whom?
Careful not to move his head, Gerrit panted short breaths. Slowly, his vision cleared.
They were holding him in a small space that stunk of rats. Someone stood before him, arms crossed. Light from an oil lamp behind them shadowed their face.
“Why are you here?” they asked.
Gerrit swallowed hard, deeply regretting that he and Filip had managed to steal only a single concealment imbuement. Then again, if Filip had been at his side, they might both be tied up right now. He needed to understand what was happening and, more importantly, he needed to make sure they didn’t suspect what he knew.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“I’m asking the questions.”
He expected them to hit him. They didn’t. It confused him. The Tayemstvoy took any excuse for violence. But maybe his interrogator was playing kind so the inevitable brutality would be that much worse. “Who are you?” he asked.
They grabbed the lantern and thunked it onto a crate where it would illuminate their face. The snake charmer.
She wore a faded blouse tucked into plain trousers, her brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. Her complexion was lighter than in the sideshow, just a little darker than his own, and her green eyes held his unflinchingly.
Gerrit couldn’t believe he’d been such a fool. He’d known the girl had Tayemstvoy allies, why hadn’t he expected she could best him?
“Why were you sneaking up on me?” she asked.
He tried to think fast, scrambling for a story that would end with her untying him. But she was a trained imbuement mage plotting a coup. He’d discovered her. She would never let him go alive.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Gerrit Skala.” He used his mother’s family name instead of his father’s—just as he had before the Storm Guard predicted the returning bozhskyeh storms. The thought gave him pause. What if Father had suspected some of the plots against him? When Gerrit was younger, the Stormhawk had required him to use his mother’s family name—not that Gerrit objected, he would have chosen her name had he been allowed. But what if that order had been intended to protect him from conspirators? Gerrit had always assumed it was because the Stormhawk didn’t want his name associated with his disappointing youngest son—until the bozhskyeh storms’ return made Gerrit valuable.
“That’s a lie.” The snake charmer’s voice snapped his attention back to her.
“It’s not.” He wiped his mouth on the shoulder of his battledress jacket, trying to clean off the vomit. His vision smeared, his stomach spasming. Even if she’d looked at his identification folio, she should believe it—Gerrit Skala Kladivo was printed plain and clear; it was irregular to change your primary name without reversing the order on official documentation, but paperwork was a pain, so people did it all the time.
“Fine.” She started for the door. “I’m sure my brother will be happy to beat the truth out of you.”
“Wait!” He struggled up onto his knees. It didn’t matter whether she believed his name, he needed to learn more before this turned into a real interrogation. His head reeled and he almost threw up again, but kneeling took some of the pressure off his hands and shoulders—though his fingers stayed numb. “Wait, please.”
She turned back, suspicious. “Why?”
The plan began to pull together even as he spoke. “You’re a trained imbuement mage.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
In sousednia, Gerrit sprung to his feet, grabbing the girl’s shoulders. Her edges sharpened as she focused on the neighboring reality. She recoiled, but he was stronger, and he didn’t let her go. ?Now who’s lying?? Gerrit made his voice low, threatening.
He expected her to fight, but she froze like a startled fawn.
?Who trained you?? he asked.
The girl shook her head, breathless, scared. ?Let me go.?
Crushing his confusion, he snapped, ?Answer the question.?
?Let me go!? She tried to twist free, punching him uselessly in the chest before he spun her around, tripping her, intending to pin her to the floor. The discomfort of a shoulder lock—even just in sousednia—might encourage her to talk.
Instead, pain cut through the sousedni-dislocation ache in his temples. Nausea overwhelmed him, and his stomach heaved.
Before Gerrit realized what was happening, he was face down in true-life, vomiting again. His shoulders screamed, rope cutting his wrists. Gasping, he managed to right himself. The snake girl gripped a stout board, raised for another blow.
Weak and shaky, Gerrit touched sousednia. As in true-life, nearly two meters separated them. He climbed to his feet, the sousedni-dislocation worsening his headache.
?Take one step and I’ll knock you