China by Edward Rutherfurd (historical books to read TXT) 📕

He’d been caught in the act of trying to assassinate the emperor’s commissioner. It was important to know who his confederates might be and whether they were operating under orders from a third party.

The torture chamber was an empty white-walled room with a small, high window and an earth floor. There was an upright post set in the middle of the floor. Against one wall stood a bare wooden table on which Shi-Rong noticed a strange-looking object.

It was made of a dark hardwood and consisted of a handle that was a bit over a foot long, ending in a five-slatted fork, like the fingers of a man’s hand. The ends of the slats were pierced and threaded with two lengths of tough twine, tied off at each end. Two stout little pegs had been placed on the table beside this implement.

It looked quite innocuous, Shi-Rong thought.

He’d entered the room with the police sergeant and his assistant, who were both dressed in white cotton tunics and leggings that came to the knee. Their feet were bare.

The sergeant was maybe forty-five, with a round body and face. He looked as if he ran a prosperous teahouse. His assistant was thin and seemed hardly more than a boy.

Two guards brought Sea Dragon in. He didn’t look in bad shape. They made him kneel on the floor and tied his pigtail to the post behind him. Then they stood, one on either side of him.

The sergeant moved forward and told the guards to raise the prisoner’s hands above his head. Then he nodded to his assistant, who picked up the instrument of torture from the table.

Together, they fitted the prisoner’s fingers between the slats, four fingers from each hand. Pushing the little wooden pegs into the loops at each end made by the tied-off twine, the sergeant began to twist them, tightening the twine, which pulled the wooden slats against the sides of the prisoner’s fingers. When all the fingers were held as though clamped in a vise, the sergeant stepped back, while his assistant held the finger pincher by the handle.

The sergeant turned to Shi-Rong. “Ask him a question,” he said.

“What is your name?” Shi-Rong demanded.

The prisoner stared at the white wall in front of him, but didn’t reply.

The sergeant came over and twisted one of the pegs sharply. Shi-Rong saw the prisoner wince and realized that the pressure must be directly on his fingers.

“Ask another question,” said the sergeant as he stepped back again.

“This time,” Shi-Rong said to the pirate, “you must tell me your name, and the reason you tried to kill the commissioner.”

Sea Dragon seemed to be studying the ceiling with curiosity. He didn’t answer.

There was a long silence.

The assistant stretched out one hand. Gazing at the prisoner with a strange cold curiosity, he turned the other peg a full revolution. Shi-Rong saw the prisoner’s body tense.

“Just tell me who you are,” said Shi-Rong, “and I’ll stop him.” But the pirate said nothing.

After another minute had passed, the young assistant twisted and shook the finger pincher by the handle. The prisoner gave a terrible grimace, followed by several gasps.

The sergeant tightened the finger pincher some more. Then he struck the pincher sharply.

This time Sea Dragon screamed. He couldn’t help it. And Shi-Rong, who up until now had managed to control himself, felt his fists clench and his whole body tense as he squirmed with anguish at what he was witnessing. He saw the sergeant stare at him and quickly moved out of the prisoner’s sight. After a moment’s pause to collect himself, he spoke again.

“Say something to me,” he proposed to the pirate gently. “Say anything you like.”

—

Shi-Rong had already known before they began that unless his accomplices were found, the prisoner was the only person left who could provide the truth about how this business began. The old man he’d found in Hog Lane had died within minutes. Dr. Parker declared, to the best of his recollection, that at the start of the day he’d told the old man he’d need him again in the late afternoon, but that he hadn’t given him his directions until he set off. There was a small chance that Parker’s memory was at fault, but it was unlikely. Nobody imagined he was lying. So that just left the prisoner.

What might the prisoner actually know? Someone must have told him about the private delivery to Lin. Shi-Rong couldn’t imagine that Fong had told the assassin himself, but the word had spread until it reached him. Did the prisoner have any idea that the leak could be traced through Fong to the very man interrogating him? He might or he might not.

And here was the irony: The only way to find out was to interrogate him.

If I succeed in breaking him, he thought, I may be signing my own death warrant.

Was there any way he could stop him talking? He didn’t see how. Could he kill him? A terrible choice. But not so bad, he thought, as it might seem. After all, if the assassin survived the torture, he was certain to be executed anyway.

He glanced at the sergeant and his assistant. It looked as if they were going to remain there all the time. No doubt they’d be making their own report to Lin about everything that happened. Indeed, it suddenly occurred to him, their job may be not only to torture the prisoner but to watch me, too.

Of course. The realization hit him with a terrible coldness. I’m a suspect. I’m still the most obvious person to have leaked the information. For all Lin knows, I could even be part of the plot myself. The fact that I rushed in to save him might have been a ruse; or more likely, I’d set up the assassination and had second thoughts, been overcome by fear or guilt, and rushed to stop it at the last minute. How else could I have guessed, even after meeting the old man, that the assassin would be there