“We’ll help jog your memory,” said Garth, stepping forward. “Whether you want to or not.”
“Where… where am I?”
Garth stuck the preacher across the face with a sickening crack. “You’re in a bad place, friend. Tell us everything you know.”
A flash of realisation shook the preacher awake. The weariness left his face immediately, his mouth opened in shock, his lip quivering in fear.
“I have nothing to tell you. I swore not to—”
Garth cut the old man off with another right hook, faster and harder than the last. A spray of blood followed the arc of his fist; Farris was sure he heard something break with the impact.
The Human’s eyes met Garth’s, then he spat a bloodied tooth onto the floor.
“I’ll never betray the king!” he cried, his words as strong and proud as they had been back in Sin. “The light of the Trinity protects me!”
Garth raised his hand but paused instead of bringing it down again. “Edgar,” he said, turning to Farris. “What was it you used before, to make those smugglers talk when you were in the capital?”
Farris suppressed a smile. The memory was not a fond one, but he enjoyed the game all the same.
“I’ll need a pillowcase and a pale of water,” he said, shooting a glance at the preacher. “It won’t take long.”
“No!” cried the captive. “Not that, please no!”
Farris turned to Ruairí. “We’ll need to lay him flat on his back. first. Micheál, can you grab what I need from upstairs?”
Ruairí did not respond and did nothing to hide the sheer confusion from his face. A shame. Though, Humans have never been good at this game anyway.
“I’ll talk!” cried the preacher, looking up at Garth. “I’ll do whatever you want, just keep him away from me!”
“Then speak,” said Argyll, practically spitting the words.
“I was contacted by the king himself,” said the preacher. It was as if the words couldn’t leave his lips quickly enough. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the Sons here, for the Crown, but I got a crystal wave in from the king. He told me to meet five spies at Sin, and that I’d confirm their identities with a passcode.”
The preacher looked on expectantly at his captors, as if he hoped he had said enough. The four said nothing. It didn’t take long for their captive to continue again.
“Before they were supposed to arrive, I hid… barrels of Simian black-powder in different positions around the tower. I was to give the spies a flint-ring each to light their fuses. The instructions I was given said that it would be enough to take the tower down. And with the gas in the ships, the skyfleet would be wiped out, too.”
The Silverback took a step towards the preacher. “Is that all?”
“Yes, yes, please. It is. I was told nothing else. It was supposed to take just the six of us.”
“Does the Crown have any other spies in Penance?” asked the Silverback, towering over the little man.
“No… no, it’s just me. Please, I told you everything you need to know. Please, don’t let him do what he said, with the water and—”
“Go to Sin,” interrupted Argyll, turning to Farris, Garth, and Ruairí. “Find these caches and remove them from the tower. Immediately.”
Garth and Ruairí nodded curtly and went to leave. Before Farris had a chance to follow, the Silverback placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You have experience working with the Crown’s network,” he whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, even by Farris. “Will he be missed?”
Farris looked at the preacher. The old man was still shaking, his eyes cast upwards, his lips moving frantically in prayer.
“No,” said Farris, with a sigh. “Probably not.”
Chapter 7:
Chorus of the Soul
My latest experiment has yielded results quite unexpected but intriguing in their own right. I’ll record my findings here as I come across them, but I dare not put their conclusions down on paper right now. The implications are most worrying.
First Entry of a journal entitled “On the Manipulation of the Flesh” by Yarlaith the White.
***
Fionn’s eyes shot open abruptly and a gurgled gasp escaped his throat. He panted, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The room was dim, with little light coming in past the dark, thick curtains covering a nearby window. White cotton sheets were wrapped tight against his body, restricting his movement. Not that he could move if he wanted to. With little feeling below his waist, it seemed to Fionn that he would not leave this strange place for a long time.
He closed his eyes tight, trying to recall the dreams that had plagued his sleep. He remembered a feeling of being trapped alone in the dark. It was a familiar dream, one that had haunted him since he was a boy. He was accustomed to every detail now, from the coffin made from flesh to the blood slowly drowning him.
Gods above and below, where am I now?
Other details resurfaced in his mind, though it was difficult to tell which were real and which were from the dreams. He was aboard an airship, sailing through the sky, when a fight broke out and….
“Fire,” Fionn muttered, as a pang of realisation caused his heartbeat to quicken. “I caused it.”
The rest of the details came flooding back: a burning airship falling from the sky, its survivors running through the Glenn.
And the troll, said a voice. You forgot about the troll.
