Interesting. I gave him a sympathetic glance but didn’t comment. It would be easier to question him once we were all sitting down.
The drawing room was full of mismatched furniture that seemed out of place. The thrall perched on the edge of a chaise longue and I took the chair opposite. Thane stood next to the door to ensure the thrall didn’t escape but I quickly shook my head at him and he sat on a chair near me. I didn’t want my prisoner tothinkhe was a prisoner, even if it was true.
‘What’s your name?’ I kept my voice soft and unthreatening.
He flinched. ‘Eric.’
That was a good start. ‘I’m Kit,’ I said. ‘That’s Thane. I apologise again for the way we approached you. I thought you might be dangerous.’
‘I’m a thrall,’ Eric pointed out, with an edge of sourness. ‘I’m no danger to anyone other than myself.’ He was probably right. His head drooped. ‘That’s not true,’ he whispered. ‘I’m not a thrall any longer. I wish I was but I’m not.’
Thane and I exchanged glances. ‘Is that because you were in thrall to Chester Longchamps and he’s dead?’ Thane asked.
‘No.’
My spine stiffened. ‘He’s not dead?’
Eric looked up, momentarily surprised. ‘Heisdead – well, that’s what everyone says. No, I’m not a thrall any more because he sacked me.’ He sniffed wetly. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong but he still sacked me. I’ve been a thrall here for twelveyears – twelve years! And I have nothing to show for it. Now nobody will make me a vampire or even take me on as their thrall.’
Almost all new vampires were thralls first; they had to prove themselves and their worth to the existing vamps before they were allowed to be turned. I reckoned – although I wasn’t sure – that the Bureaucratic Suite probably dealt with such petitions. If that were the case, it would be a lengthy and painful process – and that was just the paperwork.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. I was making far too many apologies and this one wasn’t even because of my own mistake. ‘You’ve obviously been through a great deal.’
‘I have.’ His dull eyes were sorrowful. ‘I really have.’
I waited for a few beats so that Eric could gather his thoughts and compose himself, then I asked, ‘Did you buy a monster conjuration spell in Chester’s name five days ago?’
His head whipped up. ‘What? Of course not!’ He stared at me. His shock appeared wholly genuine.
Damn. It had been unlikely that Thane’s black market seller would mistake a thrall for a vampire but I was disappointed nonetheless. ‘Can you think of anyone who might have pretended to be Chester to buy such a spell?’
He shook his head. ‘No! Who would do that sort of thing?’
Who indeed? It was clear that Eric didn’t know.
Thane eyed him. ‘Eric,’ he said softly, ‘if you were sacked, why are you here? Why do you still have a key for this place?’
‘Lord Chester forgot to take it back. And I'm here because … because … being in this house makes me feel closer to him. I miss him. He wasn't always kind.’ He laughed sadly. ‘I'm lying. He wasneverkind. But I loved him anyway.’
Jeez. As I eyed Eric sympathetically, I noticed the shadow of an old bruise across his cheekbone. I reckoned I knew who hadcaused it. ‘What happened to Chester?’ I asked. ‘How did he die?’
‘LordChester!’ Eric snapped. ‘Not Chester!’ His shoulders sagged. ‘I don’t know. All I know is that he thought he could be a hero for the other vampires and that he died in the process. He spent months trying to get hold of some weird magical map and a special jug to keep it in, then he went into the Understream and died. I’ve been searching for clues as to what happened to him but I haven’t found anything yet.’
He pouted. ‘I’m not supposed to go into the Understream. No thralls have been allowed there since April.’
Nothing about this was making sense. A magical map? A special jug? None of it fitted together. And did any of it relate to the missing worms?
Montgomery had told us that interviewing witnesses and suspects was an art; unless you were careful, you could end up with complete gobbledegook, especially if the interviewees were already traumatised. The trick was to take things one at a time and guide your subject through a series of questions that would reveal the story from beginning to end. Backtracking could be a useful technique, as could rephrasing the same questions in different ways. Those ploys could help discern lies, although that didn’t appear to be the case here.
‘Let’s go back to the start,’ I said. ‘Lord Chester thought he would be a hero?’
Eric wrapped his arms around his thin body. ‘Yeah. There’s something wrong in the Understream – that’s why thralls aren’t allowed there. Lord Chester was planning to make everything better. I don’t know what the problem is, only that it’s bad. He wouldn’t tell me any of the details but he was sure the magical map would help, so he got it from the witches and then he worked really hard to get the special jug to carry the map in and then he sacked me and…’ His words were getting faster and faster, tumbling one after the other.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘So Chester…’ Eric scowled. ‘LordChester,’ I amended hastily, ‘wanted to solve a problem in the Understream and…’
‘Wait.’ Eric had frozen in alarm. ‘I’m not supposed to tell you about that.’ He clamped a hand over his mouth. ‘I’m not allowed to tell anyone about the Understream. They’ll come after me if I do and I’ll be in trouble. This is bad,’ he moaned. ‘This is really, really bad.’
I pulled up my sleeve to reveal the red semicircle on my arm. ‘I’ve been marked, Eric. It’s alright.’
