“This here’s a cat, boy. As you can see, it ain’t no small animal. Now, there is
a skill and a talent to usin’ a cat, both of which I am proud to say I have. You
see, you need to take care the thongs don’t get all stuck together with blood
and skin, which they’re wont to do. If that happens, the cat’ll take yer organs
right out, and that’s always a bad thing. So you need to run your fingers
between the thongs every couple of strokes, to keep ’em separate. I gotta tell
you— as much pride as I take in usin’ the cat, sometimes I lose track. I try to
keep count, but before I know it, I plumb forgot to clean the damn thing. I
surely hope that don’t happen today.”
“I also have a skill and a talent, and I will kill you with it,” René said in a low
voice.
The man hesitated, confusion written across his face. He laughed a quick
bark followed by an angry shake of his head.
“Pay attention, boy.” He raised the whip before René’s face, separated the
thongs of the cat, and petted it in a sensual way. “Turn him around, and chain
him up. You there, strip off his shirt.”
A stroke cracked against René’s back, sending blood and skin flying. “It
usually takes me ten or twenty strokes to get warmed up, so don’t get too
excited yet.”
You have my attention now.
René centered himself and forced down his awareness of the pain. He
counted on his estimation of the captain and Gaspard’s instructions. If he was
wrong, he would be too hurt to try anything.
“Two.”
The whip cracked and pain sang along the bloody stripe down his back. René
refused to cry out. He needed the respect of these men if he was to survive.
“Three.”
Crack.
Blood trickled down the back of his legs. Time wavered, and he faded in and
out.
“Ten.”
Crack.