Demon Rider

The old man shook his head sadly. 'No, my son. Any servant of the Inquisition who gloats is dismissed instantly. I am feeling sorrow for your obduracy and the sad pass the demon has brought you to. I am wondering how I may best aid you in driving it out.'

'That sounds like gloating to me.' He was alone! 'Where is my friend? Where is Jaume?'

'He has been confined elsewhere.'

Toby's spirits sank a notch lower — he would never see Hamish again! He had been counting on having company to support him in his ordeal and hoping he might be able to comfort Hamish in his. They had guessed that and would not allow it. Obviously this crypt must be warded against demons; they need not take such precautions with Hamish.

'We have sent for dry clothes,' Father Vespianaso said. 'If you cause trouble we shall leave you as you are, but we have no wish to ruin your health.'

'You have every intention of ruining my health. You just intend to do it personally, that's all.'

'It is the demon that makes you think that. Believe me, my son, you will come to thank us for what we do. You will beg us to increase our efforts to aid you. Meanwhile, do you want the garments or not?'

Dry clothes? What did they feel like? It was hard to remember. To accept such a favor would probably put him deeper into his captors' power, but the temptation was too strong to resist. Angry at his own weakness, Toby said, 'Yes, please.'

He was very nearly asleep when servants arrived with the garments. His wrists and ankles were unshackled, but they left the collar on his neck. He stripped and was given a coarse towel to use, then a shirt, hose, doublet, no jerkin, and all the time the friars stood and stared at him like black owls until they could chain his limbs again. Yet to be dry in the torture chamber was better than being in a cage in the rain. He would soon learn to be satisfied with even lesser pleasures.

'Food? Water?'

'Water. No food.'

At long last they went away and let him sleep. His last conscious thought was that they were passing up a wonderful opportunity. If they began their tormenting while he was in this tumbledown state they would soon have him weeping like a baby. The only reason they were not doing so, he assumed, was that Baron Oreste had reserved first crack at him.

CHAPTER TWO

He had no way of knowing how long he slept, but it could only have been an hour or two. Many times he jerked awake, or partly awake — wondering where he was, why it was so dark, who was on watch, why he was so sore and so cold, what had just run over his feet. Once or twice he heard faint noises, probably just rats, although there was no reason why there might not be other captives in this dungeon. Poor devils.

Lanterns being hung on sconces shocked him to alertness and instant terror. They were about to start! He sat up in a clatter of chains, scraping neck and wrists on rusty metal, finding only a soldier laying a pitcher and a bowl within his reach; and then, as his eyes adjusted to the painful dazzle, Captain Diaz standing farther back, regarding him impassively. The other man marched away, leaving just the two of them.

'Good morning,' Toby mumbled. 'Or is it evening?'

'Eat. Eat quickly.'

Must keep the victim's strength up. Busy day ahead? Toby reached for the bowl. It contained a sour, coarse gruel, but even that was welcome, and he began to scoop handfuls into his mouth. He was stiff with cold and ached all over from his battering in the cage.

'Where is my friend Jaume?'

Diaz shrugged. 'He needn't worry for a while yet. It takes them months to prepare a case like his.'

'How about my case?'

The captain shrugged again. 'The viceroy is coming to see you. That's why you haven't got long to eat.'

Toby scooped faster. 'When are they going to start on me?' he mumbled with his mouth full.

'You really want to know that?' Diaz was probably breaking major regulations by speaking with a convicted husk like this. There was a decent man behind that dour expression.

'Yes. Yes, even if you tell me they're on their way, I'd like to know.'

'As soon as they can. As soon as the baron gives them leave. In a hour or so, probably.'

Toby almost choked and had to gulp down some water. Very bad news! 'What's their hurry?' He filled his mouth again, although fear had knotted up his gut.

'You want to know that too?'

'Mm.'

'They summoned their two best tormentors from Toledo. They've been waiting here for a week.'

'I'm honored.'

'I'm not.' Diaz turned on his heel and headed for the door. Give him his due, the captain disliked his duties and was not afraid to show it.

Toby peered around the dungeon, realizing he had been tethered where he had a clear view across at the rack. The rack was said to be even worse than the strappado, although he found that hard to believe. Off to his right stood a horizontal beam on four legs. The Spanish horse, they called that — sit a man on it and tie weights to his feet. Braziers, metal chairs, thumbscrews. Life would not lack for variety. Perhaps he should have settled for the exorcism. No. Better him here than Gracia. Better to die as a man than live as a sheep. But how long would he remain a man? What would they turn him into with their unending…? And there was one of the horrors now, a black-robed figure walking in silence on the far side of the rack. His hood was up, and he seemed to be inspecting the equipment, because he was not looking at the prisoner. Toby wondered if he could throw his bowl accurately enough to hit the bugger and reluctantly decided that he could not. It was worth more as breakfast than a missile, anyway. He ate every scrap of the slop and sucked his fingers. They would be hand- feeding him soon.

Two men arrived carrying a table and set it down a couple of paces in front of the prisoner. One of them was Oreste's valet, the silent blond Ludwig. They left without as much as a glance at him.

Why a table?

Gramarye? Deja vu: another table in another dungeon. Valda had used a table to hold her equipment on that long-ago night when she tried to conjure Nevil's soul into Toby Strangerson and so began all his present troubles. Then he had been staked out on the floor while her four creatures stood around him holding candles. The hob had rescued him then and the hob had escaped from this crypt before — or had it? He didn't know the answer to that question, because he had not seen the end of the story; he did not know when the hob had made its move to reverse history. It could have happened days or weeks later.

Footsteps coming, but in a rhythmic military stride, not the shuffle of the friars. He had never thought he would ever be glad to see Oreste or Oreste's men, but anyone would be better than the black-robed horrors. It was not Oreste, though, not yet. It was Diaz back with three soldiers.

Toby said, 'My compliments to the cook, Captain. Traditionally the condemned man should eat a hearty breakfast. That wasn't it, though.' Was humor in such a situation courage or cowardice? Was he just babbling to hide the terror gnawing at his soul?

Diaz certainly saw nothing to laugh at, but then he probably never would. 'We have to move you. Will you cooperate or make us use force?'

'Oh, I'll cooperate,' Toby said. 'I bruise easily, you know. I have a very tender skin.' Pride would not let him ask where they were going to move him. To the rack? Oreste might be planning to engage in a little torture himself, but a hexer should scorn such primitive methods. It would be out of character for the effete baron to stoop to personal violence, wouldn't it? Even if he had ordered the babies burned in Zaragoza.

Diaz remained unamused. 'Take off the collar, free his hands.'

As two men attended to that, the third moved the water pitcher and slop bucket out of harm's way and put the empty bowl on the table. Ludwig appeared in silence and laid a small ironbound chest beside it, then withdrew