They went outside, where he saw two soldiers waiting, and then on down the street. His legs felt like rubber, and it was all he could do to stay calm.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
No response. Not even a glance in his direction.
Not a good sign.
The soldiers dragged Gregory down an alley, and he considered making a run for it. He was fast on his feet, and he doubted they could keep up with him once he got going.
But they had iron grips on his arms, and he wasn’t sure he could slip free. He was sure, however, that they could draw their weapons and stab him before he got far enough away.
They turned a corner in the alleyway and came upon orphans and vagabonds huddled around empty boxes and crates. Several of the crates were covered with paper and wood to fill in cracks, creating makeshift homes. The children lived here. Most of them were on the verge of starvation, protruding bellies and disproportionate limbs.
“Beat it,” the Captain said, drawing his sword.
Gregory winced. The kids sprang to their feet and jolted down the alley, disappearing around a corner. Maybe, Gregory thought, they will run for help and warn people that an innocent man is about to be murdered.
The thought almost made Gregory chuckle.
Almost.
The soldiers held Gregory up and the Captain turned to face him.
The look on his face was calm, eerily so. “Who are you working for?”
“I don’t work for any— “
The fist came fast; Gregory hadn’t even seen the soldier move and suddenly his head was rocked sideways. He reeled from pain and saw his new hat fall free to the ground. He fought through the pain and moved his jaw.
Nothing broken, but he could taste blood. He saw the soldier in front of him, clenching and unclenching his fist—his bloody fist, Gregory noted—and couldn’t help but shudder.
“Want to run that by me again?” the Captain asked.
“I’m by myself. I don’t know anyone.”
The next punch was in the stomach, knocking his air out. He struggled for air.
“I came from Olestin looking for passage to Mulrich.”
Another punch to the jaw, this time from the opposite side.
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not!”
“Who are you working for?”
“No one! I swear. I’m just traveling north, trying to reach the Capital. I didn’t want to travel alone.”
“Stop lying.”
“I’m not.”
His mind was spinning, and he felt dizzy, but he could also feel his body flooding with adrenaline.
Gregory was getting mad; pissed off, in fact. Who do they think they are? Nothing he had done justified this kind of treatment: you don’t go beating people up because they are clever enough to see through your stupid disguises.
“Are you done?” he asked
“I don’t like liars,” the Captain said.
“Then you must love me,” Gregory said. This time a guard kneed him in the crotch. Gregory saw stars.
Sure, goad him. He coughed and felt blood run down his chin, but was even more pissed off:
“Is this how you treat all foreigners? No wonder you don’t get many tourists.”
A dagger appeared in the captain’s hand. “You have quite a mouth on you. Trained to resist torture?”
“By my mother,” Gregory said, narrowing his eyes. “She made me eat broccoli.”
The man stepped forward and stabbed the dagger into Gregory’s stomach. The pain was beyond anything he could imagine, and he felt himself slipping out of consciousness. Time passed, and he felt himself drifting. Did the Captain hit him again? He didn’t know.
“Patch him up,” he heard someone say distantly. “We might need him.”
And then he passed out.
