Monza looked her right in the eye, unwavering, and did her best to make her believe. “We’re not with Orso. The opposite. We’re here—”

“You had his uniforms, didn’t you?”

“Only so we could drop in with them if they broke into the city. We’re here to kill Ganmark.”

“Orso’s Union general?” Pello raised his brows at Langrier and she shrugged back.

“It’s either what she said, or they’re spies, working with the Talinese. Here to assassinate the duke, maybe. Now which of those seems the more likely?”

Pello sighed. “We’ve been in this game a long time, and the obvious answer, nine times out of ten, is the right one.”

“Nine times out of ten.” Langrier spread her hands in apology. “So you might have to do better than that.”

“I can’t do any fucking better,” Monza hissed through gritted teeth, “that’s all I—”

Langrier’s gloved fist thudded suddenly into her ribs. “The truth!” Her other fist into Monza’s other side. “The truth!” A punch in the stomach. “The truth! The truth! The truth!” She sprayed spit in Monza’s face as she screamed it, knocking her back and forth, the sharp thumps and Monza’s wheezing grunts echoing dully from the damp walls of the place.

She couldn’t do any of the things her body desperately needed to do—bring her arms down, or fold up, or fall over, or breathe even. She was helpless as a carcass on a hook. When Langrier got tired of pounding the guts out of her she shuddered silently for a moment, eyes bulging, every muscle cramped up bursting tight, creaking back and forth by her wrists. Then she coughed watery puke into her armpit, heaved half a desperate, moaning breath in and drooled out some more. She drooped limp as a wet sheet on a drying line, hair tangled across her face, heard that she was whimpering like a beaten dog with every shallow breath but couldn’t stop it and didn’t care.

She heard Langrier’s boots scraping over to Shivers. “So she’s a fucking idiot, that’s proven. Let’s give you a chance, big man. I’ll start with something simple. What’s your name?”

“Caul Shivers,” voice high and tight with fear.

“Shivers.” Pello chuckled.

“Northerners. Who dreams up all these funny names? What about her?”

“Murcatto, she calls herself. Monzcarro Murcatto.” Monza slowly shook her head. Not because she blamed him for saying her name. Just because she knew the truth couldn’t help.

“What do you know? The Butcher of Caprile herself in my little cell! Murcatto’s dead, idiot, months ago, and I’m getting bored. You’d think none of us would ever die, the way you’re wasting our time.”

“You reckon they’re very stupid,” asked Pello, “or very brave?”

“What’s the difference?”

“You want to hold him?”

“You mind doing it?” Langrier winced as she worked one elbow around. “Damn shoulder’s aching today. Wet weather always gets it going.”

“You and your bloody shoulder.” Metal rattled as Pello let a stride of chain out through the pulley above and Shivers’ hands dropped down around his head. Any relief he felt was short lived, though. Pello came up behind and kicked him in the back of his legs, sent him lurching onto his knees, arms stretched out again, kept him there by planting one boot on the back of his calves.