#uh oh! gristol has the shell!!

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 18: i tend to deflect when i'm feeling threatened

Tortured for Information + "Hit them harder."

3554 Words; Pearl & Seaglass

TW for kidnapping, torture, blood, injury

AO3 ver

Lizzie came to slowly.

Lizzie came to to the sound of wood creaking, a vague sense of nausea filling her throat before she registered anything else. Her head ached, some unseen force squeezing it like a vice. She tasted bile in the back of her mouth.

The last thing she remembered was the dance in the plaza, Gisu and Dion staring at each other with so much sap that Lizzie feared they might get stuck on it. Which, yeah, Lizzie was happy that her friend had someone who’d look at her like she hung the moon and stars, but it didn’t explain how Lizzie got here.

Here being… well, Lizzie couldn’t be certain, but it felt like a ship. The subtle rock of the room, the smell of the sea seeping in from somewhere behind her, the soft sound of waves against the hull if she strained her ears past the sound of footsteps above her—

Yeah, Lizzie was on a ship. Hopefully it wasn’t out over open water, but Lizzie doubted she’d be that lucky. She still didn’t know how she’d gone from lingering at the edge of a crowd on dry land to being tied to a chair on a seafaring vessel—which was probably what worried her most, that lack of knowledge. Not knowing the who or why put her at a severe disadvantage. Couple that with the vulnerability of being tied to a chair and missing most of her charms—she could no longer feel the protective enchantments she’d worked so hard to gather—and Lizzie was more worried than she’d like to admit.

The ship itself was well-built, she could tell that much. The room she was in had a heavy wooden door—this ship likely had multiple rooms, which meant it was big. And the big boats belonged to the powerful people.

It likely wasn’t an Explorer Corps ship, either—the Zanottos’ company didn’t randomly kidnap people. And the room was void of any of their usual iconography.

That only left a few possibilities. Either Lizzie had been drafted for the Navy in the weirdest way possible, or it was one of the few people rich enough to own a large ship like this.

Lizzie was still testing her bonds—her hands were bound behind her, but she could move her fingers, so if she could just get enough leverage—when footsteps outside the door caught her attention. She heard the lock slowly turn and click, and then the door swung open slowly.

Three different people walked in—

All of Lizzie’s thoughts came to a halt as she recognized the sharply dressed man in the middle of the group. Oh, she had never met him personally, but his face was everywhere—as was his caviar and roe business, which had been trying to buy the Explorer Corps’ ships for the past several months. Lizzie couldn’t not recognize the weasel of a man before her, in his gaudy tailcoat and captain’s hat, shrewd eyes staring her down.

It was still a surprise, though. Why was she tied up on a ship belonging to Gristol Malik, of all people?

The other two people were unknown to Lizzie—she recognized the person on the right as a mage, though, the embroidery on their robe a web of protective sigils. Lizzie thought to her own missing charms and a twinge of jealousy flashed through her.

But the person on the left…

Lizzie had never seen an Inquisitor in person, but the pin on their coat was unmistakable. This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good.

Okay, Lizzie, you got this, she told herself. Play it cool. Whatever they ask, you don’t know anything. She could do this. She could do this.

Gristol regarded her primly, hands folded behind his back. “Young lady,” He started, and oh, Lizzie did not like that form of address, “Do you know why you’re here?”

Lizzie shrugged. Play it cool. She could do that. “No.” She could guess, but she didn’t feel like playing any games.

Gristol huffed. “You have information that I want.” He groused, “And I’m going to get my answers one way or another.”

Lizzie stared him down. Gristol’s rivalry with Truman was well-known—Gristol’s attempts to buy out the Explorer Corps had been going on long enough to become part of the local gossip. Whatever Gristol wanted to know about the Explorer Corps, whatever information he thought he could get from her—he wasn’t getting it. Lizzie would rather die than betray the Explorer Corps like that. Especially with an Inquisitor involved—though this one was likely on private contract.

At Lizzie’s continued silence, Gristol frowned. He turned to the mage and muttered something about translation spells.

Lizzie continued to stare at him. She wasn’t stupid—and she wasn’t going to squeal, either.

The mage muttered back, shifting nervously. After a few moments of whispered conversation, they stepped forwards, pulling out a scroll.

A spell scroll! An actual spell scroll! Oh, what Lizzie wouldn’t give to get her hands on an honest-to-gods spell scroll. Actually learning spells was far superior, sure, but it wasn’t about the spells—spell scrolls were only available to accomplished mages, not witches in training who still got treated like little girls by the guild. Not that Lizzie was bitter, or anything.

