Lillet looked up at the forbidding wall of Bastion Dunjon-Keep with a shiver. It was a grim and depressing place, spawned both from its appearance and from Lillet's knowledge of its purpose. Unquiet spirits seemed to linger in the black stone, generations of those who had died within the prison's walls during its two hundred and fifty years of existence. Even the knowledge that the vast majority of those within had chosen this fate by their own acts, as the kingdom was fundamentally sound and Her Majesty's rule a just one, was not enough to soothe the chill she felt.
Her nervousness, however, did not stop her from walking directly to the main gate.
"Who goes there?" a man challenged from the guardhouse window.
"Royal Magician Lillet Blan, to see the warden." She held up her seal of office to prove her identity.
"She with you?" asked the guard.
He meant Amoretta, of course. Lillet's lover had insisted on coming with her, not wanting to be left alone. Amoretta always wanted to be together whenever they could, and under the current circumstances Lillet could hardly blame her. When any moment could be their last one together, neither wanted to waste any time by being apart.
Stop that! she told herself harshly. You're not going to let that happen!
"Yes, she is."
The heavy outer portcullis of the gatehouse raised and they stepped inside. It came down again, settling into place with an ominous thud before the inner gate opened in turn. At no time was an open, direct channel in place between the inside of the prison and the world outside.
"I don't like this place," Amoretta said. "It's filled with an aura of despair. There is no hope or redemption here, just evil growing fat on itself." She clutched at her shoulders as if hugging herself and shuddered. Lillet lay a hand over hers.
"Are you going to be all right?"
"Yes, so long as you're with me."
"All right, then, just stay close." Lillet supposed it was the angel's spirit inside Amoretta that made her so sensitive to the environment. Then again, an ordinary homunculus possessed remarkable psychic perceptions, capable of bridging the physical and astral worlds. Maybe Amoretta's creator had given her some of that ability as well.
Another guard was waiting to escort them within the inner portcullis. He rechecked Lillet's seal of office, then led her to the heavy iron main doors of the Pit. He gave a password to the door guard, who admitted them, then led the way to the warden's office. It was the highest room in the prison, as if the warden perched atop it like a bird, or as if the room was the cork in a giant bottle.
Warden Bacard Ancola himself was a thin, weedy gentleman of no more than forty-five but whose fussy manner made him seem ten or even fifteen years older than his years. His thinning, mouse-colored hair swept dramatically back from a widow's peak that was only emphasized by his encroaching baldness. His face was cadaverous, with sunken cheekbones and thin, almost papery skin.
"Royal Magician Blan," he greeted her after the guard's introduction. "I've heard good things about you."
"Thank you, Warden."
"Can't say the same back, can you? Well, no surprise. It's a thankless job, this is. Prisons are like the prisoners themselves; society doesn't want to know they exist. Some overseas penal colony would suit them better than having Bastion in the capital. But it's vital, you know. Let them run free, and we'd have anarchy, murder, and mayhem in the streets. And if not freedom and not prison, then what? The alternative is too horrid to contemplate; if we sank that low, law and justice would be a joke, nothing more."
"We can agree on that, at least."
"There, you see my point. Now, what can I do for you? Not that you and your friend aren't charming but there is much to do, much to do. Hard work, keeping order in a place this size, full up of the vicious and desperate. These men were little better than animals when they came, and imprisonment reduces them even further. Vigilance, stern vigilance, is the only antidote."
Lillet could well imagine how men trapped, however justly, in the black depths of this dungeon could turn on one another, particularly in the common population where a blanket, a scrap of food, or a safe night's sleep were all commodities to be fought over. The temptation to corruption among the staff, too, must have been terrible. Stern vigilance, indeed.
"I'd like to speak to a prisoner, if that's possible."
"Well, now, it may or may not be. What does it concern?"
"It's an official inquiry," she lied. Well, it's not entirely a lie, since it does concern my official position and a crime on palace grounds. "There's a man who was convicted of trying to steal from me. I need to ask him some questions about that theft."
Warden Ancola nodded.
"I'm certain that would be possible. Your status as a Royal Magician carries that authority."
"Um...thanks. His name is Runcifer Beammest."
"Very well; I'll have him brought to...Beammest, did you say?" The warden suddenly looked uncomfortable.
"Yes. Is something wrong?"
"That name..."
He got up from his desk, went to a file cabinet, and opened the top drawer. From the neatly arrayed sheaves of paper his fingers deftly located a single sheet, which his eyes skimmed down until he apparently found what he sought, for he gave a dissatisfied exhalation, "Hmh!"
"Warden Ancola, what is it?"
"I thought so," he murmured, almost to himself, then turned back to Lillet. "The name sounded familiar, you see, but not because I was aware of his history. I regret very much that you will not be able to speak with Prisoner Beammest, Miss Blan."
"Why not?"
"It seems that Prisoner Beammest committed suicide six days ago."
"Suicide!"
"He stabbed himself with a hand-made knife of the type regrettable made in the general prison population. Obviously we strive to confiscate such things as often as we can find them, but there is only so much that can be done. This thief either came to deeply regret his actions, or more likely simply did not believe he could endure his term of imprisonment and chose to end his life. His body went unclaimed so he was buried in potter's field."
I doubt it, Lillet thought, recalling the mocking face of the thief from the break-in. He's not the kind to kill himself--more likely he'd be plotting an escape. It can't be coincidence that he's dead; whomever stole Amoretta's flask probably got information from him, then killed him so he couldn't tell anybody else about it.
It was the only thing that made sense. Lillet and Amoretta didn't go around advertising that Amoretta was a homunculus, but the one who had her flask clearly knew it. Beammest might not have understood what he'd seen, but any magician who'd heard his story would know its significance if they'd had even an apprentice's knowledge of alchemy.
