Execution, Part 4

Renfield reached into his bag for a needle and thread. He pulled out a thin fishbone that was pre-threaded to a spherical spool of cat-gut line. He also removed a small vile and a bottle of clear liquor. He turned towards his clients, items in hand. He placed the bottle on the floor behind Abe’s chair, and kept the stitching materials.

“Finn, I appreciate your cooperation so far. As promised, I will help your friend here. I will need to wake him up now so that he doesn’t flail about when I stick the needle in him. Would you help me communicate to him that it would be in his best interest to remain calm.”

Finn nodded silently.

“Okay then.”

Holding the small vile in front of Abe’s nose, he pressed firmly on the center of it. A small crack of glass, and the smelling salt entered his nasal passage. He awoke gasping.

Abe looked around confused, but composed. His weary, bloodshot eyes scanned Renfield’s. He blinked a few times, glanced at his bound companions, and noticed Finn looking at him. Abe coughed and spat out a pad of blood.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine. How do you feel?”

“Like a fucking fish head with its eyes freshly sucked out, but I’ll live.”

Abe looked back to Renfield, glanced at the needle and thread in his hands, and returned his attention to Finn.

“Who’s the tailor for? Stauch could certainly use a new outfit. That jacket is looking a little threadbare.”

Finn chuckled with tears in her eyes, it felt so good to have Abe back. Comfortable, even in this condition.

“He is going to try to stitch your wound together.”

Abe grunted with pain as he looked at his gaping shoulder.

“What, this? I suppose if he wants to. Give it a go, gimpy.”

Renfield watched the exchange behind his mask. When he was sure that Abe was resigned to allow his assistance, he moved behind him and rested his hand on the dwarf’s good shoulder.

“First, I must clean the cut out.”

Abe laughed boldly, his full voice seemed to return to him in that moment.

“So polite. Get on with it, I’ve got places to be.”

Renfield noticed Abe’s goading with a smirk beneath his smock. He bent over and picked the bottle off the ground, pulled the cork out with his mouth, and dumped a healthy portion of it on the gash. Abe just took in an extra sharp breath, but said nothing. Renfield held the bottle forward, offering it to Abe to drink. He strained to look over his shoulder at the Inquisitor before nodding. Abe pulled hard from the bottle as Renfield held it for him.

Renfield returned the bottle to the table, & replaced it with a small white rag in his hand. He surveyed Abe’s wound and began dabbing away the excess blood and Vodka. He decided it was a time to ask his questions.

“This is a nasty wound, how did you get it?”

“I tripped.”

Renfield pushed the point of the needle into Abe’s skin. Abe winced.

“It’s been reopened recently. What injured you before?”

He pulled the thread through and doubled the needle back into Abe’s flesh.

“You wanna swap war stories? I got this fighting a Dragon near the Trembling Forest. Where’d you get your signature limp? Did your mother beat you for being too ugly? Is that why you wear a mask?”

Finn grew worried that Abe’s familiar chiding could force the Inquisitor to reconsider the arrangement, but he didn’t even pause at the insult. Stauch stirred in his chair.

“Your friend will be awake soon. The spell that collapsed him is starting to wane.”

Renfield was already half-way finished with the task of closing the tattered shoulder.

“What’s his name?”

Abe said nothing. Just looked forward, his eyes fixed on a knot in the door.

“What’s your name? What were you doing in wave?”

Again nothing. “What happened to your quick wit? I was quite enjoying it before, now you grow silent.”

“Just thinking about your poor mother, delivering such an ugly child. I have no love for child abuse in general, lord knows my father did, but who could blame your mother in such a situation? It’s sad really, nobody is to blame. You didn’t choose your face.”

“My mother,” Renfield decided to offer a truth. “died when I was very young. She was a wonderful lady from what I remember. My father would never fully recover. He made a ship of empty wine bottles, and it drowned him.”

“I’m so sorry. Let me go and I’ll give you a big hug.”

Stauch moaned audibly and spoke.

“Where the fuck…?”

Finn brightened up substantially. She tried to look into her friend’s eyes. He squinted into the lit room and pulled violently at his ropes.

