Hand of the Executioner (City of Chains Book 1) by Sebastian Priest

Author:Sebastian Priest [Priest, Sebastian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Nine: The Deeper Dungeon

Viktor kept a pocket watch on him in the dungeons, one of the necessities for coming down here. According to it, the sun was due up in a few hours, relatively neatly at seven.

As he took a dull, bored moment away from the busywork occupying his hands, Viktor contemplated that he hated dawn and the sunrise. It was objectively inferior to sunset, though even that wasn't saying much. He didn't appreciate the times of transition, even if he did find the sunset slightly less irritating. Give him a dark night lit by the moon or give him a nice day. He had little patience for the in-between.

Though, even if it might simply have been a function of not growing up in Adelstrad and therefore not having to deal with the constants of either frigid winters or severely wet summers his whole life, he had a soft spot for overcast days. There was nothing better than a proper thunderstorm to fall asleep to.

As long as it wasn't snowing, he honestly didn't fucking mind.

'Now, I'll ask once more with my polite voice, and if I'm not put into possession of a satisfactory answer, I will begin to lose my patience.'

'Go to hell,' snapped the thug with the dirty blonde hair and the lean face. Thumb screws had brought his name out as Brandt.

Brandt spat a dirty glob of mucous onto Viktor's hood.

He sighed, then pushed Brandt's head back into the water and held it there even as he continued to struggle.

He was only an average sized man and Viktor was built broadly even for his lack of time spent going out of his way to keep in shape the way the watchmen did, so he wasn't too worried about Brandt pulling out of his grip.

That said, he was also not a complete idiot, so he'd locked each of his wrists into a pair of sturdy handcuffs built into either side of the stone drowning basin he was currently using to make Brandt see his point of view. His ankles were also each attached via a sturdy chain to a big rock.

Not a ball, a jagged and unevenly shaped rock. Balls were bad luck for keeping someone in place. The concern was that a sufficiently motivated prisoner would manage to roll it. Better to be something that was too sharp on the hands to carry and a severe pain to drag.

As was proper, the moment the man's struggling began to cease he pulled him out of the water and let him sit there and gasp for air.

Viktor let him catch his breath.

In the corner of the room, Maxwell eyed the entire affair awkwardly. Rosh on the other hand looked mostly bored by the iron-reinforced door that had been locked from the outside, amber eyes flicking back and forth between the interrogation and some dirt caught underneath one of his fingernails.

The stockier, moustached man whose mop of brown hair was just starting to grey at the edges had been a

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