Chapter Twenty-six

The Caverns, Prison Chamber

“I’m distressed you haven’t been comfortable, Mr. McGloury,” said Deirdre to a barrel-chested man in a nautical pea-coat, bound in chains to the ragged rock walls of a cramped chamber used as a prison cell. An oil lamp, sitting on the floor against the opposite wall, cast huge, lurid shadows throughout the craggy chamber. Deirdre watched from the entrance as a guard, in farmer’s garb, roughly pulled off one of the prisoner’s boots. “I’d have paid a visit sooner, but I’ve been so busy.” Deirdre continued in cheerful conversation. “Still, as the first McGloury in over three hundred years to come home to Millport, well, I simply had to make time for you.”

He tried to reach for her, fighting the short chains, but they constrained him well out of reach. “You scurvy little gutter-snipe!” he growled in a voice that was used to being in authority. The guard backhanded him with his own boot. McGloury’s head—for this was the real McGloury and not the dissembling soft-handed imposter who had hired Tasha—snapped against the wall, and his anger changed to dread.

“Why … why are you doing this?” The terror became more pronounced as he realised he was dealing with a madwoman.

“How quickly they forget. Your fate was decided the day you returned to Millport!” Her eyes took on a faraway look and her voice became a whisper. “No … it was decided long, long before that.”

McGloury simply stared at her, vainly trying to make some sense of her words.

“I will exact the full penalty long after you are gone,” continued Deirdre, still lost in the vision her mind was conjuring, “A retribution that will be forever!” Her mood altered, as if a switch had been turned and Deidre’s passionate reverie ceased, her features again became impassive. She extended her hand and the guard obediently gave her McGloury’s boot. “I need this for a little while, Mr. McGloury, but it will be returned before you leave us.”

  

Not far away, in another equally small chamber, Von Traeger was lashing Boab, the bogus McGloury’s “lost” collie, with a whip. Boab, beaten into mindless ferocity, snarled at the German, straining at his leash—which was tied to the wall—as Von Traeger took McGloury’s boot from Deirdre and rubbed it in the animal’s face. “He will be vicious at this scent, Geistliche Deirdre.”

She snapped her fingers and Von Traeger stood away from the dog. Boab strained at the leash in feral desperation, as Deirdre, just out of reach, smiled faintly at his viciousness. She walked out, giving Von Traeger a rare nod of approval. “You have a way with animals.” Von Traeger clicked his heels and jolted to attention with pride and Prussian precision.