Carter glances at his reinforcements before giving me a squint-eyed appraisal. “I’ve seen you wriggle out of tricky situations. I’m being cautious while we chat.”
“Why don’t we braid each other’s hair and paint our nails, too?”
“There’s that Arseneau sass I know so well.” His face hardens. “It’s time you appreciate the gravity of your situation.”
“I don’t appreciate anything about this. Your word choice sucks.” The throbbing in my head shifts forward, settling in my temples. I press a palm against the right side of my head.
“Show some gratitude.” he says. “Both you and Garcia are breathing. Those tranquilizer darts could’ve been bullets.”
“The only reason we’re alive is because the Benefactors need us for something. Otherwise, we would’ve been dead, or memory wiped, the second you captured us. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re half-wrong.” He raises one eyebrow in response to my confused scowl. “If you’re done pouting, I have questions.”
“You can ask. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”
Carter rises from the chair and paces in front of the force field. My eyes follow his movements. He’s two feet away, but it might as well be a hundred miles with this invisible wall between us. Glancing down at the portable force field generator, I see the power light is solid green. If I can just find a weak spot in the field somewhere.
He notes the flick of my eyes from the force field generator back to his face with an inquisitive tilt of the head. “I can always electrify it if that will remove temptation for you.”
I blink and look away.
Carter’s opening question is less than impressive. “You’ve accepted the freelance mercenary jobs from the greedier Benefactors for a while now, haven’t you?”
I barely contain my laughter. He folds his arms over his chest and waits for my giggles to fade.
“Interrogation 101: Questions work better when you don’t already know the answer,” I say.
“Before you make your next smartass remark, remember this: I control your food, drink, and bathroom privileges. I can also blare noise over the ship’s speakers, twenty-four seven, and keep you awake for the next three nights in a row. Sleep deprivation is an excellent way to motivate answers to questions.”
“That’s torture.”
“Whatever.”
I wonder if there’s a bluff buried beneath his poker face. While I’m certain—mostly certain—that I’m important to the Benefactors, I don’t know how far he’s authorized to go to extract information.
Merde. Better not push too much further.
“I’ve been doing side jobs for Benefactors for a while,” I say.
“Do you know the names of the individuals who pay for your services?”
“No one knows who the Benefactors are, they—”
“Are anonymous. Yes, I know.” He folds his arms over his chest. His eyes narrow. “I’m asking if you know the names of the individuals who hired you?”
“I’ve never met any of them. It’s safer that way.”
Carter nods. “Why take jobs that you know will land you on a prison planet for life if you’re caught?”
Surely, he can’t be that clueless. I stare at him for a long moment, trying to determine if he is, in fact, dim-witted. “Have you ever been an indentured servant, Commander Carter?”
He doesn’t seem surprised by my question. In fact, he takes it in stride with a smooth, denial. “No. I haven’t.”
“I have. A long time ago, I decided that having lots and lots of money is the best way to prevent anyone from ever owning me—in any way—ever again.”
He purses his lips and gives a perfunctory nod. “Fair enough. Tell me how you got this particular job in the court of King Henry the Eighth.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I thought we agreed there would be no more smartass questions.”
“I’m not being a smartass. You’ve been around a long time. Do I have to tell you how mercenaries work? You reported me to the Benefactors after the de Medici job. You put me in this position, and you have the gall—”
“I didn’t report you to the Benefactors,” he says in a tone as sincere and matter-of-fact as though he’d just told me that crabs can’t sing.
I vault off the bed. If not for the force field between us, we’d be standing nose-to-nose. “Liar.”
He doesn’t blink. We glare at each other for an interminable minute.
“I’ll ask it one more time: How did you get the assignment to King Henry’s court?”
“You want honest answers from me, then you be honest. I was told that you reported me.”
“Whoever made that claim is a bald-faced liar.”
Thinking back to the first conversation about this disciplinary assignment, I’m certain Fagin told me Carter’s report started this whole mess. “I want to talk to Nico again. And to Fagin. Until that happens, I’m done.”
“I say when you’re done.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“You first, sweetheart.” His upper lip curls in a sneer. There’s a momentary struggle of conflicting emotions on his face, and I see the moment he decides that whatever he’s thinking of doing to me likely isn’t worth the consequences. He probably doesn’t have authority to torture me.
He takes several steps back from the force field and composes himself, locking away the rage—or whatever it is—that seems to simmer inside him. He nods at a subordinate, who turns his back to us and speaks in a low voice into his CommLink.
“You don’t want to talk to me? Fine. Maybe you’ll have different answers for a familiar face.”
Minutes later, there are footsteps pinging against the metal ladder as someone descends into the cargo hold. Thinking it’s Nico, I feel a sense of smug satisfaction at winning at least a small battle with Carter.
Five minutes ago, I would’ve given almost anything to talk to Fagin and brainstorm a way out of this mess. Now that she’s standing next to Carter, an enigmatic expression on her face, I’m questioning my own perceptions. She glances at him and he nods in return.
What the fuck is going on?
Carter turns the metal chair around and gestures for her to sit. She follows the order with no hesitation. He stands behind her, a confident look in his eyes.
“Hey, kiddo,” Fagin says. She sounds tired.
“Hey yourself.”
“Wouldn’t
