Born a Monster - Chapter 524: But I Don’t Know That

524 But I Don’t Know That

“If this inquiry goes much longer,” I said, “I will miss my work shift in the mines.”

Murud ibn Uzik ibn Kazif, a dark man with a darker beard, about the volume of the rest of his head (like a long knife that hung down over his mid-chest) scowled at me. “Do I look or act like I care if you eat today? Reports are that you’ve been eating all manner of plants.”

I shrugged. “Only the dead ones. And nothing from any of the gardens.”

Murud squinted at me. I know now what his dilemma was; if he asked how many gardens, he knew he’d get an answer. But he also knew then that I’d know he didn’t know about all the gardens his soldiers were keeping, and where. A damning oversight for an officer, especially considering how little water the camp received.

Instead, he returned to the interrogation. “How many gnolls are in Skull tribe?”

“Again? At least eleven, they claimed they had two dozen. This is only their hunting camp, which on your map is in this region.” I tapped the area where the broken ridges and valleys were not in evidence.

“How many did they claim in their tribe outside the camp? What about their standing in the clan?”

“They never bragged either of those numbers where I could hear them.” I said.

“Surely a spy of your calibur has ways of finding that out.”

…..

“Again, I have no levels in the Spy class. I am a Diplomat, a Psychologist, and an Anthropologist, but all of those are first level.”

“And yet,” he said, “this model of their camp shows remarkable insight. The sort of thing one expects from a scout.”

“I like my crafting skills.” I said. “One of them is Carpenter.”

“And yet, in spite of your claims you have skills a siege engineer might have.”

I spread my hands to indicate helplessness. “I’ve led an interesting life. I’ve had to check a variety of skills and subskills that most people never use in their lifetimes.”

“No.” he said, “It is far more than that. You have the ability to do things, even without your System.”

“From what I’ve seen, that is normal. Especially here, where our Systems are forbidden to us.”

“Our experience here at the Armpit has been that workers will try to use their Systems to influence or combat or subvert or bypass the guards. None of these are things we like happening. When there is treasonous rebellion, we need to execute people to make an example. How much work do you think we get out of dead workers?”

“None,” I said. “The alternative…”

“Correct!” Murad boomed. “None! Dead workers are useless to us.”

“Likewise,” he continued, “Every guard who dies is twelve hours more work that we the guards have to perform. I doubt a worker like yourself appreciates just how much the loss of even one soldier affects all of us, and through the chain of command, you. Do you see how your failure to protect that young man has made things harder on everyone?”

“No.” I said. “I have no clue how that affects the whole camp, or why with over a hundred trained soldiers the loss of one would even become an issue.”

“Pain FIVE!” he said, waggling the wand at me the way you might scold a child.

I grunted, but managed not to scream.

“This is YOUR insolence.” Murad told me. “Your actions, your consequences. In truth, you see how you are doing this to yourself.”

“I don’t have to see any such… GYAAaaah!” Like I said, just because it wasn’t doing any damage to me didn’t mean it didn’t HURT.

Murad sighed. “Let us begin again. How many gnolls are coming, and when?”

“I don’t know either of those things.” I clenched my teeth as he lashed me with a three and slammed the pain wand into the table.

“NOW look what you’ve done!” Murad said. “Another wand, emptied just because of your words. Sixteen charges, gone.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. These wands are not cheap, and I don’t have to tell you how much human suffering is required to refill these. How much more will your fellows have to suffer before you just tell me what I’m going to learn anyway?”

“None.” I said. “I don’t think you realize how much black emotion is in the Armpit itself.”

He spat out the window. “Eight hundred points, give or take a hundred. If we could mine THAT instead of salt… ah, there would be no shortage of merchants to buy things from.”

When I remained silent, he asked, “Have you heard that story?”

“I’ve not heard many stories, as little time as I’ve spent talking with my fellow workers.”

“I think his name was Haji or Hafi or something like that.” Murad said. “A dirt merchant, dealing in salt and water and dung he called fertilizer. He came to the captain before our current captain, and demanded outrageous prices. For this, the captain placed all humans of the caravan into the Armpit, butchered his animals, and added his wares to the storehouse.”

“Thus all the gardens?” I asked.

“So much more important than gardens.” Murad said. “It turns out that captain hadn’t cared about the man’s full name; his wealthy uncle came looking for him, and he brought a unit of well paid mercenaries with him. In short, they killed half or so of the staff, and the survivors went into the Armpit. Do you , then, why that captain lost his post?”

“Please, enlighten me.” I said.

“And no, it was not because the uncle had powerful friends, or at least had equally powerful enemies. Nobody who could have freed him cared enough to do so. In fact, he was fired for doing his job.”

“That sounds like potentially the worst reason I’ve heard today.”

“You see,” he continued, “he had to both ensure the salt was mined, and to adhere to certain staffing requirements. In order to bring his staffing numbers up, he … bypassed normal recruitment policies for the military. Once his superior found out…”

“He was assigned to the mines?” I guessed.

“Oh no.” Murad said. “The last I heard, he even kept his rank. He is a recruiter now, you see. Now, every slave he recruited from the mines was put back in. But his superior, our captain, still had to clean up his mess. He tells us that only hard men can survive working such hard conditions. He tells us that we will be stronger for having worked here. What do you think we feel about that?”

“Apparently… AUGH!”

“I have decided I do not care what you think.” Murad said. “But do you see how much information you could have gleaned in a mere two minutes? And you were with the enemy for no less than half a day. You must see why I do not believe your protestations of…”

The door flung open, a nubile female with a radiant and vibrant smile. “Found it, sir.” She held up a curved blade. “One skinning knife, barely used.”

Murad accepted the knife. “Pain alone does not seem to be motivating you. Sarai, you may practice your craft upon this prisoner.”

Her smile deflated. “His skin is… This will be terrible for leather, sir.”

Murad sighed, tugged gently on my face.

A swath peeled back.

“Oh!” Sarai said, her eyes glistening with excitement. “Oh, he’s SHEDDING. Soft and supple skin beneath, like a lamb or a kid.” <1 >

Murad rested a hand on her shoulder. “It is good, your eagerness. But… what information do I want from him?”

“Numbers, places, times. What enemies are moving or have moved, and where. Oh, and a focus on when we can expect gnolls to encircle and besiege us.”

“I am a Speaker of Truth!” I said. “I literally cannot lie to you. I do NOT know these things!”

“I may have his whole skin?”

“You are certain you can get the whole of it in one piece?” Murad asked.

“With Omar and Ubay holding him down, maybe. I look forward to the challenge.”

Merciful gods! At least grant some manner of creativity to those who torture me!

Murad left; two large men came in with a variety of short chains.

“If it helps any, your inner skin will be put to good use.”

“Would that help you, were our positions reversed?” I asked.

The darker of the two, Ubay, began working on my right ankle, chaining it to one table leg, while Omar did the same on my left.

Sarai beamed at me. “But sir, by your own admission, your craft is Carpenter and Cook, and not anything that resembles Leatherworker. I, for example, specialize in gloves.”

I was breathing hard at this point; I wasn’t sure I had the health left to even survive the process. Did I have the nutrition to heal this time?

She examined my right side, then my left, tsking in disapproval. “Would you promise me to hold still as you can, to help with the process?”

“I promise to resist in any way that I can.” I replied.

“Omar, Ubay. This is where I need your help the most. Hold him.”

She began with the skin I was already in the process of shedding, asking all the time about Skull Tribe, its numbers, its plans.

And then Omar and Ubay began earning their pay for the day.

<1 > No, child goats are called kids. She didn’t use the word for a human child.