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The man blinked up at him. “I don’t know.”
Bertram quirked an eyebrow. “So you mean to do it the hard way, I see.” He gestured to the footman who stepped forward with the steaming jug.
“No! Wait! I am not lying to you. I do not know who my employer is. I only spoke to his messengers.”
“Messengers?”
“Aye.”
“Who were these messengers? Do you have names?”
“Of course not. They barely showed their faces. They always wore hooded cloaks.”
“How many?”
The man hesitated for a minute and Bertram looked to the footman. “Three!” the prisoner shouted.
“Three messengers? How many times did you speak with them?”
“Three times.”
A second footman came in with another steaming jug of water. The first one left the prison cell. Bertram smiled. “We want to make sure the water stays nice and hot.”
The man undid his shirt. “Please. My chest is tender and swollen.” He displayed his massively reddened and swollen chest.
“And I do regret that. But I cannot allow this situation to continue. My son lives here. How did you get in? What is your name?”
The prisoner said nothing. Bertram looked to the new footman and he stepped closer.
“No!” the man raised his hand to shield his face. “Stop. My name is Bartholomew. I am an assassin for hire. The men who hired me, told me how to get in.”