The mage read the text, and the scroll burst into flame. Light glowed around Lizzie for a moment, luminous silver that left a cool feeling in her throat. She was almost offended at the waste of a good spell scroll.

“Now then,” Gristol began, “Let’s begin properly.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small object. Lizzie regarded the item in Gristol’s hands suspiciously. He held it out in front of her—

Lizzie’s eyes widened. That was—

Gristol smirked. “Ah, good, you recognize this. Can you tell me what it is?”

It was a shell, Lizzie knew that much. A shimmery spiral shell about as big as her palm, with blue bands all along the spiral. There was something carved at the opening, a set of symbols that Lizzie didn’t recognize. It had shown up on her desk the morning prior, with no explanation.

That was all Lizzie knew, though. And she wasn’t going to say anything, anyway.

“This,” Gristol continued, seemingly unbothered by Lizzie’s continued silence, “Is a boon. Boons come in a variety of forms, as I’m sure you’re aware.” He turned the shell over in his hands. “But this is no regular boon.” Gristol tilted the shell so that the symbols carved into the opening caught the light of the oil lamp. “This boon was made by mermaids.” He spoke like it was some dramatic revelation—and on some level, Lizzie supposed it was. But she kept her expression as neutral as she could, even as her mind began to race.

“You got this from someone.” Gristol said. “And I want to know who.”

Lizzie glared at him. “No.”

Gristol sniffed, turning his nose up haughtily. He gestured to the Inquisitor. “Make her talk.” He ordered, stepping back.

The Inquisitor pulled a small dagger out of her jacket. Lizzie had only a moment to register a flame-shaped pommel and red-dyed leather around the hilt before the tip of the blade touched the exposed skin of her collarbone—

Pain!

Fire lanced through her veins until the blade was withdrawn. Lizzie’s chest heaved, the ropes digging into her from her thrashing. She’d avoided screaming, barely, but ow.

Lizzie hissed. Ugh, enchanted blades always seemed so cool until she was at the sharp end.

“Now that you see what being obstinate gets you, are you ready to cooperate?” Gristol’s voice was as slimy as the caviar his company sold. Lizzie wished she could punch him.

Lizzie wheezed, waiting until her chest stopped heaving to speak. “Nope.” Her voice came out strained, but spite was powering her now—she’d drag this out until the cows came home if she had to.

Gristol’s face turned to the color of puce. He turned to the mage. “Do something.” He urged, in what was technically a whisper but was audible to Lizzie all the same.

The mage floundered. “What do you want me to do?” They whispered back, still perfectly audible to Lizzie.

“What about a truth spell?” Gristol whispered. “Why didn’t we start with that?”

“I don’t have the ingredients for that, sir.” the mage responded, “And while it might compel her to speak, and would certainly force her to be honest, she could still remain silent with enough force of will.”

“Then what do I pay you for?” Gristol whisper-shouted. “Can’t you be useful?”

Lizzie struggled not to laugh. What a joke. The Inquisitor was doing a good job of ignoring the whisper-argument happening next to her, her expression betraying nothing. So she was the real deal. That’d be pretty cool if it wasn’t Lizzie who was being interrogated. And if Inquisitors weren’t primarily agents of the powerful bourgeoisie or the government.

The enchanted blade was sick as hell, though. Even though it was a torture instrument.

Eventually, Gristol huffed. “Go stand in the corner and be useless, then.” He hissed, before turning back to Lizzie.

“You have two options.” He said, folding his hands behind his back once again. “Either you tell me where you got that boon, and I reward you for your compliance, or—” His eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into an ominous tone, “if you continue to defy me, then I will simply rip the answers out of you.” He grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I get what I want either way, girl, so I would suggest you become more agreeable.”

Lizzie snorted. Yeah, right. If that shell had come from a mer, then that was all the more reason to not tell Gristol anything—not that Lizzie would sell out anyone to this man. Not even her worst enemy.

Gristol scowled at her continued silence. He nodded to the Inquisitor—

Lizzie’s breath cut off as the knife dug into her skin, fire cutting through her like a million burning knives. She struggled to breathe past the pain, past the burning burning burning crawling under her skin.

The knife withdrew. A warm trickle of blood dripped down Lizzie’s chest.

Spots danced behind her eyes, her head pounding. She glared Gristol down, her mouth clenched shut. He could have her stabbed as many times as he wanted, she was not talking. Not to him.

“Again.” Gristol ordered, as a fresh wave of burning shot through Lizzie. “As many times as it takes.” He added.

