The following morning, Key got out of bed and rubbed his legs. With the bit of exertion he did the day before, he was paying for it. After a slower-than-usual morning routine, he managed to hobble to the office. The captain was sitting in his chair, sipping a mug of something hot.

The office had changed. In the far-left corner sat a desk and chair. The desk had a neat stack of paper and writing tools. Key tried to walk normally to the desk, but his slight limp did not escape the observation of the chief investigator.

"You're walking funny," Castor pointed out.

"I went a little overboard at the training field yesterday," Key admitted, trying to keep any pained expressions off his face.

"It's a good thing we don't have errands in town today. Anyway, I got you a desk to start working on your handwriting." Castor nodded towards it. "Go on, try it out."

With effort, Key walked over to the desk and lowered himself into the chair. "I like it. Anything you want me to start with?"

"How about the letter A?" Castor suggested before reaching into one of his drawers, taking out a stack of papers, and holding them up. "You can use these as a reference."

Key put a hand on the back of the chair and the desk and began to push himself up.

"Please," The captain motioned for him to stay in his chair, "Allow me." He stood up, walked over, and plopped the papers on the desk.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Castor added, "Or I'll call you a liar and challenge you to a dual."

Key found an 'a' he liked and began the painstaking process of teaching his hand to recreate it. He started as slow as possible, capturing the muscle memory in his hand the best he could. He started with a loop that formed a small hole, followed by a loop that ran to the bottom of the letter and then a sharp, up and down that pointed to the top. He then made one more loop that went up to the left, down, and up to the right. He compared the original to his counterfeit. It looked like a child wrote it. He tried again.

By the time he had finished the alphabet, his hand and wrist were as sore as his legs. "I think I'm going to go down to the training grounds before my hand is permanently stuck like this," he said, holding it up, making his fingers look as disfigured as possible.

"Very well," Castor dipped his quill in ink. "See you tomorrow."

The very phrase, "See you tomorrow," put a jolt of excitement through Key's whole body. "See you tomorrow" meant that Castor didnt' expect to see him again today. It was an official release from work, and the sun was still in the sky.

Key decided that to keep his position working for this captain, he would be the best assistant to the investigator he could possibly be. If that meant becoming the best sword fighter, having the best handwriting, and looking busy, he was going to make sure he was the busiest-looking person ever to walk the streets of Royal City.

For the next two weeks, Key got settled in. He practiced calligraphy and swordplay and delivered letters. When he wasn't doing either of those things, he spent his time looking for new ways to look busy. He worked hard to complete a full crucible within the span of an hourglass, however slow his progress was. Whenever the sand ran out, he pressed forward until all thirty-two obstacles were complete; then, he would go home, bathe, and bask in the wonder of free time. He also found himself enjoying the mythical and coveted midday nap.

After a particularly strenuous day, he climbed the stairs and pushed into his shared barracks room. Not bothering to put in a wake-up, he got undressed for bed and collapsed on top of it. The room was starting to smell like old socks. He would have to address the situation with the rest of his flatmates if it continued. He let his mind wander as he slowly drifted off to sleep. The smell brought him back around; it was as if it was getting worse. It was as if…

Key stood up and crouched to look underneath the bed; he suspected foul play. He began searching the room, picking up clothes, coats, and bags. He felt and looked under all the beds to no avail. He was rummaging through Naldo's foot chest when Alrick walked in.

"How's it going?" Alrick asked, and then, after a moment, added, "What are you doing?"

"Do you smell that? I think Jory planted a fish in here." Key said, holding an armload of Naldo's clothes. "I'm looking for it."

"It does smell kind of fishy," Alrick said before walking around the room smelling. "I thought someone started developing the foot rot."

"It's Jory," Key stated. "I know it is. Plus, I was going to plant a fish in his room, so it only makes sense that he would have the same thought. It's also his turn."

"Let's think about this logically," Alrick considered. "If this is an attack on you, then it would be placed where it would affect you the most. The rest of us would just be casualties of war. Did you look under your pillow?"

"Yeah, but I didn't look under the floorboard," Key said, walking around his bed and investigating the hardwood floor. "Alrick, give me your sword."

Alrick drew his sword and presented it.

Taking the sword, Key jammed the tip between the floorboards and lifted. The wood creaked as it pulled up enough to look under. Not finding anything suspicious he moved and tried the next one. He found a spot that looked like it had been pulled up before. "I think this is the one," he said, jamming the sword in. He lifted the board, and the smell of rotten fish wafted into the room.

"That's awful!" Alrick put his tunic over his nose.

"I need something to grab this with," Key said. "give me your shirt."

"You are not using my shirt to pick that thing up!" Alrick exclaimed. "hang on, I'm going to go grab something." He left the room and came back with a plate and two forks.

