Naamah's Blessing - By Jacqueline Carey Page 0,86

captain’s already meted out? Or the further punishment he had in store?”

“It’s just… wrong!”

He sighed. “Moirin, listen. What I proposed and what I plan to do are not entirely the same thing. Tell me, have I earned a measure of trust from you?”

Reluctantly, I nodded.

“Then give it to me now.” Balthasar’s gaze was steady and grave. “I swear on my honor, I know what I’m doing.”

Clemente DuBois essayed a feeble jest. “Couldn’t you find something more convincing to swear on?”

Balthasar ignored him. “I would ask all of you to trust me,” he said, glancing around the wardroom. “Watch, but don’t intervene. And if I ask you to leave us alone, go immediately. Are we agreed?”

After a pause, everyone nodded.

“Good. Now someone go find out the fellow’s surname for me.”

In short order, one Edouard Durel was escorted to the wardroom with his hands tied behind his back. He was clad in dry clothing, and his wounds had been dusted with powdered alum to halt the bleeding. Although his expression was stoic, I could smell acrid fear-sweat on him.

I daresay Balthasar could, too. “Edouard Durel,” he drawled in greeting, pointing at the long table with the tip of his belt knife. “Do have a seat, won’t you?”

The fellow sat. The rest of us stood in the doorways of our cabins, watching while Balthasar paced around the table, toying idly with his knife. Light from the lantern glinted on its razor-sharp edges. The sailor tracked Balthasar’s progress warily.

“Not a very pretty toy, is it?” Balthasar said apologetically, pausing to stroke the sailor’s cheek with one keen edge. “Pity I didn’t bring a set of flechettes, but I didn’t think I’d have a chance to play.” Leaning down, he whispered in the fellow’s ear. “Thank you so very much for this opportunity. I’ve never inflicted pain on anyone against their will, but I must confess, I’ve always wondered what it would be like.”

Cords in the man’s neck tightened. “You commit heresy!”

“Do you think so?” Balthasar increased the pressure, opening a thin gash, which he then probed lovingly with the tip, working it beneath the skin. The sailor gritted his teeth. I caught my breath, and Bao squeezed my arm. “I don’t see it that way at all. Mayhap you would be interested in hearing my perspective?”

The sailor didn’t answer.

“You are a thief, Messire Durel.” Balthasar prowled around the table and took a seat opposite the fellow. His eyes were unnaturally bright in the lamplight, pupils dilated with arousal. “That is not in question. And since your actions could quite possibly have doomed the lot of us to death by starvation or worse, one might consider you guilty of attempted murder. I do.”

Edouard Durel looked away.

“Mighty Kushiel was in charge of administering punishment to the damned.” There was a terrible tenderness in Balthasar’s voice. “They say he loved his charges too well. You have condemned yourself to Kushiel’s ungentle mercy, Messire Durel, and as a proud scion of Kushiel’s line, it is my duty as well as my pleasure to administer it.” He stroked the blade of his knife. “How well shall I come to love you, I wonder?”

“I didn’t kill anyone!” Sweat beaded on the sailor’s brow. “You can’t punish me for something that never happened!”

Balthasar made a tsk-tsk sound. “Do you imagine Kushiel does not judge you for your intentions?” he asked, leaning across the table to tickle the fellow under his chin with the knife tip. “Hmm?”

Durel jerked his head backward. “You cannot prove it!”

“Ah, well, no. But I have the certitude of faith, and I am willing to risk my immortal soul for it.” Balthasar prodded harder. “Tell me, did you intend to hide the logbook or toss it overboard?”

The sailor resumed his silence.

“No matter.” Balthasar withdrew the knife and took a whetstone from his purse, running it over the blade’s edge in a hypnotic rhythm, his overbright gaze fixed on Edouard’s face. “More important, who are you protecting?”

Again, the fellow looked away, his jaw tight.

“Oh, I don’t mean the Regent, or whoever put you up to this.” Balthasar waved the knife in a careless gesture. “No, no. I’ll come to that in time. Right now, I’m interested in getting to know you, Messire Durel.” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his fists, still holding the knife and whetstone. “You attempted a heinous deed that might well have condemned you to a miserable death along with the rest of us. What stakes could

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