Chapter 20: Bad Business Practices Part 2

The bad-gir lurched to its feet and rushed the barrier, Brett’s faintly flickering purple crown of light flaring to bright life at the influx of pain and energy. Brett batted at the barrier in a useless fury as it snarled at the electricity arcing between its teeth and causing the jaws to twitch. After a few moments of futile swipes at the barrier, the bad-gir collapsed as its screams rose in pitch, and convulsions rendered it immobile.

Beckle observed as the other two mobs in containment screeched at the treatment. They had less fight to them, and their twitching forms of violent flailing caused him to adjust the magic flowing to their containers so less electricity accosted them.

It wouldn’t do to damage them unduly. Far too valuable.

Beckle’s expression did not change as the three mobs in the containers before him twitched and screamed. He let the noise continue before lowering the flow of magic, and the lightning gradually faded as the mob’s bodies twitched.

The interloper’s smaller white-furred bodies twitched more spasmodically than the bad-gir but with less smoke wafting from their convulsing forms. The bad-gir was the first to stop twitching and struggled to its feet with red eyes from burst blood vessels. It looked about to attack the barrier again but jerked to a stop.

Beckle smirked.

He is more intelligent than he looks, if still slower than he should be.

“Welcome back to Purpolis, Prince Brett.”

The two interlopers had recovered enough to stand in their containers. The larger one watched the unfolding situation with a sharp gaze. The more juvenile of the pair retreated to a corner of its prison, as far away from everything that was going on as possible. Beckle was not surprised that it started to make soft mewling sounds of fear and despair. Brett glanced at the crying interloper with distaste before answering Beckle.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“You have been captured by one of our guild Novices as you and your contingent of distant relatives failed to live up to your boasts. The limited opportunity given to you and yours was evidently beyond your capabilities.”

Brett’s lips pulled up into a snarl as his muzzle snapped at Beckle’s words. One of his paws strayed toward a hip where a line of fur was a slightly different color than the rest of his pelt. The older white-furred interloper in prison beside Brett’s took a few wary steps away from the wall closest to the Bad-gir.

“What are you talking about, Beckle? We were supposed to have no interference from you.”

“As I have previously pointed out to your father, Brett. I did not directly influence the events that unfolded. You screwed this up all on your own. The deaths of your eager family members and your subsequent capture are all on your head.”

“Bullshit, you are the grandmaster of the guild. You have direct control of your guild members.”

“Incorrect, monster. I am the grandmaster of the Knowet-alls. I have no control over how policy is enforced. Only some say in what is set in place. And I would be remiss if I did not thank you.”

“What?”

“Your failed attempt at establishing the colony you so desperately wanted allowed my guild an opportunity. Your failed attempt directly resulted in no less than four promotions for my people and, with the proper management of how the details are given to the public, will help grow our reputation.

“So, thank you for that. I would recommend against trying to do what you are about to do. It won’t help your situation.”

Beckle pressed another button on the console he was seated at, and three metallic clawed appendages extruded silently from the wall behind Brett on long segmented arms. The bad-gir didn’t show any notice of the movement behind him. Both interlopers stared at the arms floating silently behind the bad-gir.

Brett snarled defiance at the knowet-all sitting smugly before him and plunged his paw into the seam of different colored fur at his hip. He withdrew a large warhammer inscribed in runes that glowed with a scarlet power. Grasping the weapon with both paws, he swung mightily at the barrier, eager to break through the flimsy wall of nothing separating him from his foe.

The scene of a giant bad-gir furiously swinging a warhammer nearly the size of its own body might have been intimidating if the act had done anything to affect the barrier in front of it.

The weapon bounced uselessly off the shimmering wall of the bad-gir’s prison before being snatched by one of the clawed arms. Brett snarled at the theft of the mighty weapon he had negotiated for as a trump card before this debacle had started.

Beckle sighed in disappointment as the remaining arms inside the prison quickly subdued the snarling bad-gir and raised him by his front paws. Brett’s snarls rose to a squealing shriek as his appendages were stretched beyond the limit, and the flesh at his shoulders started to tear.

“Such a disappointment. Had you utilized that tool in the encounter with my guild members, you may have been able to escape at least. A pity. Well, we can at least recover some of those materials.”

Beckle pressed another series of buttons on the console, and the arm holding the warhammer withdrew into the wall. Two more clawed appendages extruded from the wall to grasp the bad-girs hind limbs and hoisted him fully off the floor.

