, "Mr. Skyler, what are you talking about?!" burst forth from Weldon's mouth.
"Oh sweet blood! Can we just stop this pretense? Can you just please be honest with me about this one thing?!"
The situation was spinning out of control. In an effort to bring it back on track, to get to the heart of the matter of how the Lady Nieve had really died, Weldon pitched his voice low and firm. "Mr. Skyler --"
"No! No more lies. No more games! I fold, Mr. Chapman, it's over. She wins! The whole bloody cursed lot of you win! Just tell me, please." Skyler slammed the book to the floor, almost shattering the binding with the force of his violence.
Weldon glanced at the book. In the dim light provided by the one lantern Boyd had brought in, and the red-orange glow of the flames dancing behind the wall, he recognized the Vomimian alphabet, and thought he could make out the word "sacred". Carefully, never taking his eyes off of the visibly distraught -- shaking, jaw clenched, fists knotted into his hair -- Skyler, Weldon crouched and reached for the book.
"Careful, Mr. Chapman," Boyd cautioned, writing board set aside, as he stepped forward, hand on his whip.
"I am fine, Mr. Boyd, thank you."
The Sacred Cycle. But why would a book that had something to do with Vovimian religion cause such a reaction in Skyler, a man likely barely literate in the language to begin with? "Would you like to tell me more about this book?" Weldon asked calmly, hoping to gain some enlightenment and regain control of the situation.
"I pushed her down the stairs. What more do you want! Just please, please, please tell me how she got to you," Skyler said, ignoring Weldon's question. Pacing back and forth he began muttering to himself. "I should have known. I should have known. Stupid, stupid, stupid."
He was working himself into hysterics. In an effort to calm his frenzy and get Skyler to say something that made sense, Weldon stepped forward and said, "Mr. Skyler, I don't understand." He indicated the book. "This book --"
"I gave you a chance, Mr. Chapman, I gave you a chance and still you mock me," Skyler hissed.
Too late Weldon saw that his prisoner had closed the gap.
"Mr. Chapman!" Boyd shouted.
Weldon staggered back from the force of the blow, ears ringing, vision fading to black and white, mouth flooding with the molten copper taste of blood. Dazed, blinking through tear flooded eyes, he saw Skyler catch Boyd's whip on his upraised forearm, then rapidly snap it down and back, tearing the whip from Boyd's hand. Using the butt, Skyler knocked the dagger from Boyd's hand, then struck him savagely to the floor.
Blood pouring from his throbbing mouth, Weldon sucked in a ragged gasp and screamed for the guards.
---
Gorammit, I aim to finish this thing this weekend.