Chapter 31

The interrogation room was small but fit for its purpose. It smelled of damp, human waste and the metallic tang of blood. There was room enough for two men – three if you counted the man currently strapped to the rack. Gilles Garnier, the accused werewolf of Dole, had been his captive for three weeks. Pierre felt a tremor in his arms and legs. Whether from excitement or nerves, he could not say.

‘I am Pierre de Lancre,’ he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. ‘You stand accused—’ He paused. He had committed the words to memory last night. ‘You stand accused of homicide committed on the persons of several children, devouring these in the form of a werewolf, and of other crimes and offences pertaining to werewolfery and sorcery. What do you say to this accusation?’

The man, who lay horizontally at Pierre’s feet, his wrists and ankles bound to the wooden contraption, said nothing. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, trying to lift his head to look at his arms and legs.

‘Gilles Garnier,’ Pierre said, placing his face close to the bound man’s head. ‘If you confess, this will all be over much more quickly. You will be assured of a swift trial and an easy death.’

‘Where am I? Where’s Apolline? Apolline!’ Garnier called out.

‘He won’t stop calling her name,’ said Gendarme Nicolas Soret. Pierre had insisted on the young gendarme being witness to this interrogation, given his disgraceful cowardice and insubordination in running away from the raid on the home of Baroness de Montargent.

‘He’s lost his mind,’ Gendarme Soret said. ‘If he ever had it to begin with.’

That won’t do at all , Pierre thought. A man must freely confess his crimes. ‘Then we must bring him back to his body,’ Pierre said, turning to the gendarme. ‘Perform your duty.’

Gendarme Soret looked from Pierre to the bound man and back again.

‘Is there a problem?’ Pierre asked.

‘I’ve never seen a device like this before. I don’t know what to do.’

Pierre wasn’t entirely sure himself. He knew a great deal about the rack – academically. He certainly knew what it did to the body of a man. But how to operate it? Surely there must be some sort of lever or pulley?

‘Is that all?’ Pierre said. ‘It’s very easy, I assure you. Come here.’ He discreetly looked around for the operating mechanism. ‘You see here, here, here and here?’ Pierre gestured to the points where Garnier’s wrists were chained to one roller and his ankles fastened to the other. ‘Each of these shackles is attached to this ingenious ratchet mechanism. All you need to do is turn that wheel over there; do you see it?’

‘I see it.’

‘Good. Then proceed.’

Gendarme Soret approached the wheel with caution. He avoided looking at Garnier. Placing both hands upon the wheel, he glanced at Pierre for approval. Having received it, he gripped the wheel with both hands and turned.

Garnier groaned and the gendarme jumped back.

Pierre swallowed twice and then repeated his words. ‘Gilles Garnier. You stand accused of homicide committed on the persons of several children, devouring these in the form of a werewolf, and of other crimes and offences. Do you confess?’

‘She didn’t do anything. Leave her alone!’ Garnier moaned.

‘Continue,’ Pierre instructed the gendarme.

Gendarme Soret’s hands trembled as he placed them on the wheel. He closed his eyes. He turned the wheel again.

The bound man screamed, a raw and strangled sound, his limbs straining against the bindings. The skin pulled cruelly as it began to tear and bleed, and his eyes bulged as he gasped for air.

‘It’s not right,’ Gendarme Soret said. ‘He doesn’t understand what you’re saying. How can you expect a confession? This isn’t justice. I won’t be a part of it.’ He ran from the room and Pierre heard his feet retreating up the stairs.

Pierre eyed the wheel. Seconds turned into minutes.

‘My son.’ Father Ignace had made no sound as he came down the stairs. Dressed all in black, he had appeared in the gloom like a phantom. ‘Have you elicited a confession?’

Sweat sprouted on Pierre’s forehead and he averted his eyes in shame. ‘No, Father. I ... I do not know if I can do this.’

The priest came to stand beside him, lending him his strength. ‘This container of flesh harbours a soul that already belongs to the Devil. This is not a man, and you must not see him as such.’

The problem for Pierre was that Gilles Garnier looked every part a man.

‘He is deceiving me?’

‘He is manipulating you. He is taking advantage of your humanity. Yet I know you are strong. You have seen what this beast did to those innocent children. Look to his teeth. They tore and consumed human flesh. And those hands? They removed a child’s leg. Keep those images in your mind, as well as the faces of the grieving mothers who will never again hold their children in their arms. Continue.’

Father Ignace stepped back into the shadows, but Pierre could still feel his presence.

‘Confess,’ Pierre said to Garnier. ‘Confess and this will all be over.’

No words were offered in reply.

Once , he thought. He could turn the wheel once. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he focused only on the task at hand. It took greater strength than he had anticipated. He gripped the wheel tight and turned it a fraction. Then came a sound that he knew would haunt him through many sleepless nights – the distinct pop as limbs separated from their sockets.

Garnier vomited. The foul-smelling liquid flowed from his mouth and onto his beard. He writhed against his bonds. ‘Apolline!’ he cried.

‘If his screams are loud enough, she will hear him,’ Father Ignace said.

Pierre’s head snapped up. ‘They have captured the wife?’

Garnier moaned.

‘This morning,’ the priest said.

‘Do you hear that?’ Pierre moved as close to Gilles Garnier as he could bear. ‘We have your wife. It will be better for her if you confess.’ Pierre did not realise he had been holding his breath until the man before him nodded.

‘I confess. Anything. Leave Apolline alone.’

Pierre walked back up the stairs with heavy legs but a heart as light as air. He walked straight into Capitaine Vasseur’s office and collapsed onto a chair. ‘It’s done. He confessed.’

‘Were there any witnesses?’ Capitaine Vasseur asked.

‘Father Ignace. Your gendarme fled. Again.’

‘So be it,’ the capitaine said with a heavy sigh. ‘We’ll set a date for the trial. Prosecutor Camus will hurry through the trial, and Gilles Garnier will be executed within the month.’

‘Surely we need time to assemble the ecclesiastical court?’

Capitaine Vasseur stared at him. ‘That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it? Power and ceremony. You’ll get neither. The Duke of Alba wants efficiency and effectiveness from the parliament. And get it he shall. Your werewolf was captured in the form of a man; that’s murder, not werewolfery. The sentence is the same, but it’ll be delivered through the secular courts. Your services – such as they were – are no longer needed. As for your Father Ignace, he can keep his grubby hands off this case.’

Pierre pursed his lips as if he had tasted something sour. This news was not unexpected. As neither the prosecutor nor a member of the Church, he had no official role at either the secular or ecclesiastical court. If he wished to build upon the reputation he had already established in Dole, he needed to hunt another opportunity – one closer to his heart.

‘What of the wife, Apolline Garnier?’ Pierre asked.

‘What of her?’

‘Did you arrest her?’

‘I have to find her first. Now get out of my sight.’

Pierre left, wondering why Father Ignace had lied to him about arresting the wife. A moment of doubt clouded his judgement before he realised that the lie had not been told to him; it had been told in front of the prisoner. And it had resulted in a confession.

There could be no harm in a lie performed in the service of God.