Nuerotoxin

The wisdom tooth at the back of my lower left jaw is hollow. I’d drilled the deep thin hole myself with a tool I forged specially for the purpose. That tooth contains a fine needle coated with a poison that eats away at a person’s will, making them malleable enough to obey another’s commands. It is a poison to which I have built up an immunity over many years by taking very small doses and increasing them steadily; thus I can store the poisoned needle in my mouth without suffering any adverse effects.

I flicked aside the false top of the tooth with the tip of my tongue and sucked the needle out of the cavity. A second later it was positioned between my lips. I had practised this manoeuvre many times, but the needle was tiny and the guard still some distance away from me: success was far from certain.

At the last moment he started to turn away. Some instinct of self-preservation must have made him aware of danger. But he was too late. I spat the needle towards him with great force and it embedded itself in the side of his neck, just below his right ear. He staggered and almost fell, and a look of bewilderment settled across his face.

‘Look at me!’ I urged. ‘Listen to all I say and obey every word without question!’

The guard stared at me. The poison had already taken effect. He was breathing noisily with his mouth open, and saliva was dribbling from his lower lip and dripping from his chin.

‘Release me from my chains!’ I commanded.

He came forward and did as I asked, but the poison made his movements slow, and he fumbled with the key. At any moment the priest might take Thorne’s thumb-bones, but I had to stay calm and patient and wait to be released.

B9 C17