Gavin tried to look down into the oubliette, but his eyes couldn’t get past the unevenness of the bars. There were twelve vertical and eleven horizontal bars from his vantage, and it was impossible to ignore the crude masonry.
Perhaps it is deliberate, to denigrate and shame the occupant.
The occupant did not seem shamed. L’Marc was fifteen feet below him, and Gavin still felt that he was sneering down his nose at him. He was stripped bare, his skin hanging loose and wrinkled with age. Fresh and old scars criss-crossed his chest, and his eyes were swollen shut, but the man’s pride was unfazed.
“The king has named me Sovereign on the Unblemished.” Gavin breathed deep as he heard his voice warble.
“Then you are no Sovereign of mine.” L’Marc gestured at his broken body.
Gavin clasped his hands at the small of his back. “I came to see if you were interested in an exchange.”
The naked man scoffed. “What could I have that would interest you.”
“You said the ships would come.” Gavin sucked on his cheeks and pulled the juice from the mint leaves onto his tongue. He let the flavor of mint wash out that of decay for a moment.
“At the time it was my belief that Gallia would continue to seek trade. However, if the harbors are empty, I hardly see what can be done about it in this state.”
“I will get you clothes.” Gavin spit. “Better food.” He stepped forward. “It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“The way things are is always the way things have to be. I saw possibilities in you, Gavin Llanarth.” L’Marc sat down and crossed his legs. “Now I see only fear. What would help you feel safe?”
“Your Guild offices were seized, there was no information to be found. The cabinets were empty, and the ledgers and all paperwork was gone. Hopwhist and Plumm have both fled the city, and their offices were in a similar state.”
“That’s a strange coincidence to occur at the time of my imprisonment.” L’Marc leaned back until his head was on the stone floor. “Goodbye Gavin.” He closed his eyes.