True enough, his skin was reddening as if from sunburn. Cortin had read that something believed strongly enough could affect the body, but this was the first time she'd seen it. She wanted to go closer, test the phenomenon further, but getting information was more important than indulging her curiosity; she stepped back instead. "Speak to me, mortal. Quickly, before the Inquisitor returns and I must leave thee to the slow, terrible death she intends for thee." Cortin had used the "good cop/bad cop" tactic before, many times—it was, for all its age, astonishingly reliable—though this was the first time she'd played both parts for one prisoner.
The man sagged in his chains. "Better you than her, I guess … what do you want to know?"
His fear was still there; Cortin read the signs easily. But she could also see defeat, almost resignation. He believed the Angel of Death, where he'd had some hope, however small, under the Inquisitor. "Tell me first of the attack planned on the holy Sisters of Succor."
He confirmed what Powell had told her, adding that the time was set for the High Mass celebrating the Order's founding, and the force involved would be about fifty men. Yes, it was to be a massacre like the one at the convalescent hospital the previous year, but he didn't know why such attacks were carried out or what the Brotherhood's purpose was; he had joined because farm life was boring and he wanted adventure. He'd tried for Enforcement, but been refused because they thought him unstable. He was quite bitter about being called unstable by a bunch of oversexed killers in uniform, and liked taking part in raids just to get back at them for the insult.
No, he didn't know how many Lawrence Shannons there were; no one did, except the Raidmaster himself and maybe the Brotherhood's High Council. Ten or fifteen, he thought, but that was only a guess. He wasn't sure whether or not the real Shannon would lead the convent raid, but he didn't think so; he'd heard rumors of a major raid around Christmas in one of the other Systems, and the Raidmaster was supposed to be working on that one. No, he didn't know any more about it; it had been only a rumor. The lesser Raidmaster on the convent job might know, yes, though he didn't think it likely. No, he didn't know who'd been Raidmaster on the hospital job; he thought probably the real one, though. That was all he knew, honestly; now he would be grateful if Lord Azrael would let him see a priest before killing him.
Cortin swore silently. She wanted to send his soul to Hell, where she was sure it belonged—but it looked like his hallucination had thrown the fear of God into him, and he was about to make a deathbed repentance. At least she wouldn't have to officiate this time, she told herself; she couldn't be Azrael and Reverend Mother Cortin at the same time. "Thou hast that right," she conceded, beckoning Bradford to join them. Blast it, from now on she'd simply have to make it a point to have Mike or Dave nearby, in case it happened again!
When Bradford entered, Cortin left the room. She didn't care to even witness a Brother's repentance and forgiveness, though she admitted unhappily to herself that she would carry them out again if she had to; she simply wouldn't like doing it, any more than she had the first time.
She took advantage of the break to use the red phone and pass along the additional information she'd gotten—not to His Majesty directly this time; the one who answered didn't sound at all familiar, and promised to pass it along as soon as His Majesty was free. Then she waited, with growing impatience, for Bradford to finish with her subject.
What, in God's Most Holy Name, was going on in there? Surely it couldn't take this long to confess even a Brother's obviously-lengthy list of sins, then receive absolution and Extreme Unction!
When Bradford finally emerged, he was smiling. "He's all yours, Joan. Nice job you did, getting the information and saving a soul—that doesn't happen often. Of course, not many Inquisitors have the help of a blazing Angel of Death, either."