Interrogation Scene
Third part of the setup for the GenCon scenario.
Caerling sat across from Locardi in Lady Rhianna’s sitting room. The table between them was set for tea, and the steam from Caerling’s cup smelled vaguely of some unfamiliar perfume.
They made small talk, chatting amiably about the unusually warm start to the autumn season, and about the latest fashions, and the gossip around the court. They spoke of such silly things that Caerling wondered how Locardi could possibly keep from being bored by it all. What cared an assassin for ramblings of a servant girl?
Still, Locardi listened eagerly for what seemed like hours while they sat and sipped tea, and Caerling finally came to realize two things at once.
The first was that she needed to attend to her duties. Her lady needed her, and there was work to be done, and she needed to check on Marie. That girl was always getting into trouble, and the thought crossed Caerling’s mind that she needed to find out whether Marie was alive or dead.
The second thing that Caerling realized was that she couldn’t get up and leave Locardi. It would be impolite. The rules of etiquette demanded that he be the one to end the conversation, but he seemed to have no interest in ending it. He chatted away, seemingly enchanted by Caerling’s company. Still, it was all Caerling could do not to fidget in her seat as she thought of Lady Rhianna.
Didn’t Locardi know of her duties? Surely he must understand that she could not just sit and sip tea and chat with him all day. The more they talked, the more worried Caerling became. Lady Rhianna could be having one of her spells, and Caerling needed to find what had become of Marie.
Locardi just smiled, speaking in subtle compliments and flattery. Caerling found herself telling amusing stories from her childhood while her eyes shifted uneasily as if searching for a way to get away. But she couldn’t just get up and leave as much as she wanted to. It just wouldn’t be proper!
Finally, Locardi stopped talking long enough to sip his tea, and Caerling threw caution to the wind. She bowed her head and softly begged his leave, but when she went to rise she was stopped by the leather cords that bound her wrists to her chair.
Caerling awoke to musty dampness and the bite of leather cords in her wrists. The dream of sipping tea with her captor was fading from her memory as her eyes adjusted to the dim candlelit darkness. The walls were cold stone, pressed in close around her, with candles sitting on ledges and recesses to her sides and behind her. She was bound to a wooden chair of some sort, and in front of her was only darkness.
She tentatively struggled with her bonds. They held firm, but there were bits of rock or mortar that had fallen from the ceiling onto her chair. Some were close enough and sharp enough that she might be able to use them to cut through one of the cords.
Before she could make the attempt, the darkness before her took shape and Locardi emerged into the candlelight.
“Awake, my dear?” He asked. “How are you feeling?”
Caerling ignored the assassin’s attempts to be polite. “What do you want from me?”
“Oh, just certain information.”
“I’ll tell you nothing, then.”
Caerling didn’t like the smile that formed on Locardi’s face at that.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Caerling. We finished interrogating you several hours ago.”
With that, Locardi melted back into the shadows.
Caerling sat across from Locardi in Lady Rhianna’s sitting room. The table between them was set for tea, and the steam from Caerling’s cup smelled vaguely of some unfamiliar perfume.
They made small talk, chatting amiably about the unusually warm start to the autumn season, and about the latest fashions, and the gossip around the court. They spoke of such silly things that Caerling wondered how Locardi could possibly keep from being bored by it all. What cared an assassin for ramblings of a servant girl?
Still, Locardi listened eagerly for what seemed like hours while they sat and sipped tea, and Caerling finally came to realize two things at once.
The first was that she needed to attend to her duties. Her lady needed her, and there was work to be done, and she needed to check on Marie. That girl was always getting into trouble, and the thought crossed Caerling’s mind that she needed to find out whether Marie was alive or dead.
The second thing that Caerling realized was that she couldn’t get up and leave Locardi. It would be impolite. The rules of etiquette demanded that he be the one to end the conversation, but he seemed to have no interest in ending it. He chatted away, seemingly enchanted by Caerling’s company. Still, it was all Caerling could do not to fidget in her seat as she thought of Lady Rhianna.
Didn’t Locardi know of her duties? Surely he must understand that she could not just sit and sip tea and chat with him all day. The more they talked, the more worried Caerling became. Lady Rhianna could be having one of her spells, and Caerling needed to find what had become of Marie.
Locardi just smiled, speaking in subtle compliments and flattery. Caerling found herself telling amusing stories from her childhood while her eyes shifted uneasily as if searching for a way to get away. But she couldn’t just get up and leave as much as she wanted to. It just wouldn’t be proper!
Finally, Locardi stopped talking long enough to sip his tea, and Caerling threw caution to the wind. She bowed her head and softly begged his leave, but when she went to rise she was stopped by the leather cords that bound her wrists to her chair.
Caerling awoke to musty dampness and the bite of leather cords in her wrists. The dream of sipping tea with her captor was fading from her memory as her eyes adjusted to the dim candlelit darkness. The walls were cold stone, pressed in close around her, with candles sitting on ledges and recesses to her sides and behind her. She was bound to a wooden chair of some sort, and in front of her was only darkness.
She tentatively struggled with her bonds. They held firm, but there were bits of rock or mortar that had fallen from the ceiling onto her chair. Some were close enough and sharp enough that she might be able to use them to cut through one of the cords.
Before she could make the attempt, the darkness before her took shape and Locardi emerged into the candlelight.
“Awake, my dear?” He asked. “How are you feeling?”
Caerling ignored the assassin’s attempts to be polite. “What do you want from me?”
“Oh, just certain information.”
“I’ll tell you nothing, then.”
Caerling didn’t like the smile that formed on Locardi’s face at that.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Caerling. We finished interrogating you several hours ago.”
With that, Locardi melted back into the shadows.