That whomever it was had gotten into the Pit to interrogate Beammest was further evidence of their competence. That they'd killed the thief to cover their tracks told Lillet that they were ruthless and what steps they were willing to take.
She hadn't believed that they were bluffing before, but now she was absolutely convinced they weren't. Whatever these people wanted of her, if she didn't deliver they would shatter Amoretta's flask without a qualm.
"Was there anything else I could do for you, Miss Blan?" Ancola asked.
"Um...no, no, there's nothing else."
"Well, then, I am sorry we could not be of more service to you. Tragic, I know, but they will do it." He clucked his tongue and repeated, "They will do it." Lillet was uncertain whether he meant prisoners dying in general or suicide specifically. She thought of suggesting that it likely wasn't a suicide, but didn't see how that would be of any help to her.
They took their leave of the warden, who summoned another guard to show them out. It wasn't the same man, but it might as well have been: powerful, burly, and cruel-faced. The prison staff reminded Lillet somewhat of how familiars were usually summoned, by type and function rather than as individuals. More often than not one fairy or unicorn was the same as any other from the magician's perspective.
"I'm so glad to be out of there," Amoretta said once the outer gate had closed behind them. She'd been silent for nearly the whole visit, either content to let Lillet take the lead or too uncomfortable to speak up.
"Me, too," Lillet agreed.
Amoretta frowned.
"You don't seem relieved."
Of course, she was right, being sensitive to Lillet's mood more than anything else. Bastion was oppressive, but after all it wasn't Lillet who had to be scared of it. Rather, her prison was the one that went with her everywhere, the fear that at any moment Amoretta would be snatched away.
"I'm just nervous," she said. "I'm scared of what might happen to you, and what we just found out makes it worse." She took Amoretta's hand; feeling her there, the evidence of her tangible presence, was reassuring somehow.
"Good thinking," a voice croaked. Lillet swiveled around; it had come from above and to the right. A dead tree stood there, its limbs long and bare like skeletal fingers, and there was a crow perched on one branch--only it wasn't a crow.
"Who sent you?" she addressed the familiar. Most likely it was a minor devil given an animal's shape, not unlike Amoretta's cat. That it wasn't a natural animal she recognized at once, and should have sensed before it spoke had she not been so emotionally occupied.
The crow cawed, then spoke again.
"You don't really think I'm going to answer that, do you? All you need to know is that my master holds your pretty homunculus' life by a thread."
"So you're delivering the message we were told to expect?"
"That's right. My master thought you might be here today." It gestured at the bulk of the prison with two quick flicks of its head. "That's good. It means you're as smart as my master thinks, to have made the connection right away. You'll need to be smart in order to get us what we want from you." It fluffed its wings, emphasizing the slightly unkempt look of its feathers, like it had been out in the rain even though there hadn't been any for days. "It also tells you we're serious about what we say."
"I didn't doubt it."
"Oh, yes you did. You hoped it right enough. People always hope. You said to yourself, 'maybe they're only bluffing,' or 'they might not have the resolve to kill.' Now you know there's no bluff."
"What are you, some leftover minion of the Archmage?"
"Now that'd be telling. I already said that I wouldn't answer that question." It hopped along the branch. "I suggest that you pay more attention to the instructions I'm about to give you, or you'll end up in quite the pickle. Ready, Lillet Blan?"
Lillet sighed.
"I'm ready."
"Much better. Now, our late friend whom you came to visit today had a trinket, when he was alive and well. A little toy that let him walk right past the nastiest wards and trap-spells without setting them off."
"The Amulet of the Hidden Eye."
"The very same. It was taken from him when the guards arrested him. My master has taken a fancy to this trinket. You will procure it for us and deliver it to me tomorrow afternoon."
"Tomorrow!" Lillet yelped.
"Indeed. We so dislike ditherers, so you can just hop right to it."
"But how are we--" she started incredulously, but the crow cut her off.
"Maybe you don't quite understand, Lillet Blan. You're going to use your ingenuity to find a way, or your darling Amoretta won't be there to keep you warm at night."
Lillet flinched, a bad mistake in negotiating with someone like the crow familiar, but there was nothing for it.
"How do we deliver the amulet when we have it?"
"Well, finally, a sensible question." It tucked its head and plucked at its feathers in a parody of grooming, but only succeeded in making the condition worse. After a few seconds it stopped and turned back to Lillet. "Bring it to the statue of Athena in Three Oaks Park. I'll meet you there at three tomorrow. And don't try anything stupid, because then nobody gets what they want. Well, except me; I think it'd be fun to watch you cry." It gave a raucous series of caws like laughter, then leapt into the air.
"That bird's even nastier than Margarita's toad," Lillet muttered, thinking of one of the Archmage's minions.
"Are you going to do what it says?"
"I don't think that I have a choice."
"There's always a choice," Amoretta pointed out. "They just don't want you to think there is."
"All right, but if the other option is letting you die then there isn't a choice. Especially not over some magical toy that I could probably make one of if they gave me a couple of weeks."
"Do you know where it is?"
"Oh, sure. We have it--I mean, the Royal House of Magic does. The court gave it to the magicians to study how it was put together. Amulets like that could be valuable for our scouts and spies if they can be mass-produced. Basically, we're going to do the same thing Beammest used it for--to steal from the palace magicians."
"Just be careful, Lillet. He got caught."
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NOTES: Just one new name this time; Bacard Ancola is the second use of Bacardi in this story, which is odd since neither I nor anyone I know drinks the stuff, with or without cola!
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