The Husband Poisoning Society, Chapter 16

Two guards entered. They wore tabards in the royal blue and white of Hyperborea with a Pillar Tree design. Both were taller than me, at least an inch or two above six feet, and much heavier in build. Both were grinning. I didn’t like the grins. Duke Xander did not take part. He watched from several steps back. 

“I objected to the use of torture. I have been overruled. The royal guard are here to administer the torture.”

I shook my head, and said nothing. 

“Get on with it.” Duke Xander waved at them. “If we have to do this, then do it.”

One stepped forward and grabbed me, twisting my left arm behind me and then my right arm. With my arms behind my back, the guard wrapped his arms around my shoulders in a bear hug.

“Alright. I’ve got her. Go to work.”

The other guard stepped up in a boxing stance. He paused.

“You could save yourself a lot of pain by telling us who your accomplice is now. You know that, right?” He said.

I sniffed, “Decide that for yourselves and be done with it.”

“If this is how you want it.” 

The second guard punched me in the gut and I would have doubled over if not for the guard holding me fast. The second guard hit me in the gut again and my feet went limp. The guard holding me struggled with the sudden extra weight and then recovered. Strong man, stronger than I’d expected. 

“Come on. You don’t want this.” The second guard paused.

I said nothing. 

He shrugged and rammed three more punches into my stomach in rapid succession. My legs let go, and the guard let me fall. I crumpled to the stone floor and coughed once. Then something shifted in my guts and I vomited up the food and alcohol I’d had at the party. I didn’t have a handkerchief, and wiped my mouth with my arm. And then the first guard hauled me back to my feet. My mid section screamed in agony, and I tensed up for another punch. Instead the second guard slapped me, backhanded with his armored glove. My head snapped to the left from the blow and I felt moisture running from my nose to my lips. My nose was bleeding. I had just registered this when the guard slapped me again, forehanded this time. My head snapped to the right. My whole face was throbbing in pain. 

“Spit it out.” The second guard said.

I raised an eyebrow and spat on the floor. I noticed the spit was bloody. 

“Too much fight in these foreign women.” The first guard said from behind me. “This is what happens when you don’t discipline them.”

The second guard nodded, but didn’t respond. He looked at me, sighed, and slapped me twice more. Backhand and then forehand. 

I said nothing.

“This isn’t working,” the first guard said. “I’ve got an idea.” 

He let me go, and I slumped back to the ground. My stomach throbbed and I felt like I might throw up again. The first guard returned with my chatelaine bag. 

“I was looking through this earlier.” He said. And he pulled out my cigarettes and my lighter. 

“Hold her,” The first guard said.

The second guard nodded and dragged me to my feet, holding me by my forearms. The second guard approached with the lit cigarette. 

“Come on.” The first guard said, from behind me. “Come on. Say what we need to hear.”

“What do you need to hear?” I asked.

“We need your accomplice and we need to know where you hid the poison.”

“You know I’m a scapegoat. How on earth could I tell you where the poison is?”

The first guard grinned and pressed the lit cigarette into the flesh of my collarbone. It hissed and I flinched at the burning. Rather than crushing the cigarette out on my skin, he left it pressed. He put exactly enough pressure to hold the cigarette in place. And it sat against my skin, burning. I gritted my teeth. It wasn’t unbearable. But it did hurt. And it felt more like a violation than the beating had. The cigarette went out, and the first guard turned to light another. 

“You’re wasting my cigarettes.” I said. “Those are expensive.”

The second guard pushed me away. I stumbled but managed to stay standing this time. He stepped past the first guard and exited the cell. Reaching the back wall, he pulled a bullwhip from a hook. He turned and marched back to my cell. I realized, as he entered the cell, that my evening gown was backless. I flinched at the thought. 

“Hold her. “ The second guard uncoiled the whip as he spoke. 

The first guard nodded and faced me. He grabbed my arms and then spun me back to the guard with the whip. 

“Confess. Tell us what we need to know.”

“I can’t. I mean. I could confess, but I can’t tell you where the poison is. I don’t know.”

He cracked the whip across my back and I gasped in pain. I couldn’t tell if the whip had broken flesh or not, but the pain made me think it had. He cracked the whip across my back a second time. I screamed that time, a brief gasping scream. 

“Confess.”

I said nothing.

Again and again. Two more strikes from the whip in quick succession. I definitely felt blood running down my back this time. The pain was dizzying and my legs wobbled. 

“Confess.” 

Blackness. And then pain jolted me back to awareness. I’d blacked out, from the pain I guessed. Another strike from the whip, and my legs gave again. The first guard guided me to my knees but kept hold of me. And the second guard struck me across the back again with the whip. My back was on fire, crisscrossing lines of pain from top to bottom. I knew I was bleeding. I didn’t know how bad. 

Blackness. And then a whip crack. Pain. And awareness. 

Blackness. And then pain. 

Blackness. 

They were going to keep going until I passed out from the pain. And I had an awful thought. What if I didn’t confess? I had seen Fiona and Amy in cells as well. In my vision we’d all been captives. What if they moved on to the two of them next. Fiona could handle torture. I was sure of that. But could Amy? I didn’t want to find out. If I confessed then that would be an end to it. 

I could live with that. Not for long. They’d execute me. But it would only be me. 

And then I heard a new voice, “The royal torturer is ready, your grace.”