Lizzie thrashed against her restraints, trying her best to keep her cool. The Inquisitor attacked her shoulder, now, pressing the flat of the blade against the skin until the smell of burnt flesh filled Lizzie’s nose. Still, Lizzie refused to scream.

“Keep at it.” Gristol decided. He turned to the mage. “Figure out what you need for a truth spell, and don’t come back until you have one.” They wasted no time in leaving the room, and Gristol made his way to the now-open door. He turned to Lizzie one last time. “I pray you’re in a better mood when I return.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Lizzie alone with the Inquisitor. She regarded Lizzie carefully, squeezing the hilt of her dagger.

Lizzie glared back.

“If simple pain won’t do the trick,” the Inquisitor mused, “Then I will simply have to wear you down.” The Inquisitor grabbed Lizzie’s face in a gloved hand, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Her grip was iron. “Hold still.”

Lizzie squirmed. The Inquisitor tsked, shifted her grip ever-so-slightly, and gently drew the tip of the blade down Lizzie’s cheek, just beside her thumb.

Lizzie gasped at the pain, her eyes widening. But she didn’t scream.

“This would be easier if you weren’t tied to a chair,” The Inquisitor groused. “But I dislike easy.” She tipped Lizzie’s face back, forcing Lizzie to look at the ceiling. The heat of the blade disappeared from her face, then, and Lizzie struggled to free herself from the Inquisitor’s grip to follow it—

The blade stabbed into her thigh. Pain burning hot scorching pain pain pain exploded in Lizzie’s leg, and her breath hitched. She breathed out a strained hiss, but she didn’t scream. She wouldn’t.

The blade swiped over her thigh, cutting through both her pants and her skin. Lizzie gasped, but she didn’t scream.

Another cut. Another swallowed scream.

The Inquisitor growled, letting go of Lizzie’s face. Lizzie struggled to breathe around the pain, her face smarting and her leg aching. There was dried blood on her collarbone. When she looked down at her leg, she could see three shallow cuts, and one deep wound. Blood was starting to trickle down her leg.

Another cut, made while the Inquisitor rifled through her pockets with her other hand. Lizzie panted, exhaustion starting to creep into her edges. But she didn’t scream.

The Inquisitor pulled out a vial, the glass shimmering in the lamplight. She popped the cork out with her thumb, and tilted to vial over Lizzie’s cuts—

Lizzie screamed.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristol returned with the mage in tow.

The truth spell didn’t take long to cast, and Lizzie didn’t have the components for a counterspell. She didn’t even have the energy—the acid in her cuts had sapped most of her strength.

Still, she grit her teeth. She couldn’t tell Gristol anything if she didn’t speak at all.

The room was starting to spin when Gristol next held up the shell. “Where did you get this? Who did you get it from?”

Lizzie glared. Words gathered in her throat. She swallowed them down—though not without effort.

The blade pressed against her thigh, and Lizzie yelped.

“I don’t know!” She blurted out, much to her own horror. No no no—don’t talk, don’t talk, stop talking.

Gristol became puce once again. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” He demanded, his voice coming out in a screech.

Lizzie stared him down, even as the answer bubbled to the surface in her mind. She didn’t know—she wasn’t even sure that mer were real. Oh, sure, she’d heard legends, and the shell certainly seemed real, but she’d never met one—not to her knowledge.

Gristol took a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The things I do for good caviar…” He muttered. Lizzie felt her hatred for him rise another notch.

“Think, girl.” Gristol urged. “Surely you at least suspect where this boon came from.” He leaned in closer, and Lizzie fought to keep her head through the dizziness. “Someone had to have given it to you, and that someone must think very highly of you.” He leaned back, tapping his chin contemplatively. “Perhaps some friend of yours? One who does not live here, but who still passes through?” He turned and paced a little bit. “Someone accomplished in magic—they’d have to be, to be a mer in disguise.” He looked at Lizzie, his face seeming to melt into the slow spin of the room around her. “Who gave you this boon?”

Lizzie didn’t know. The only people she was close enough to were Morris, who had lived in this town longer than Lizzie had; Norma, her literal sister; Sam, who was certainly an anomaly but whose family lived further inland than Lizzie’s; and—

Realization hit Lizzie like a horse had kicked her. There was only one person she could have gotten the mysterious shell from—no, there were two.

It made so much sense. Too much sense. No wonder Gisu always had rare ingredients from the ocean—she lived there. Lizzie had always thought that Gisu was a good diver, that the reason she came and went by ship—though that was probably a lie, now that Lizzie thought about it—was so that she could get her hands on the sea’s bounties. But no, Gisu had those things, those rare spells that Lizzie had never heard of before, that knowledge of the ocean because she was a mer.