Key pried the wood up further while Alrick set the plate near the opening and tried to remove it with the forks. After a few failed attempts, he finally pulled the fish out and set it on the plate.

"Is that a scarf?" Alrick asked, pointing at a yellow cloth wrapped around the fish's gills.

"Rusted relics, man, it is!" Key swore, full of awe. "I hate to say it, but that's a really nice touch. To think I was going to merely put my fish under his bed and not his floorboards, and unscarfed. It's times like this that really make you look inward, you know?"

"The only thing I'm looking for is getting rid of this thing," Alrick said, handing the plate to Key. "Make sure it gets a proper burial."

"Do you want to say a few things first?" Key said, holding the fish plate.

"He had the nicest scarf I've ever seen on a fish," Alrick feigned a tear. "Now, can you please get rid of it?

The next day, Key sat at his desk, recreating various letters. His handwriting had come a long way in the last couple weeks.

There was a knock at the door. Key set down his quill and began to stand.

Castor waved him to stay seated. "Enter!"

A winded sergeant poured into the room. "Snatch and grab, sir. Down at the market. It sounds like the purse taken was substantial enough to warrant a hanging."

"The offender apprehended?" The captain asked.

"Yes, but he doesn't have it," the sergeant replied. "We searched him. He must have handed it off. He's not talking."

"What does he look like?"

"He looks about twelve, dirty red shirt and brown trousers," the sergeant recounted. "He's also got big ears."

"Imprison him," the captain ordered. "I will question him after he's had some time to sweat it out.

"Yes, sir," he said and waited for a dismissal.

"As you were, sergeant."

He saluted and left.

"Go fetch me a piece of pie," Castor ordered.

"Pie?" Key asked. "Any specific flavor?"

"No," Castor said plainly.

Key rose from his chair and walked towards the door.

"Never mind," Castor said. "Just get it tomorrow before you come in. If there's pie in here, I'm probably just going to eat it."

Key sat back down in his chair. "What's the pie for?"

"It's a rather inexpensive and, in my opinion, fun interrogation technique,"

Castor said but would say no more.

The following morning, Key's legs still felt sore, but the more he walked, the better his legs felt. By the time he had purchased the pie, he was walking nearly as typically as anyone else. He brought the pie to the captain.

"Mincemeat?!" Castor asked incredulously. "You had the choice of an entire bakery's worth of pies; you brought the one that belongs at the very bottom of the trash can?"

"I've never had it before," Key said. "The lady said it was her favorite."

"The lady was trying to push her otherwise unsellable product on you," Castor sneered. "Like a chump, you fell for it. Mincemeat pie."

"How was I supposed to know?" Key asked.

"You aren't supposed to know; you listen to the words "mincemeat" and "pie", and you put one and one together." Castor held up two fingers. "I guess we're just going to try to work it. How are your legs this morning?"

"Usable," Key answered.

"Let's go then," Castor said turning to leave. He paused, patting his upper left pocket before moving towards the door. "Out of all the pies in the world. Unbelievable."

By the time the captain finished listing all the pies he could think of, the two arrived at the prison. Keebler was standing guard outside.

"Keebler," Key said. "You're off bridge duty!"

Keebler saluted the captain, who didn't deign to lift a hand in return.

"Someone else got in trouble finally," he said. "I heard you got transferred. How's the new station?"

"Corporal Key," the captain said over his shoulder. "Remind me to submit a letter pertaining to a certain individual talking on watch today."

"Yes, sir," Key replied with a twinge of remorse. He had to remind himself that Keebler broke the brotherhood of the guard and ratted on a number of his colleagues. Also, Castor probably had no intention of following through; he was building appearances.

Keebler's face showed a darker shade of depression than usual.

"Go on then," the captain flicked a hand. "Open up."

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Keebler opened the thick metal door as quickly as he could and stood silently at attention as the two walked in. The prison was a series of long passageways in the shape of a four-pronged fork. Normally, only one of those hallways was used at a given time. If the king needed somewhere to hold hundreds of wartime enemy hostages, he would still have room for the constant inflow and outflow of common criminals. To further ensure full capacity was never achieved at the prison, weekly hangings helped thin the herd.

Key had spent countless hours patrolling these halls or napping in one of the unused cells. The sound carried so well that the locks, creaks, or shutting of the doors were loud enough to arouse anyone from their slumber. Just in case, Key closed the door louder than necessary to signal all the guards to be alert. The prison wasn't inspected often, which made it one of the better places to stand watch.

The two walked towards the occupied portion of the prison. The echo of conversational voices mingled with the twin footsteps. One cell had the chalk words 'to be hung' with an arrow on the wall pointing at three sleeping men. The next four cells held a single person each. The guard on patrol strolled up, saluting the captain. "Can I help you find someone, sir?"

