‘The teeth. That’s why he tore his own eyes out.’

*

We returned to the warden’s office in silence. I tried and failed, over and over again, to imagine how it would feel to have teeth growing behind one’s eyes. To imagine your own body turned against you in such a manner, and the pain that would produce. So much, it evidently drove the boy to pull out his own eyes just to be rid of it. As a King’s Special Inspector, I had witnessed many terrible acts. But rarely had I seen anything like that.

The warden cleared me a seat, moving a stack of papers with a candle perched perilously on top.

‘What is his name?’ I said before I sat.

‘His name?’ she echoed, sounding momentarily surprised by the simple question. ‘Yes, his name. Gregory Harsson. His day-brother is Jan.’

‘Which of them did it?’

The warden looked uncomfortable for the first time. ‘Jan. Before Gregory stopped speaking, he kept asking why we were keeping him in the dark.’

I held my hands in my lap; there was dirt under my fingernails. ‘Tell me.’

The warden painted a patchy picture. Jan was brought to St Leonars from a small town, or large village, far to the south. The warden paused to look up its name: Drekenford. I had never heard of it, but then I hadn’t travelled the southern borderlands. Their large skies and endless forests held little appeal; even less so with the increasingly frequent reports of trouble with the tribes that still claimed that land as their own. Why send the boy so far, I asked.

‘Why does anything happen? Because someone important wanted it that way.’

When Jan first arrived, the warden continued, he was kept with all the other day-men, night-releases. Convicted of theft of the dull, domestic variety, he appeared to warrant little attention. He was given a rough welcome from the other prisoners, easily singled out as being from far away, though nothing serious. Gregory was managing to find work in a strange new city. But then, a month or so later, they both started complaining to anyone who would listen. Headaches, pain behind their eyes, not being able to find rest. A prison doctor examined Jan and found only a rotten tooth, which he took out. When later questioned, the doctor confirmed there was nothing extraordinary about the procedure, though admitted Jan did scream throughout. Even with the opiates. Then, as he recovered, Jan attacked one of the nurses so he was moved.

‘What about at night?’ I said.

‘Gregory wouldn’t leave after that.’

I frowned, struggling to believe anyone would choose to stay in such a place. ‘But he was a night-release. Were the brothers that close?’

‘Evidently. Inspector, ninety-nine in every hundred prisoners here are at war with themselves. No amount of ettiene chewing can ease our prisoners’ struggles with their siblings. But when that previously secure one-in-a-hundred is shaken somehow, or breaks down, well…’ The warden shook her head. ‘A day later, we heard his screams. The whole prison heard the screams. We found Jan surrounded by his own blood. And the eyes. He held them up, like this.’