And if Gisu was a mer…

Gisu was careful about what she told Lizzie. Never gave away too much. So it didn’t seem likely for her to just leave a dead giveaway like the boon—not without an explanation, at least. Which meant that it could have only come from one person.

The sting of magic pricked at Lizzie’s brain. Oh, fuck.

“I’ve got a face.” The mage said, the magic fading from their hands.

Gristol beamed. “Excellent!” He turned to the Inquisitor, pulling out a small bag. “Your payment.” He tossed the bag to her. It was a clear dismissal; the Inquisitor left without another word.

With that, Gristol turned back to the door, pocketing the shell once again. “Prepare a counterspell for transformations,” he ordered, as the mage hurried to follow behind him. Before the door closed, Lizzie heard Gristol’s ecstatic “I’m getting a mer!” as he skipped down the hall and out of view.

The door slammed shut. Lizzie trembled, her head spinning.

Gisu was a mer. Gisu lived in the ocean and probably had the entire time that Lizzie had known her. Gisu had been lying to her—

No. No, that was stupid. Of course Gisu never told her, the girl had trust issues a mile wide. And it didn’t matter where Gisu was from or what she was—she was Lizzie’s friend. Gills and fins wouldn’t change that.

And if Gisu was a mer, then that meant that Dion probably was, too. That would explain the general… everything about him, honestly. From the anxiety to the unfamiliarity with everyday conventions. Lizzie had attributed it to him being a foreign prince—and in a way, Lizzie supposed he probably was—he was just from a more aquatic kingdom than she was thinking.

Lizzie needed to get out of here. She needed to get out of here so she could get to Gisu and Dion because she needed to warn them—

Getting out of here was easier said than done, though. Lizzie had been left to her own devices, sure, but she was still tied to this chair.

The ropes were loose in some places, though, and Lizzie could faintly smell the scent of burned rope. If her whole body didn’t feel like overcooked meat, then maybe she could wriggle free. But exhaustion weighed her down, the sting of her cuts making her arms heavy.

Right. Only one thing to do, then.

Quietly, trying not to alert anyone who might be outside the door, Lizzie spoke. It was a spell that Gisu had taught her, back when they had first met—and more importantly, all it required was a fuel source. The blood trickling from Lizzie’s cuts would be enough.

“Vanish.” Lizzie urged. She felt the burn of magic on her arms—

The world complied. The ropes around her disappeared—so did the chair, bursting into dust.

Lizzie fell to the floor with a thunk. Ooookay, maybe she overdid it. But nothing else appeared to be missing, so now all she had to do was get out of here unseen. She rose to her feet on less-than-steady legs—fuck, she’d need to do something about those wounds if she wanted to get anywhere.

She had none of her protective charms. All of the healing spells she knew required ingredients she didn’t have.

“Oh, damn it all.” Lizzie yanked off her jacket and pulled off her shirt. She threw the jacket back on, grabbed her shirt, and tore. She didn’t have the resources for any healing spells, but, as she whispered reinforcement into the strips of fabric—she could still brace herself against the pain.

Her legs were still unsteady when she was done, but at least she’d be able to walk without limping (much).

Gristol had left the door unlocked. Lizzie pushed it open slowly, keeping an ear out for passing footsteps.

The hall was empty.

Carefully, one hand braced against the wall, Lizzie made her way towards the stairs. She could hear people moving about on the deck above her—someone came down the stairs, and Lizzie just barely managed to duck into a side room in time.

“Captain says we gotta get the nets ready.” They said. Lizzie didn’t hear the response, both sets of steps disappearing down the hall.

Fuck.

How the hell was she going to get off this ship at this rate? She couldn’t just walk across the deck in broad daylight.

Or… morninglight, actually, looking at the porthole across the room. The sun had cleared the horizon, but not by a whole lot.

Wait.

Lizzie crept past the bunks in the room and examined the porthole. It was just big enough to fit through, and the latch wasn’t hard to figure out. She pushed it open.

Carefully, Lizzie poked her head outside, glancing around.

The water below was dark, reflecting the light of the rising sun. The ship she was on was still moored in the harbor—Lizzie could see the docks towards the bow—so Lizzie wouldn’t have far to swim. Hopefully.

The water was going to be cold. Lizzie didn’t have her charms to protect her—but she knew how to swim, and she was good at it, too.

(Would she still be good with injured legs? With exhaustion clinging to her bones?)

There was no other choice. Lizzie needed to get out of here, and get to Gisu. She needed to warn her friend.

Lizzie inhaled, steeled herself, and took the plunge.