Flutek came closer and bent over to examine the thug with the lacerated hand. He mimicked with swift movements the German block and Italian counter-blow used by Reynevan.

“Well, well.” He shook his head in approval and disbelief at the same time. “Skilfully done. Who would have thought you’d attain such dexterity? I knew you were taking lessons from a swordsman, but as he has two daughters, I thought you were training with one of them. Or both.”

Flutek gestured for the sobbing and bleeding thug to be bound. He looked around for the one who’d been stabbed in the thigh, but he had furtively slipped away. He ordered the one struck by the truncheon to be stood up. He was still dazed and dribbling. He couldn’t look straight ahead—his eyes were still crossing and uncrossing and kept rolling back into his head.

“Who hired you?”

The thug’s eyes darted around at random and he tried to spit. Unsuccessfully. Flutek gestured and the thug was hit in the kidneys. When he inhaled with a hiss, he was hit again. Flutek waved a careless hand, indicating that the thug should be taken away.

“You’ll speak,” he promised as they marched him down the street. “You’ll tell us everything. No prisoner of mine has ever remained silent.” Flutek turned around to Reynevan, who was still leaning against the wall. “To ask whether you have any suspicions would be to insult your intelligence. So I shall. Any idea who was behind this?”

Reynevan nodded. Flutek also nodded, in approval.

“The thugs will speak. Everyone talks in the end. Even Martin Loquis finally spoke, and he was a tough and determined little bugger, an idealist and true martyr to the cause. Scoundrels hired for a few pre-revolutionary pence will sing at the very sight of the tools. But I’ll still treat them to the red-hot iron. Out of pure affection for you, their would-be victim. Don’t thank me.”

Reynevan didn’t.

“Out of pure affection,” continued Flutek, “I’ll do something else for you. I’ll let you avenge your brother personally, with your own hand. Yes, yes, you heard right. Don’t thank me.” Reynevan didn’t thank him that time, either. As a matter of fact, Flutek’s words hadn’t sunk in yet. “In a short while, my man will report to you. He will instruct you to go to the House of the Golden Horse in the town square, where we spoke today. Go there forthwith. And take a crossbow with you. Have you got that? Good. Farewell.”

“Farewell, Neplach.”