My suspicions were more or less correct.

In the kitchen I collected a wine carafe. Beth the maidservant glanced at us once but said nothing as she worked at something in the washbasin. I wondered how unusual this situation was for the household. She knows her mistress is a vampire... Does she know the business we're about? Has she taken part in these things before? How often are people slaughtered like hogs in the basement? I had a clear vision of the future, of a bound man struggling and screaming like a stuck pig as his lifeblood drained away. I would have felt better if I had felt nauseous.

I burned with the sudden need to ask her what she knew of all this, and if she approved. But of course, I could not. Still I hesitated to follow Jerrow out of the kitchen, and he turned back to watch me staring at Beth as she worked.

I realized that what Beth was doing, was washing blood out of the dress that Lilly had been wearing the night before.

I turned and went after Jerrow.

The stairs to the basement were right next to the kitchen. The wine cellar was in fact directly under the kitchen and the stairs ended in front of it for ease of access, though the adjacent storage room had to be entered from a corridor that ran the length of the house. There were several storage rooms actually, but the one we wanted was obvious due to the light of a lantern pouring out of the doorless archway.

Seated on a large burlap sack with his ankles crossed and a naked sword across his knees was a dark haired, dark skinned man wearing a leather cuirasse over a jacket and trousers that I knew to be dark blue. Gavin Rose, one of the lady Thrace's four - now three, with the death of Davis Long - footmen. On the floor directly in front of Gavin was a man, bound at wrists and ankles and gagged.

"Where's Marten?" Asked Jerrow, as he reached to where the lantern hung on the wall in order to open the shutter more widely.

Gavin shrugged, keeping his eyes on the prisoner. "Didn't want to watch."

I eyed the footman. And you do? I didn't voice the thought.

"And you do?" Asked Jerrow, startling me.

Gavin shrugged again. "Not the first time for me." He idly flexed one of his crossed ankles. "This was the one with the bow."

I remembered the arrow that caught Davis in the throat. All of my attention was suddenly on the prisoner. He was naked to the waist, and looked unharmed except for a crusting of dried blood at one temple. Ash-grey hair. Blond, I guessed. I hadn't seen him during the fight. He stared blankly at the stone floor in front of his face.

Gavin made a *tsk* noise. "Davis was getting old. You know he wanted to die? He wanted to still be fairly young for his unlife. He even tried to get Lilly to agree to let one of us kill him when his son settled down with a wife. Said he'd cut his own throat but he didn't have the balls." He turned his head slowly, and I turned to meet his gaze. I knew his eyes were green, but they were only dark grey to me now. I said nothing.

"Now he's dirt." Gavin turned his eyes back to the prisoner. "And this piece of shit is the one who put him in the ground. I've known the old man my entire life. Davis got me this job. Saved me from a life shoveling pig shit. And this cocksucker put an arrow in his throat for a beer and a whore's worth of pay. Yeah. I do want to watch."

I hadn't known Gavin for even a year, but I'd known him to be the calm, quiet type. Even now his words were slow and considered. But the venom they carried was shocking.

Jerrow grunted. "You know we're not just killing him right?" I looked sharply at him. Gavin just nodded slowly. "I know."

"You got the stomach for this?" The old man challenged.

"I skipped breakfast." Gavin replied, and lifted his sword so he could stand.

"If we're not killing him-" I began, as the prisoner's eyes found mine from the floor. He strained slightly against his bonds and grunted through his gag.

"Oh no. You will be killing him today. How soon depends on how quickly our friend tells us what we want to know." The old steward's voice was like iron. "And trust me, friend," he said to the bound man, "You want this to be over as soon as possible."

Torture. Not just murder, but torture.

I felt the maelstrom pressing against the wall of unnatural calm in my mind. The wall held.

"Do... I..?" I began to ask, but Jerrow shook his head.

"No, son. I'll handle this." He knelt and cut the gag. I realized it had been made from the man's shirt. No sense wasting any of our good cloth. I thought stupidly.

The man sucked in a harsh breath and began speaking in a rush.

"I don't know anything I swear it was just a job I wasn't even trying to shoot your man it was supposed to be a- a- a- warning shot to get you to keep your heads down! It was just a bad shot I'm sorry-" Jerrow cuffed the man and he abruptly grew quiet, his chest heaving ragged breaths. And then those stopped as the old steward laid the point of his knife under the man's right eye.

"One of our men might also have lost an eye." Jerrow said conversationally. A dark droplet began to form on the skin of the man's cheek under the point of the knife. He said nothing, only taking a slow, careful breath.

