fainted.
When Sarazin recovered, it was night. He was still strapped down, utterly helpless. In terror, he looked for his torturers. They were nowhere to be seen. But dull fire glowed red in a brazier where iron was heating still, ready for their return.
Sarazin's nose was still in place. But they would come back. They would hurt him, would cut him, would beat him. And he had no hope of escape, no hope what- soever. Helplessly, he began to cry.
He sobbed, alone, lonely, utterly bereft. Hot tears blubbered from his eyes and coursed down his cheeks. It was not fair! How could they do this to him, to him, Sean Sarazin? 'I did nothing wrong,' he said. But nobody answered, of course.
The fire glowed red. The darkness creaked. Wind was at work on the shutters of the torture chamber. And Sarazin's tears eased away at last, and he was left cold and shivering. Waiting for his torturers to return. Waiting for his death. More afraid than he had ever been in his life.
At last, the grey dawn came like a cutthroat. The ashes in the brazier were cold. A whisk of wind found its way beneath the shutters, feathered the ashes, shifted a few to the floor. Sarazin shivered. Then heard footsteps. Soft footsteps. Creeping, creeping. He sucked on his tongue, summoned up saliva, moistened his dry throat, then said: 'I hear you, Douay.'
'It's not him, moron,' said Glambrax. 'It's me.' The next moment, Glambrax was beside Sarazin, cutting him free with a dagger. When Sarazin's bonds had been severed, he got off the torture bench – and promptly collapsed to the floor. 'What ails you?' said Glambrax.
Wly back,' said Sarazin, in agony. 'It's given way. I can't get up.'
Glambrax promptly started pounding and pummelling and pounding Sarazin's back like a professional masseur. Under his ministrations, Sarazin gained freedom of move- ment, and soon had the satisfaction of standing and pissing into the brazier.
Take a shit while you're about it,' said Glambrax generously. 'We're in no hurry.'
'No thanks,' said Sarazin. Then, by way of explanation: 'Constipation.' Then, seeing Glambrax was making for the door: Where are you going?' Won't be a moment,' said Glambrax.
He was in fact several moments, but returned in due course with an armful of clothes. Sarazin's clothes. Sarazin dressed, somewhat dismayed to find that his boots were missing. 'What about my boots?' said Sarazin.
'Don't worry,' said Glambrax. We'll get you some boots before we get out of here.'
'That raises another question,' said Sarazin. 'Just how are we going to get out of here?' 'Follow me,' said Glambrax.
And led the way through the dawn-quiet building, out through a side door, up one stairway, down another, and out through another door. Glambrax scuttled across an open courtyard, then paused, listening at yet another door. Sarazin joined him. He could hear a demented animal wailing within the building, and was frightened. 'What's that?' he hissed. 'Nothing to worry about,' said Glambrax.
Then Glambrax opened the door. Sarazin slipped through. Glambrax nipped in after him, slammed the door and sidled away. Laughing horribly. And Sarazin, to his horror, found himself back in the throne room where he had confronted Drake Douay the day before.
Douay was now striding up and down the room playing on a skavamareen, which was the source of the abominable noise which Sarazin had incorrectly identified as a demented animal.
The next moment Sarazin was seized by two black- masked torturers. And realised that all the events so far were but moves in a game of destruction being played by the fiendish Drake Douay.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Skavamareen (aka the Ruptured Cat): an instrument frequently mentioned in discussions of fates worse than death. It is said to have been invented in Chi'ash-lan by the notorious anarchist Han Dran Ilk, who is alleged to have been sentenced to five years' penal servitude after he repented and confessed to the offence.
The veracity of this story is often disputed, on the grounds that the sentence detailed is manifestly grossly inadequate for the crime in question. Be that as it may, Chi'ash-lan was certainly the first place to ban this instrument, though it was later outlawed everywhere from Jatzu to Quartermain.
In all the Ravlish lands, the skavamareen (and the delinquents who played it) could find no refuge. Except in Sung. There it won welcome, for it fitted in well with the discord of the back-thumping sklunk, the honk of the kloo, the crash and scatter of the krymbol and the blare of the bray.
While Sung is many leagues from the Gates of Chena- meg, the chances of these troubled times have brought a skavamareen to the ruler of those Gates, and, having plenty of time on his hands, he has set himself to master it. A formidable task indeed, for the skavamareen is a complicated instrument having the following parts: The gut (some say: the demon hole) which is a capacious bag of greased leather. According to the scholarly account given in the 'Protocols of the Pipers of Prion', the gut contains the tormented soul of a murderer (or, in the low-budget version, that of a cat) which has been imprisoned there by sorcery. The funnel (alternatively: the strangled python) which is a valved tube used by the player to inflate the gut. And, finally, the Three Demons and the Demonmaster, which are, respectively, three reed drones and a special- ised pipe equipped with finger-holes which help the player degrade the environment with a peculiarly horrible form of gratuitous violence which only Sung could welcome as music.
'Do you like it?' said Douay, obviously referring to the music he had been making.
'Since I am human,' said Sarazin, with the bitter courage of a man who is certain of his death, 'I welcome the confirmation of my prejudices.' 'What mean you by that?' said Douay.
'I mean,' said Sarazin, 'I knew you at first sight for a barbarian. To find you embracing a skavamareen does but confirm my opinion.'
Douay grinned again, and patted his trusty skavamareen. Then said: 'Did you sleep well?'
You know very well how I slept,' said Sarazin, on the verge of losing his temper. You had me strapped down for torture throughout the night.'
'Man, why so fierce with the voice?' said Douay. 'I was but searching for truth. Is that not right, that I should seek to improve myself?'
Douay's merry face and effortless bonhomie were the very last straw. Sarazin, who had fear worse than nightmare, thought Douay's merriment the worst kind of mockery.
You tortured me for fun!' said Sarazin. 'As a joke! What kind of monster are you?'
'I am no monster,' said Douay, sounding hurt. 'I am but a diligent student of the arts and philosophies. 'Twas in Selzirk that I studied in torture. Was I wrong to remember my lessons?'
'Whatever was done to you in Selzirk,' said Sarazin, 'there were grave matters of state involved.'
'Oho!' said Douay. 'Matters of state, is it? The world's excuse for everything. Well, man, get this straight – here I rule. I am the state.'
He started to blow into the funnel of the skavamareen, inflating the instrument for another onslaught on the sensibilities. If Sarazin had restrained himself, speech would shortly have become impossible. But Sarazin lost his temper entirely and spoke:
You're like every bully,' said he. 'Brave when the numbers are with you.'
Almost immediately, Sarazin regretted having spoken. Such words might well lead to instant death. But the blond- haired Douay did not order his execution. Instead, he stopped inflating the skavamareen, and said:
'Speech is easy, man. But I'd doubt you brave even with the numbers on your side.'
You doubt my courage?' said Sarazin. 'I tell you this – if I had a sword I'd prove you coward soon enough.'
You say?' said Douay. 'Truly, you are rash, for I have yet to meet the man to match my blade. In truth, I lately killed a man named Plovey, who counted himself the best swordsman in Selzirk.'
Sarazin knew he must be bluffing, for Plovey had been known in Selzirk as a master swordsman. Surely a bar- barous uitlander like Douay could never have defeated a sophisticate like Plovey. The young man was over- confident. This might be the way out I If Douay could be provoked into combat, Sarazin could surely kill him.