A portion of the bad-gir’s prison floor sank a few inches and slid to the side. The opening revealed a whirling mass of circular blades that emitted a soft whir. Both of the white-furred interlopers looked to the floor beneath them in panic. Sarah’s dulcet tones echoed around the room.

“Subject Brett is ready for harvest. Please issue the activation code phrase to continue. Caution is advised; deactivating containment prior to the procedure being complete will place you inside the splash zone.”

Beckle observed the suspended bad-gir and asked a question.

“Sarah, what is the projected increase in efficiency of the procedure had Brett and his family members succeeded in the colony establishment?”

“Estimated increase in efficiency of subject Brett being harvested after the prerequisite time frame of growth and stability being fulfilled would be sixteen percent, Grandmaster.”

Beckle ineffectually stroked his unkempt beard to straighten it as he considered the information. He spoke to Sarah again as Brett continued shrieking in pain at the mechanical appendages pulling at his limbs.

“Estimated loss in processing the excess magical corruption?”

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“Negligible, Grandmaster. Upon further review with newly allocated data afforded by the capture of subject Winnie, the loss of the projected drain is deemed a net gain. This is only viable if subject Winnie is successfully integrated into the system. The magic shunted from her initial processing will fund most of the projected process of harvesting the subject, Brett. ”

The smaller interloper was visibly growing more distraught as the shrieking continued. The older interloper was chittering at the younger in what sounded to Beckle like reassurance.

Beckle spoke again over Brett’s continued shrieking.

“More disappointment. Wonderful. Activation authorized. Confirmation code, just get on with it.”

“Confirmed, beginning harvest.”

A shudder went through the structure of the facility as runes around the surrounding walls of the room lit up, powered by magic funneled through the facility toward the purpose of a harvest. Those in the cafeteria seven floors above hardly looked up from their meals.

The clawed limbs of the bad-gir were forced behind its body in a cruel exertion of the appendages holding it in place. Its body was oriented toward the whirling blades below it. The scribe mannequins along the wall vastly increased the rate at which they were scribbling.

Another panel in the rear wall of the prison slid to the side, and a platform of stone extruded from the space within with a trio of tiny wizened figures wearing small golden collars at its center. Their black robes shined with tiny runes of arcane nature that were an organized contrast to those on the robes of Beckle. A small cauldron of bubbling and hissing green liquid was centered between all three figures, floating above a circular bed of green flames with no visible source.

All three tiny, wizened figures threw back their hoods to reveal leathery, scrunched, impish faces with sharp teeth and wrinkled brown skin. The trio of creatures extended limbs toward the cauldron as they chanted in squeaky voices that rang of dark intent.

A third panel slid open at floor level, and a distinctly rat-like creature, wearing a copper collar around its neck, exited from the space. It was bearing a long set of rune-covered metal tongs banging behind it as it scurried forward to the pit's edge.

Taking the tongs into its malformed paws, it reached toward the suspended bad-gir and grasped cruelly with the tongs at the discolored fur along the bad-gir’s hip. More runes along the lengths of the tongs started to glow as Brett’s shrieks rose in volume.

A stream of aetheric mist grew from the cauldron between the trio of impish figures and extended to cover the struggling bad-gir. It coated the beast in a thin glowing layer of mist that gathered in glowing points of light at his hip joint with the discolored fur. A rising crescendo of shouted chanting from the robed impish figures and the bad-girs leg was severed from his body with a squelching pop that caused Beckle to gag a little as Brett’s shrieks echoed through the chamber.

“I’ll never get used to that noise.”

The rat-like figure grasping the now detached leg of the bad-gir swung the limb away from the opening of the whirling blades to one side of the pit. The smaller interloper squeaked in fear at the sight while the elder white-furred creature imprisoned on the other side pounded furiously on the wall separating them.

Abruptly, the clawed appendages released the bad-girs other limbs, and Brett’s weakly shrieking body fell into the whirling blades of the pit. The buzzing blades of metal chewed into the body as it fell and cut off the shrieks of the monster formerly known as Brett. The mist that had surrounded the bad-gir before it fell spread in a thin layer over the pit.

An explosion of gore erupted from the pit and spread to cover the entirety of the shimmering prison walls in an instant. The thin layer of mist did nothing to stop it.

The gore slid off the surfaces of the prison walls quickly to reveal the interior of the now blood-tinted prison. The trio of impish figures with their cauldron were in an entirely clear circle of unblooded space upon their stone platform.