“Calm down. We are here.”

Stauch continued to tug and thrash in his chair.

“I can’t see. Finn? I can’t see anything, what’s happening? Where’s Abe?”

Renfield had known it was Abe the Bold already. His older brother, Philip, had grown a reputation of being a methodical Dwarf. He gained notoriety in the Battle of Little Sister for outlasting a long siege; slowly leaking out soldiers over a period of 2 months, & eventually allowing for a large flanking maneuver that won the war. Abe was known for his audacious antics. Abe had a less sterling reputation among heroic types simply due to the fact that he was badly injured early in the conflict, and wasn’t allowed to share in the glory of victory. True historical scholars knew better though. Abe led a crucial charge into the valuable mine, and fought through his own wounds until they could establish their defenses. The stronghold would prove to be pivotal, as the ore from it would provide the weaponry for the entire war to the Frostforge name.

Finn tried to comfort her friend.

“He’s here. Please breathe. Calm down.”

Abe spoke up as Renfield finished dressing his wound.

“Right here. Don’t say anything else, we aren’t alone.”

Renfield returned the supplies to his kit, and grasped a leather water skin. He tilted the end into Abe’s mouth, who drank eagerly.

“All finished. Don’t worry about your eyesight, the lingering effects of the spell will wear off soon.”

Stauch looked towards the direction of the voice.

“Where the hell are we? What do you want with us?”

Renfield brought the water skin to Finn and allowed her to drink from it as well.

“You’re in the Ripple Hightower. You’re here to answer some questions. You’ve already answered one, although I suspected I was in the presence of royalty.”

Stauch grew still. He was disappointed in himself.

“Don’t fret too much. I had already figured his identity. Abedrekt Frostforge, first of his name. Born in the year of the bear. Second born to Gregor and Hilda Frostforge. Your older brother, Philip, how’s he doing?”

Abe smiled wickedly at Renfield, seemingly unaffected by the attempt at manipulation.

“He’s heir to the king under the mountain, I’d imagine he’s doing better than me. Probably getting his prick sucked by some gorgeous elven maiden.”

“Would you like to see him again? To see your parents’ faces? I read your mother’s accounts of the war. She’s quite the writer. On the subject of you there appears to be no shortage of admiration. She tried to keep her bias hidden, an admirable quality in the keeper of a family’s records, but you’re close to her. Am I wrong?”

At this Abe looked furious. He said nothing. Renfield allowed Stauch to drink from the skin.

In Dwarven nobility, it is the duty of the matriarch to educate the children. The father was in charge of the training of a warrior, but the mother was in charge of sharpening their minds. She was expected to know finances, science- such as it is, history, even techniques of forging and metalwork. Hilda was a talented scribe. Her accounts of the civil war were both balanced and interesting. She was entirely clinical and reverential at the same time. On the subject of Philip, she described at great length the process of breaking the siege at Little Sister. Worked through Philip’s process of defending and countering. On the subject of Abe, however, she was slightly—ever so slightly— more flowery with her wording.

“You learned much from your mother. She taught you well. What of your father?”

Abe laughed humourlessly.

“He taught me just as well. If you give me that hammer over there, I’ll go over one of his lessons with you.”

Finn broke her silent regarding of things with a worried hissing sound.

“What do you want? If you know who he is, why are you doing this? Why did you ask me to tell you?”

Renfield looked from Finn, and then shifted his gaze to Stauch. Enough games. He returned to his kit and removed a small tool. It was a silver implement about 4 inches long. On the end opposite the handle was a flattened half circle that curved upwards slightly, like a teaspoon but flatter. He returned to Finn and took a knee in front of her, looking directly into her eye.

“That’s enough questions from you. You will refer to me as Inquisitor. As such, it’s my duty to ask questions and have them answered. Whether or not I know the answers already, is unimportant. If you answer my questions directly we may proceed with our respective evenings. If you refuse. I will make these next few hours stretch into your afterlife. Your loved ones will hear your screams from hell.”

He circled around her chair and held a bound hand in his own. She tried to wrench her hand free to no avail. He slid the end of the implement under her thumbnail.

“Where did you get the hammer?”