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CHAPTER 152
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Zenryth Hail

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When I exited the cell, however, and began reaching for a bottle of water, the interrogator shook his head.

"We don't give our prisoners water for no good reason. Relief means delays," he explained, sharpening an already sharp knife.

I narrowed my eyes. "It also encourages cooperation."

The man barked a laugh. "Cooperation? This," he held up his knife, "encourages cooperation." Then he pointed it to the cell. "But he's far from broken. He won't get relief until he stops telling lies. Just how it works."

I crossed my arms. "Have it your way. It's clearly working."

The man nodded with a toothy grin. "That it is. Slow and steady." Then he held out his hand and I returned the key. He then approached the cell, entered, and began relighting candles.

I sighed, the light becoming blinding again. I leaned back against the wall, wiping the blood from my hands onto the inside of my jacket where it wouldn't affect my camouflage.

Aeryn Thail leaned against the wall beside me, still looking exhausted and sweaty from being stuck down here sleeplessly.

"Do you think he'll ever talk?" he asked quietly.

I grunted. "Everyone does. The question is, will he do so in time."

Aeryn Thail didn't ask what 'in time' was referring to as the interrogator kicked Rête Arête, saying, "it's not relaxing time just yet. If you want these lanterns turned down you better start being honest."

Rête Arête tried to pull -- or more accurately, shrink -- away from the man. But the chains made that a vain effort.

Aeryn Thail stood. "I think I'll go rest. If you don't mind," he said under his breath, looking like he might collapse right here.

A sudden scream from the cell made the boy flinch, then rub his arm to cover the fact. I hummed. "Find the others. If they can't watch this one they can watch you."

Aeryn Thail blinked at me for a moment, seemingly surprised by something I said. Then the look was gone, and he said, "right. Uncertain times. Could be taken as a hostage from the PRTC. Would be a liability."

There was a moment of quiet as I processed what my original intentions were. Then nodded, "you get it."

But my hesitation was enough for a smirk to twitch the boys lips. Then it fell, and he punched me in the arm. Taken aback by the action and force behind it, it frowned, holding it.

"Don't leave me next time," he said flatly before turning and exiting the room. I wondered if he felt so comfortable doing that because he knew I wouldn't leave Rête Arête unsupervised.

But after a moment to process, I just snorted quietly in mild amusement. It seemed nothing could stop the boy from being reckless. Suicidal bunny.

My thoughts were cut short as another sound escaped the cell. I turned my attention back to the prisoner and interrogator. It seemed pointless to expect the prisoner to talk if he only received negative experiences. He needed to be reminded what he was missing out on by being stubborn.

But I ignored the bottle of water for now, listening and watching the interaction through the blinding light.

It took me a moment to figure out why no one was speaking, then I saw the gag around the prisoners mouth.

"This is how you bribe him into cooperation," the interrogator said, wavy the impossibly sharp blade at hid face without looking at me. "Not with relief, but by taking away his privileges. If you can't talk, the first thing you wish for is that you could. Then when he gets that privilege back, he'll use it. Won't you?"

Rête Arête shook his head minutely, pulling away from the knife. But it followed him, then with its sharp sides, began to peal away at the skin of his face.

The screams, although muffled, were blood curdling, wet, and broken, as if he were trying to speak but couldn't.

The overload on my senses was complete, and I began wishing he'd just start talking so I could get back to moving.

Murkai flickered between us, but seemed to be getting fed by the smell of fear that weeped from between the bars. It was more irritating than fulfilling, with my auditory and visual senses feeling strained, not to mention the subtle pain the heat caused, and the less than pleasant smell.

So I closed my eyes and continued to listen for something useful. My mind wandered, and everything else fell into the background until what must have been quite a few minutes later.

Then the sound of his screams turned fo groans. I opened one eye as the interrogator pulled a small bottle of clear liquid from his belt, waving it in front of the prisoner. The left of his face was covered in blood which spilled down his neck and soaked his collar.

"Do you know what this is?" the interrogator asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "Oh don't panic. It's only salt water," he said with a grin.

The prisoner shook his head, saying something inaudible against his gag. Then the water was over his face, deliberately in his eye and on his wound.

The screams mixed with desperate, pained sounds that resembled dry sobs. He was trying to speak through it but to no avail. It was a repetition of exhaustion and pain as more salt was poured into his wounds, the sound a constant rhythm.

It was less a plea and more an uncontrollable reaction to the brutal battle of instant pain and the overwhelming exhaustion that took over the moment the pain wasn't at its peak. It sounded like his body was spasming on repeat, and he was trying speak over it, wet, raw, and muzzled.

"Ngh-ah! Ha.. ha.. A-ugh! Ngh.. hh.. -ait.. wgait.. hng.. hng... Ah--!"

I watched the man, more than broken. I said flatly between screams, "I'm here for answers, not background noise. If he has something to say let's hear it before he loses his voice."

The interrogator scowled. "Don't interrupt my work." But he splashed the remaining water at the prisoner, closed the bottle and stored it back at his belt.

"Now let's see if you tell lies."