((Private))
Emperor Ferran VI stared out the window of the country estate, watching the rain pelt against the glass. The weather fit his mood. Dark, tormented, cold. How had he ended up like this? He could barely remember a time when he was happy. Faint memories of his youth in Leon, every day spent with his wife with not a care in the world. The attempt on his father's life had changed that. His brother Jaume had decided to flee abroad; Ferran had fled within himself. It was easier to ignore the pain when he ignored the suffering around him. Joan had forced him to finally face the fact that he could not ignore the world around him. It'd been a hard lesson, one that had drained him until there was little left. He felt so tired these days, tired of struggling through every problem that reared his head. Riots, fires, disease, and death. His daughter's death still weighed heavily on him. That was why he was in this dreadful place.
A knock on the door broke through the sound of the pouring rain. Ferran waited for a servant to get the door, but then remembered that he had not brought any with him. They did not need to know the details of this meeting. He had only his most trusted guards with him. With a sigh, Ferran paced towards the door, trying not to take in too many details of the manor. This was where Joan had kept his father for years while his mind faded away. The atmosphere still had a sense of loss to it and Ferran hated to be reminded of his father's fate. Still, this estate was remote and less known than his others, making it an ideal place for a clandestine meeting.
Two guards stood next to the front door, neither moving even as another knock came from the door. They were paid to keep him safe, and unwelcome guests could be threats. Even welcome ones could be as well. Ferran nodded for them to open the door. One guard pulled it open and let the guests inside. Three men wearing identical thick cloaks stomped in, trying to get the water out of their boots. Between them they dragged a unshaven man with his hands bound behind his back. One of the cloaked men gave a slight bow. "Where should we put him?"
Ferran guided them into the other room and waved to an oak chair against the wall. The cloaked men roughly shoved their captive into the chair. He let out a grunt, but otherwise kept a gruff look on his face. He spat out the side of his mouth in contempt. Hopefully this man would not deny him his answers or there would be trouble.
"Let's start with something simple," the Emperor said. "Who hired you?"
The captive stared at the far wall, barely blinking as if trying to maintain his focus on something that wasn't there. Ferran waved at one of the cloaked men and he slapped the prisoner across the face.
"I don't want to have to repeat myself. Who hired you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," the man said in a thick Greek accent. He snorted and spat on the floor again.
Ferran took in a deep breath, trying to remain calm. He was not in the mood for games. "My men here discovered that you were the one who arranged for new mechanics for the Santa Catalina." Ferran stepped over to a nearby desk, grabbed some documents off the top, and waved them in front of the man's face. Most of them were singed or partly burnt. "You tried to destroy them, but it appears you weren't so thorough. Your misfortune is my good luck. Now tell me why you arranged this transfer?"
The captive looked away and yawned. Ferran gave a wave to the cloaked men and one of them slapped the man again.
Trying his best to contain his temper, Ferran returned to the desk and fetched another document, this one still in perfect shape. He held it before the man's eyes, although it was clear he wasn't bothering to try to read it. "This here is a coroner's report for an unknown vagrant found dead in Constantinople. Perhaps he may have remained as such if my men here had not snooped deep enough. For some strange reason, this beggar who seems to have died in the streets was actually the head mechanic of the Santa Catalina. Now how did a Hispanian mechanic end up dressed as a beggar in Constantinople without anyone noticing?"
"I ain't saying nothing," the man said with a sneer.
"So you know something, but you choose not to speak." The Emperor glared down at the man, but he seemed unfazed. After a staring contest lasting several seconds, Ferran glanced to the cloaked men. "Very well. Break his fingers."
The captive's eyes flashed, but otherwise he remained passive. As one of the men grabbed his hand, he glanced up at the Emperor. He must have seen the dead serious expression and blazing fury in Ferran's eyes because his demeanour immediately changed. He began to squirm and tried to get out of the chair. "Okay, I'll talk. Just leave my fingers alone."
Ferran nodded and the cloaked man withdrew.
The prisoner licked his lips, staring down at the floor. "I was the one who arranged for the new mechanics. I forged the paperwork to get them on-board and arranged for the Hispanian mechanics to disappear. I was told they were to be ransomed afterwards, not killed, I swear."
Ferran's hands were clenched so tightly that his fingers were beginning to ache. His intense glare was making the captive cower before him, but he did not care if the man was intimidated or scared. He was so close to getting his answers. "And the boiler? Was it to be sabotaged?"
"I don't know anything about that, I swear," the man said, squirming in his seat. "I was just told to get those men on the ship. I wasn't told what they were to do once on there."
"Who told you to do it?" Ferran asked, wrapping his fingers around the armrests of the captive's chair and leaning in so close he could smell the man's foul breath.
The captive fidgeted and looked away. "I can't tell you. He'll kill me."
"Who?" Ferran felt like the armrests would snap in his hands he was squeezing them so tightly.
"I can't..."
The Emperor had had enough. His hand shot out and he wrapped his fingers around the man's neck with both hands. He was old and likely couldn't do much damage, but the man had his hands bound and could barely struggle against his grasp. "Who murdered my daughter?"
The prisoner struggled to break free, but the cloaked men moved in and held him down. His face started to turn a shade of blue and his eyelids fought to stay open. When it seemed he was ready to pass out, he gurgled out a word the Emperor could not understand. When Ferran realized the man could not speak while being choked, he released his grip. The captive gasped for air for several second, tears coming to his eyes.
After the man had enough time to catch his breath, Ferran leaned in close and whispered, "Who killed my daughter?"
Silence filled the room, then a single word was uttered, so quiet it nearly startled the Emperor when it was finally spoken. "Adrianos."
A flurry of emotions consumed Ferran in that instance. Rage, sadness, vindication, but mostly a thirst for revenge. He had been right all along. The Basileus had murdered his daughter. Yet he could not go ahead unless he was certain. He turned back to the man. "Are you absolutely certain it was him?"
"Yes," the captive said after letting out a resigned sigh. "He met with me in secret and told me to arrange for his men to get on-board as mechanics. He never said why, but I suspected it was nothing good."
"And yet you still did it anyway."
The man flinched at the barb directed his way. "He was a prince. A smart man does not refuse royalty."
"No, they do not," Ferran said, taking in all that had been said so far. He knew what he had to do, but was not certain if he could do it. He had to prepare himself, both physically and mentally, for what was to come. Without looking back, he left the room, done with the prisoner now that he had what he wanted.
One of the cloaked men followed the Emperor out. "What should we do with him, Your Imperial Highness? Shall I dispose of him?"
Ferran thought about it for a moment. "No. Lock him up somewhere and make sure he is cared for. Try to get as much information out of him as you can. He is not to be killed under any circumstances. We may have need of him as a witness later."
With that done, the Emperor prepared to depart for Valencia. The rain continued to pour down as he stepped into his carriage and began the journey back to the capital. He had much to dwell on during the trip. The Basileus had murdered his daughter. Deep down he had known it and the conversation he had just had made him believe it even more. There were still some holes, for he had no proof the men planted on that ship had actually caused the boiler explosion, but everything pointed to the fact that Adrianos had been up to something suspicious. He would get the truth. But more importantly, he would get revenge.
((I likely won't be logging on to Paradox for the next day or two, so don't be surprised if I don't respond for some time. As for this post, this is just the result of the investigation roll I conducted right before the update. No one knows the results except for the Emperor. I'll take the next step once I have time.))
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