"One hundred lashes today. At least, it was supposed to be one hundred lashes, but my darling torturer (I call him that to annoy him) was fooled when I pretended to faint after the fifteenth lash. He didn't even order the guards in the corridor to poke me back to wakefulness with their bayonets. Makes me ashamed to acknowledge that we belong to the same profession."
He had been given the kindest, gentlest torturer in the dungeon. The prisoner was left with only one hope: that he could teach his torturer how to be cruel.
When the High Master of Vovim's Hidden Dungeon is arrested and placed in the hands of one of his own men, High Master Millard's immediate instinct is to show his torturer how to do a better job.
But Millard is facing seemingly insuperable odds: a lackluster torturer, a bitterly insane king, and most of all, Millard's own doubts as to whether he will be man enough to face the coming ordeal.
Perhaps he won't. And perhaps that is part of the lesson he needs to learn.
This short story can be read on its own or as the third story in the "Balance" volume of The Eternal Dungeon, an award-winning historical fantasy series set in a land where the psychologists wield whips.
This is a reissue of an older story.
Excerpt
Day 3: One hundred lashes today. At least, it was supposed to be one hundred lashes, but my darling torturer (I call him that to annoy him) was fooled when I pretended to faint after the fifteenth lash. He didn't even order the guards in the corridor to poke me back to wakefulness with their bayonets. Makes me ashamed to acknowledge that we belong to the same profession.
Afterwards he complied with my request for pencil and ledger-book. He even sharpened the pencil for me with his dagger. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Doesn't he realize what could be done to him if anyone finds out he's giving special favors to me?
Why am I surrounded by incompetents? This dungeon is filled with torturers who bungle simple rackings, burn themselves on their own pokers, and grow enamored with their prisoners and help them escape. I'm glad Toler isn't here to witness this.
Day 4: Another attempt at the hundred lashes, another bluffed faint. This time my darling torturer brought water to me. Any hopes I'd had, though, that he would dash it in my face were frustrated when I discovered that he was planning to give me water to assuage my thirst. I would have screamed at him, but I was too busy gulping down the water. It's been four days since I was allowed to eat or drink.
I reminded him of his duty afterwards, though. He looked hurt, and then slapped me to the ground. There might be some hope for him yet.
Day 18: The gap in time is because we actually managed to finish the hundred lashes. Instead of immediately following up on his advantage, though, my darling torturer allowed me time to heal. I might as well admit that he's a loss and resign myself to being in the care of the kindest, gentlest torturer who has ever performed in the Hidden Dungeon.
Curse it, no. He will not disgrace me like this. I'll see him dead first.
Day 19: Gave my darling torturer a small lecture yesterday about the duty of a torturer to his art. It seems to have done him good; he used the poker on me afterwards. I'm still able to write, which means he was too soft on me. I wish I could figure out how to reach him.
In the meantime, I can continue keeping this record, which I expect will be invaluable to future generations of the King's Torturers. This must be the first time in history that a prisoner has recorded his reactions while being tortured to death.
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