"I'm going to ask you questions. I'll give you a little time to think, so don't answer too quickly. If I don't like your answers, I take a piece. Understand?" I shuddered. The old man might as well have been asking about the weather. I had trouble reconciling this cold blooded torturer with the kind old steward. But then I hadn't known the kind old steward for all that long.

"Yeh" the man on the floor said, his eyes locked on the knife.

"Good!" said Jerrow. The light shifted and I heard a clink. I looked to see Gavin lifting the lantern from the wall hook. He carried it over to where Jerrow knelt over the prostrate man.

"First question," grated the old man, "Did you know your employer was a vampire?"

The prisoner blinked. "What?"

"That is not-" as he spoke, Jerrow began to draw the knife slowly down the man's cheekbone, opening a gash that welled with dark blood. The man screamed and Jerrow slugged him with his free hand, then continued, "- a well considered answer. Remember, you have some time to think. Use it."

The man sucked in whistling breaths through clenched teeth, the right side of his face a sheet of blood. Blood sprayed where it met his lips.

I heard another metallic sound and looked to where Gavin was pulling something out from the side of the lantern. I realized it was a wooden-handled metal rod with an L-shaped end, the last inch glowing white hot.

Oh. They have purpose-designed torture tools.

We have.

My hand tightened on the handle of the carafe.

Gavin handed the branding iron to Jerrow. "Keep thinking." The old man said, and laid the glowing steel into the bloody fissure in the bound man's face.

The man's scream was painful just to hear. My stomach felt hollow. The storm of emotion in my soul battered impotently against the wall of indifference in my mind.

When the prisoner subsided into wracking sobs, Jerrow spoke firmly. "Now you know what happens if you don't give me a good answer. A good answer isn't necessarily the right information. A good answer is one you've thought about, and given your level best effort at answering clearly. So, again, first question. Did you know that your employer was a vampire?"

The bound man groaned a little with each breath, his eyes darting all over the storage room. With a clink Gavin placed the branding iron back into the lantern. Finally he spoke.

"No. I don't even think vampires are real. I swear that's the best answer I can give you. Please-" Jerrow made a shushing motion.

"That's fine. A fine answer. See? Not so hard. Now. Second question. Did you know whose carriage it was that you attacked?"

The prisoner started to answer, but hesitated, and licked his bloody lips and teeth. "I... knew... That is... We were told it was Baron Thrace... Carrying a lot of cash from some business deal... Nothing else." He stared at the point of Jerrow's knife as the old steward wiggled it thoughtfully between thumb and forefinger.

Jerrow nodded. "Good. You're doing great. Third question. Was the redhead in your crew the one who hired you?"

The man looked confused for a moment, hesitated, and then spoke. "No." He continued to stare apprehensively at the knife. Perhaps feeling that one word was inadequate, he elaborated, "I didn't see him before the night of the, ah, ambush." He cringed slightly at his own choice of words.

Jerrow nodded again. I relaxed slightly. "Good. Next question. What did the one who hired you look like?"

The prisoner stared. His eyes widened. He spoke quietly, stuttering. "I-...I- I- I-... I don't know. I d-don't rm-remember." As Jerrow began to lean forward with the knife, he shrieked. "I don't remember! I swear it's true! I swear! P-p-p-lease I have no reason to lie p-please d-don't-" His words dissolved into a bubbling scream as Jerrow began to saw his knife into the bridge of the man's nose.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I heard a sharp crack and realized that the handle of the carafe had broken in my grip. My arms trembled as I felt the wall of calm in my thoughts begin to slip. There was a meaty thwack sound and my eyes snapped open to see Jerrow rising to his feet. The prisoner lay unmoving on the ground, blood oozing from the wound where his nose had been.

"Is he-?" I began to ask, "Not yet," Jerrow interrupted, "That's your job. I just knocked him out to make it a little easier on you." The old man turned to look at Gavin, who hadn't said a word since the torture began. "You alright?'

I looked at the footman. Despite his earlier words he looked sick. He looked like I should have been feeling. Like I was feeling, somewhere locked behind an uncanny dampening of emotion. Only a bit trickled through yet.

Gavin swayed slightly, his dark complexion looking ashen. "Yeah." He said shortly. "I'm fine. Need some fresh air." He spun on his heel and began to leave the storage room.

Jerrow snorted. "If you're gonna puke do it in the privy or a chamber pot. Genly will break your leg if you vomit on his flowers."

"I know!" Gavin called over his shoulder, and headed for the stairs. Jerrow turned to me, and held out his bloody knife. "Your turn."

I only hesitated a moment before taking the knife. Even though I knew, intellectually, emotionally, that what I was about to do was wrong, I also knew that I would do it as surely as I knew that the sun rose in the morning.

As it turned out, killing an unconscious, bound man was much easier than slaughtering a hog.