The rat-like figure was licking its muzzle as it shook its head to clear its sight of the blood covering it from head to clawed toes, matting its fur. The tongs it held gripped the severed limb to one side as the trio of impish figures continued a slower chant.

The blades of the pit did not stop as their now red-tinted surfaces continued to spin angrily. The thin layer of mist over the pit coalesced into an orb of light that floated gently toward the severed limb. One of the trio kept up its chanting as it hopped down from the stone platform and approached the rat-like creature holding the tongs.

It took the tongs from the unfortunate minion holding them and gave it a consoling pat on the rat-like blood-covered shoulder. The ratty minion squeaked inquisitively at the robed, impish figure. The slowly chanting imp shook its head. The rat-like creature’s blood-covered form slumped sadly before the imp kicked it into the pit.

Another angry buzzing followed by a much smaller burst of gore came from the pit. The imp gazed at the pink mist settling to the floor and tiredly swung the tongs holding the limb into the glowing ball of mist as it approached, continuing its chant the entire time.

Beckle leaned forward to observe more closely as the glowing ball of mist sank into the limb. The severed limb started to writhe and twist as it sank in. The surface of the appendage started to glow a sickly yellow, and Beckle slumped back in disappointment.

The flesh surged and morphed as the bones within it liquified and its structure deformed. The runes that had lit up the room walls slowly faded to invisibility, fueling the process further.

As the mannequin scribes did their work recording the events unfolding, the twisting shape of the limb became rounder and thinned until a softly glowing pouch with distinct black and white markings of the bad-gir was found to have taken shape.

The two interlopers in the prisons to either side had fallen silent, staring at the object now held in the tongs. The imps stopped chanting, and the one holding the tongs looked especially discontent. It waited momentarily for the floor panel to slide back into place covering the pit, then shuffled across to the shimmering prison wall. Beckle pressed a control, and a small opening in the front wall of the prison slid open.

The imp passed the pouch through the opening with the tongs, and Beckle got up from his console to retrieve it. He stared at the pouch with an inscrutable expression on his face as he stood before the wall of the prison. The opening the pouch had passed through slid closed. The imp with the tongs retreated to the platform where the other imps waited by their cauldron.

The platform withdrew into the wall, and their panel slid closed simultaneously. The clawed appendages that had assisted in the harvest slid back into their openings. Within a minute, the prison was bare except for the blood coating the floor. The single panel the rat-like creature had exited from remained open.

Another of the rat-like creatures rolling a mop bucket along and wearing another copper collar with a loose-fitting jumpsuit labeled clean-up exited the opening and started swabbing at the mess. An expression of bored resignation was plastered across its furry features.

Beckle observed the clean-up crew member while he glanced at the pouch he held in one hand. He tossed it up and down a few times as he turned his gaze to his two remaining potential sources of salvation.

“Well, that’s another disappointment. Sarah, give me an estimate on the spatial dimensions. How much does this help us?”

“The spatial dimensions are more significant than expected, Grandmaster. With the pedigree of the subject being used in the harvest and the amount of magic collected from subject Winnie earlier, the spatial capacity of Brett’s bag of holding is estimated to be approximately one cubic yard.

The estimated diffusion of the magical containment field density is zero point zero three nine percent.”

Beckle grunted.

“Too much to hope for a full percent off of such an inferior material. Earmark it as a gift to that ambassador from Keirmont. Greasing that wheel may help us get ahead of next month’s delegation.”

Beckle nodded to himself.

“Well, I suppose we should get on with the next negotiation. Have you identified the dialect of their language? Can you translate for me? Clarence, please prepare the standard contribution contracts for our guests and consider the nature of our guest’s value.”

Before Sarah could respond to the query, the older of the interlopers standing inside the prisons before Beckle spoke in a clear, angry voice that was easily understandable.

“I know your language, monster. There is nothing you have that either of us wants. Release us.”

Clarence waddled to a filing cabinet, squonking softly to himself. He started rifling through it. The clerkguin paused in his shuffling of papers within the cabinet. His beak clacked in dissatisfaction, and he moved his search to another drawer. Beckle smiled as he tucked Brett’s bag of holding onto a loop at his belt.

“Oh, excellent. Beginning with a statement of ignorance plays into my already copious advantages. Shall we start by explaining how you are wrong? Or would you like to skip to the first failed escape attempt?”