“Charming, I’m sure,” said Romanski.
“And here, the infamous thumbscrew.” Dr. Baker opened one of the glass cases that lined the walls, pulling out a curious metal contraption. He smiled, holding it aloft with excitement. “The thumbs would go there and would be compressed by a metal bar through twisting this screw. The bones in the fingers would be crushed. One of the most common torture devices used during the Spanish Inquisition—and very effective. Agonizingly painful. Could be used on the toes too.”
Nick raised his eyebrows in interest over Dr. Baker’s shoulder. “Cool.”
Romanski inwardly grimaced, sorry he’d let himself be talked into bringing Nick, who seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much.
Nick peered into a particularly lavish case housing an enormous emerald necklace next to a strange, A-shaped metal frame contraption.
“Ah, I see you’ve discovered one of the more obscure devices inventedduring the reign of King Henry VIII.” Baker scuttled across the room and placed a loving hand on the device resting on its velvet pillow. “The head of the victim is strapped in here at the top of the A point, the hands here, and legs here. The frame folds and compresses the body until the victim bleeds from the nose and ears. Would you like to try it out? Without folding it, naturally.” He directed this question at Nick.
“Well—”
“We don’t have time,” Romanski interjected quickly.
“Are you sure? It’s not every day you get to see a Spanish tickler in person. I sometimes bring these devices on my LARPing trips—that stands forlive-action role-playing—to make the experience more authentic. LARPers love it. Almost as if you personally were awaiting trial in some dark catacomb, knowing you would be found guilty no matter what you told your captors.”
Romanski said, “Actually, Dr. Baker, I’d like to see the garrote now, if you don’t mind.”
“Ah yes. We mustn’t get sidetracked, of course.” Baker, looking crestfallen, led the way even farther to the rear of the house.
“Spanish tickler,” Nick leaned over to hiss in Romanski’s ear, winking.
They were led farther back, the neglect of this wing of the house becoming more evident.
“Here is what you’re searching for. The garrote vil.” Dr. Baker grasped the edge of a white sheet and flicked it off its resting place like a bullfighter. A cloud of dust billowed through the air, and a smell of mildew overwhelmed Nick’s cologne.
Underneath was something that looked almost like a simple wooden chair. An iron ring, large enough to support one’s neck, was nailed into the post, with smaller rings for the hands and feet. A large crank was attached to the larger iron neck ring. This particular version of the garrote was lacking the spike that Romanski had seen on websites online. He wondered how it worked. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.
“This is a Spanish garrote vil actually used by the Inquisition. The seat constrains the condemned person, and the executioner tightens this crank here and suffocates the victim. This type of execution lasted until 1978, when Spain abolished the death penalty.”
“The ones I’ve seen online have a spike.”
Dr. Baker’s lips thinned. “The ones with spikes are called Catalan garrotes, used as late as 1940. They incorporate a spike directed at the spinal cord to quicken the breaking of the victim’s neck. The Philippines was captured by the United States after the Spanish-American War in 1898. The Catalan garrote continued to be used there to execute prisoners until 1902, when the US finally put a stop to it. Frightening how long it took to eradicate such a vicious practice.”
“How many of these things still exist?”
“Impossible to know. As you can see, they are fairly simple to make, and I couldn’t tell you how many are in museums and private collections around the world.”
“What about a Spanish boot and a Maundy gag? You have those in the collection?”
A troubled look now marred Dr. Baker’s happy demeanor. “Are you working on a case where these were actually used?”
Romanski didn’t answer, and Dr. Baker shook his head. “I don’t—those two are rather uncommon. It’s one thing to read about the depravity of the Inquisition in history books. But to think of someone inflicting this level of pain on an innocent human being today, if that’s why you’re indeed inquiring… Good heavens!”
Romanski nodded, images of the crushed and mangled foot of Castillo, dismembered and bobbing in waters of a mountain lake, flashing across his mind’s eye. “A terrible thing indeed, Doctor.”
