reminder that he was an outsider, an employee, rather than a member of the family. If any of John’s wretches could shoot half as well as he could, Pennyedge would have slit his throat long ago.
The room seemed to grow hotter the instant the door closed. There was a smell as well, an organic rot that Bergen was wary of trying to identify.
John loosened the drawstring of the bag covering the prisoner’s head. He gestured to the two small children, flashing his yellowed and blackened teeth. “Step up, little pups. Don’t be afraid.”
They cautiously moved around to stand in front of Pennyedge, but went no closer.
Satisfied, John turned back and with a grand flourish whipped the bag off the prisoner’s head.
“Gott in Himmel!” Bergen swore. The two children screamed and fled back into the darkened corner. Pennyedge did not react.
“My hunchback is quite a craftsman, isn’t he?” John said. He reached up with his gnarled hands and caressed the iron bands that encircled the prisoner’s head, held there by thick nails punched into his skull. The chains dangled from rivets in his jaw and cheeks.
“Not even much blood, considering,” John said. “Marvelous work. Don’t you think so, grubbers?”
The two children gasped unseen in the corner. Pennyedge simply nodded and returned his gaze to Bergen.
“How dare you do this to children?” Bergen growled.
John’s eyes twinkled. “You’d prefer I left them to starve or be hauled off by the Chimney gangs, then? Besides, I’ve done much, much worse. And so have you, I might add.”
Bergen’s hand twitched towards his gun. Duty was all that kept him from putting a bullet through the man’s forehead.
He spat on the floorboards. “I do only what is necessary, Scared. You are an abomination.”
“Quite. And I wouldn’t trust your sanity, mein freund , if you held any other opinion.” John reached up and unscrewed the lock holding the man’s jaw shut tight. “Now let’s hear what this one has to say, eh?”
The man spat up blood and bile as soon as he could open his mouth. He said nothing. John examined him for some long moments, looking for a weakness.
Bergen had seen this before. John was exceptional at reading a man’s faults. Bergen, on the other hand, was exceptional at hiding such faults. Perhaps that was why John hadn’t killed him yet—he hadn’t solved him as he might a chess problem or a mathematical equation.
John leaned back on his heels. “Penny, my boy, cut a piece of the fellow’s ear off, would you? The gauze is under the chair.”
Bergen crossed his arms. “Must I witness this?”
John perked up. “The great hunter squeamish? The German Terror of Africa unmanned?”
“I was not the one burgled today,” Bergen said levelly.
John’s eyes narrowed. “Shrewd. Heh. I like that too.”
Pennyedge had retrieved the roll of gauze. He tore off a small slip of it, then held the prisoner’s head still with one hand and drew his knife with the other. John shuffled over to Bergen. Bergen’s nose wrinkled at the onion stench of the man.
“Our little secret is in the hands of the man who fell,” John said.
“Or in the hands of the Boiler Men.”
John shook a finger. “No, no. If that was the case, we’d already be dead, don’t you think?”
“It is your secret, Scared.”
“Ah, but I would, of course, with much hesitation and under great duress, tell them it was your idea.”
Bergen shrugged. The prisoner screamed through clenched teeth as Penny did his work.
“So it needs to be retrieved.”
“Smart. Heh.”
Bergen rubbed his fingers through his chin stubble and tried to ignore the prisoner’s moaning. “I want Mulls and Hobbyhorse.”
“Mulls is a brute. He’s yours.” John turned briefly and assessed the prisoner. The man’s face was awash with blood and sweat, eyes clenched and teeth locked together. Pennyedge stood behind the man, pressing the bloodstained gauze against the man’s ear.
“Another
The room seemed to grow hotter the instant the door closed. There was a smell as well, an organic rot that Bergen was wary of trying to identify.
John loosened the drawstring of the bag covering the prisoner’s head. He gestured to the two small children, flashing his yellowed and blackened teeth. “Step up, little pups. Don’t be afraid.”
They cautiously moved around to stand in front of Pennyedge, but went no closer.
Satisfied, John turned back and with a grand flourish whipped the bag off the prisoner’s head.
“Gott in Himmel!” Bergen swore. The two children screamed and fled back into the darkened corner. Pennyedge did not react.
“My hunchback is quite a craftsman, isn’t he?” John said. He reached up with his gnarled hands and caressed the iron bands that encircled the prisoner’s head, held there by thick nails punched into his skull. The chains dangled from rivets in his jaw and cheeks.
“Not even much blood, considering,” John said. “Marvelous work. Don’t you think so, grubbers?”
The two children gasped unseen in the corner. Pennyedge simply nodded and returned his gaze to Bergen.
“How dare you do this to children?” Bergen growled.
John’s eyes twinkled. “You’d prefer I left them to starve or be hauled off by the Chimney gangs, then? Besides, I’ve done much, much worse. And so have you, I might add.”
Bergen’s hand twitched towards his gun. Duty was all that kept him from putting a bullet through the man’s forehead.
He spat on the floorboards. “I do only what is necessary, Scared. You are an abomination.”
“Quite. And I wouldn’t trust your sanity, mein freund , if you held any other opinion.” John reached up and unscrewed the lock holding the man’s jaw shut tight. “Now let’s hear what this one has to say, eh?”
The man spat up blood and bile as soon as he could open his mouth. He said nothing. John examined him for some long moments, looking for a weakness.
Bergen had seen this before. John was exceptional at reading a man’s faults. Bergen, on the other hand, was exceptional at hiding such faults. Perhaps that was why John hadn’t killed him yet—he hadn’t solved him as he might a chess problem or a mathematical equation.
John leaned back on his heels. “Penny, my boy, cut a piece of the fellow’s ear off, would you? The gauze is under the chair.”
Bergen crossed his arms. “Must I witness this?”
John perked up. “The great hunter squeamish? The German Terror of Africa unmanned?”
“I was not the one burgled today,” Bergen said levelly.
John’s eyes narrowed. “Shrewd. Heh. I like that too.”
Pennyedge had retrieved the roll of gauze. He tore off a small slip of it, then held the prisoner’s head still with one hand and drew his knife with the other. John shuffled over to Bergen. Bergen’s nose wrinkled at the onion stench of the man.
“Our little secret is in the hands of the man who fell,” John said.
“Or in the hands of the Boiler Men.”
John shook a finger. “No, no. If that was the case, we’d already be dead, don’t you think?”
“It is your secret, Scared.”
“Ah, but I would, of course, with much hesitation and under great duress, tell them it was your idea.”
Bergen shrugged. The prisoner screamed through clenched teeth as Penny did his work.
“So it needs to be retrieved.”
“Smart. Heh.”
Bergen rubbed his fingers through his chin stubble and tried to ignore the prisoner’s moaning. “I want Mulls and Hobbyhorse.”
“Mulls is a brute. He’s yours.” John turned briefly and assessed the prisoner. The man’s face was awash with blood and sweat, eyes clenched and teeth locked together. Pennyedge stood behind the man, pressing the bloodstained gauze against the man’s ear.
“Another
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