Read Online The Phenomenals: A Tangle of Traitors by F E Higgins - Free Book Online Page B

his eyes. Everything was blurred; he could only see shapes, nothing distinct, and it didn’t help that there was a bright light shining on his face. He
lunged forward but was immediately pulled up sharply and painfully by a strap around his neck. He realized then that he was in the torture chair, held fast by the ankles and wrists. The contents of
his pockets had been emptied into a pile on the floor, smitelight and treen included.
    The light moved aside, his sight cleared and Kamptulicon came into view. The other man, even uglier close up, stood behind him. Vincent knew he was in grave danger. What would his father do? He
appealed again, more humbly, to his captor.
    ‘Mr Kamptulicon, sir, forgive a foolish boy his curiosity. Please, may I go free?’
    ‘Free? Who is there on this earth who can say that he is truly free?’ Kamptulicon cocked his head to one side, an insincere smile drawn across his face. ‘Now tell me, what is
your name?’
    ‘Vincent.’
    ‘Are you alone?’
    ‘Yes,’ admitted Vincent reluctantly.
    ‘Good. I need some things from you.’ Kamptulicon reached forward and yanked out a handful of Vincent’s hair.
    ‘Ouch!’ Vincent felt as if his head was on fire.
    ‘Patience,’ said Kamptulicon. He dropped the hair into a black stone mortar. Next, with a pair of scissors, he snipped off the fingernails of his prisoner’s right hand,
practically down to the quick, and Vincent heard them dropping lightly into the mortar. Never had he felt so totally helpless.
    ‘Nearly finished,’ said Kamptulicon, and thrust a mortar under Vincent’s chin. ‘Spit,’ he ordered.
    Vincent’s mouth was dry but he managed a small amount of spitde. ‘Is that it?’ he asked. ‘Have you got what you need?’
    ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Kamptulicon with disarming politeness. He put the mortar on the table and spent the next few minutes grinding away at the ingredients. He stopped to add a
little water, some green powder and seven drops of cajaput oil (Vincent counted them out), and then continued pounding until it was a smooth waxy paste. He flicked open the top of his large thumb
ring and, scooping the paste on to a narrow blade, transferred it into the hollow of the ring. Then he cleaned out the bowl with his finger and smeared the remainder across Vincent’s
forehead. It stung sharply and Vincent writhed painfully until it subsided.
    ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, struggling futilely against his bonds.
    ‘Just a little concoction to help things along,’ said Kamptulicon. ‘Now, what is this?’ He was holding up the smitelight.
    ‘It’s nothing important.’ Vincent didn’t see the blow coming. It left his head spinning. ‘It’s a light. Tap it.’ Kamptulicon did as was suggested, but
on Vincent’s head, causing him to see more stars.
    ‘Extraordinary,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen anything like it. Where did you get it?’
    ‘I don’t remember,’ muttered Vincent warily.
    ‘Hmm,’ mused his captor. He held up Vincent’s pouch of treen. ‘Gaboon ebony, very nice. The tools of a thief. So, who sent you?’
    ‘No one sent me, I swear. I came of my own accord.’
    ‘You were going to steal from me. I don’t like thieves.’
    Vincent had a terrible feeling that time was running out. He forced himself to speak calmly despite the gut-wrenching turmoil inside. ‘I have caused no damage. Please let me go.’
    Kamptulicon ignored his plea. ‘I have some tools of my own. Would you like to see them?’ He didn’t wait for Vincent’s reply but reached down and took the metal cylinder
from the pile at his feet.
    ‘What’s that?’ asked Vincent.
    ‘It doesn’t have a name yet; it’s a recent invention, but it has many uses.’
    Something in Kamptulicon’s eyes frightened Vincent to the core. His heart was racing, fuelled by the panic that was rising inside him.
    ‘You see,’ said Kamptulicon, slowly unscrewing the lid, ‘I think you need to learn a lesson.’ A white mist