The Kingmakers(42)
The boy had shown promise as a geomancer, so Mamoru had taken Selkirk to Java, where he ran an intensive academy in all aspects of the earthly sciences. It was Selkirk whom Mamoru chose for the dangerous mission of mapping the dragon spines of Britain. However, something had happened to him in the north. He had left Equatoria as an inquisitive explorer, and returned as an assassin.
The clack of the key in the old lock echoed in the gloomy corridor. The heavy wooden door swung out and Mamoru looked down on a miserable wretch who lay on a simple cot. The filthy man was shackled at the ankle to a long length of chain that gave him room to move about his cell. He was cadaverously thin, clad in prison greys, with an unkempt beard and stringy matted blond hair. At the words “Good evening, Selkirk,” the young prisoner shifted his look to the samurai, and then returned it to the ceiling.
Mamoru turned to the guards in the corridor. “You may go. Close the door and lock it, please.”
The guards nodded. The samurai had a writ from the Court of High Justiciar giving him free rein on the prisoner, and given who he was, he could easily have produced a handwritten note from the empress. So the guards shut the door and locked it; then they all withdrew to their gloomy station at the end of the hall.
Mamoru studied the cell now that he was alone with the motionless prisoner. It was a slimy stone hovel with no window. There was a cot and a bucket, nothing more. The stench of waste assaulted his nose, and he felt a tinge of regret that his old student had come to this. Selkirk's face was a little swollen, no doubt from some careless slaps or shoves from the guards, but he wasn't brutalized. There was no blood on the floor, at least none that was recent.
“We have much in common,” Mamoru said. “Your late friend, Lord Kelvin, held me in this same dungeon just down the corridor. This room is smaller even than the one I was in last summer.” He stepped to the side of the cot, his sandals slipping on the greasy floor. “Do you know me?”
Selkirk again moved only his eyes, lingering on the face above him. His mouth convulsed.
“Do you know where you are, my boy?”
The prisoner blinked.
Mamoru exhaled sadly. “You are in Alexandria. Your home. But you are in a prison. Because you attempted to kill Empress Adele. Do you remember doing that?”
The ragged man moved his mouth, but stayed quiet.
“Selkirk,” Mamoru said, “do you remember stabbing the empress? I mean Princess Adele? The young woman you helped in London. Do you remember?”
Silence.
The prisoner cleared his throat and made a crude attempt to speak. But then he closed his mouth again, slipping back from communication. Mamoru reached down quickly and pressed his skillful fingers into Selkirk's collarbone. The student screamed.
Mamoru said quietly but forcefully, “You will talk to me. Yes?”
Selkirk breathed hard from the unexpected pain, but still sunk inward. The samurai slid his fingers behind the man's neck, sought a pressure point, and squeezed. Selkirk screeched and flailed up, grasping his head in pain.
Mamoru pressed a hand against the man's chest. “Talk to me, son. Say something. Now. Or I will continue.”
“No,” Selkirk howled. “Don't hurt me!”
The teacher laid a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. “There. Excellent. Thank you. Let's begin again. Do you know who I am?”
Selkirk nodded, gasping as the pain faded.
“No,” Mamoru said. “Say it. Talk.”
“You're my teacher.”
“That's right, lad.” Mamoru sat on the edge of the cot, staring into the eyes of the prisoner. “Do you remember going to Britain?”
Selkirk looked away.
Mamoru placed his hand on the man's chest, causing him to squirm pathetically. “Do you remember going to Britain?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Good. Tell me why you went to Britain.”
“I…I was mapping dragon spines. Ley lines. For your world map.”
“Yes. Good. And did you do that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Excellent. Well done. Where are your charts?” When the prisoner looked away again, Mamoru tapped the man's collarbone and Selkirk flinched. “If you completed your charts, where are they?”
The prisoner shifted on the cot, trying to move out from under the samurai's hand. “The princess is dangerous.”
“Where are your charts?”
Selkirk pressed his back against the wall, holding his hands out to ward off his visitor, even though Mamoru hadn't moved. “She will ruin us.”
Mamoru stayed still, but watched his former student adopt a reasonable tilt of his head but with wild begging eyes. He kept his voice calm. “Where are your charts?”