"We're looking for a boy that was brought in yesterday," the captain explained. "He should have red pants and big ears."

"If he got here yesterday sir, he'll be in the cell this way," the guard said and brought them deeper down the corridor. "Everyone from yesterday is in this cell."

They stopped next to a cell holding six people, including a drunk, three thuggish-looking men, and two young boys. One of the boys had a red shirt and large enough-looking ears.

"Watch and learn," the captain said to Key, who was standing with a paper-wrapped pie piece in his hand.

"You there," the captain said to the angriest looking man out of the bunch. "I have a few questions to ask you."

"Ask away, mate. I'm not telling you more than "piss" and "off,"" he said with a missing tooth grin.

"Take him to the interrogation room."

The interrogation room was at the end of the passageway, past several more full cells, one of which included a bunch of whistling women who demanded they turn over the key. Castor raised an eyebrow and pointed to Key questioningly.

"What can I say?" Key shrugged. "I'm popular with the ladies."

The interrogation room had a table with a pad-eye for looping chains through and a single chair. Grated sunlight poured in through an opening in the ceiling crossed with iron bars.

"I have a story you might be interested in hearing," the captain said in a conversational voice.

"If it's about your mum, I can tell you from first-hand experience that it's true," the man laughed, testing the strength of the chains.

"Some time ago, a man matching your description was seen with a boy who also has distinct qualities," Captain Castor began. "The two were witnessed at a temple vandalizing and committing crimes against the church, too egregious to mention. If you name your counterpart, I will do my best to have those crimes acquitted. At the very least, the court looks favorably on those who help the cause of justice."

"Never been to a temple a day in my life," the man said. "So, you can take your egregious crimes and put 'em in your prison purse."

"I know that the food here can be bland at times," the captain said. "So, I took it upon myself to bring you a piece of pie for your cooperation. First, tell me a name of your little accomplice." he nodded at Key.

Key unwrapped the pie and held it aloft.

"Is that mincemeat?" the man said. "It would have worked better if you offered me my own foot!"

"I've heard enough from him. Return him to his cell," the captain said. "Oh, and bring the boy with the red shirt."

A while later, the guard hauled the boy in. His face and hands were caked in dirt. He sat in the chair as the guard connected his chains to the table.

"Let's cut to the chase," the captain said. "I'm about to ask you where the items are that you stole yesterday. Unfortunately, you're not going to tell me and probably say something insulting. Anyhow, I doubt it will be anything clever. I will then explain how It would behoove you to tell me everything I want to know. You won't believe me yet, and that's okay; I am prepared to show why you want to work with me rather than against me. Are you following?"

"I don't know where they are; they just disappeared!" the boy said.

The captain rubbed his eyes. "Let's start with your name."

"I go by Crumb," he said.

"Crumb, huh?" the captain asked. "Is that the name your parents gave you?"

"I don't have parents. It's just me and m…" the boy cut off. "it's just me."

"Oh, so it's just you and someone else, huh? I know you kids usually work in pairs. You stole the purse and handed it off. I don't care about your partner; I just want the purse."

The boy was silent.

"This is the part where I tell you why it's in your best interest to work with me," the captain said patiently. "In a moment, I'm going to move you to a cell directly across from your mortal enemy. Then, I'm going to leave. When I come back, if you don't tell me what I want to know, I'm going to put you in his cell."

"I don't have any mortal enemies," the boy explained. "People like me."

"Not this person," the captain said gravely. "But by all means, let's wait until I return."

The captain had the boy put in a cell directly across the one he was previously in. In chalk, he wrote, "to be set free" on the wall next to the bars.

"Thank you for your help," the captain said patting the boy's head. "Corporal Key, give him the pie."

Key handed the confused boy a piece of pie through the bars.

Castor turned to the man they had previously questioned. "We caught you, Gerard, you temple mutilator!" the captain growled, pointing at the man.

"I told you, I've never been to a temple, I swear by all the… Erm, nobody. I don't even know what to even swear by." he said. "Besides, my name is Donohue, not Gerard."

"Tell it to the ropes, Gerard, you vile scum. Your little accomplice told us everything." the captain said, reaching into the boy's cell and patting him on the head once again.

"Why, you little prick!" Donohue shouted at the boy across from his cell.

"If I ever get out of here, I'm going to beat you into a bloody pulp; you mark my word!"

As they walk towards the exit, murderous shouts and accusations rose above a small voice of defense.

"When we come back, Crumb will be ready to tell us everything." Castor said, stepping out into the fresh air. "Or he might not be alive enough for his hanging."

"Isn't that a little cruel for a kid?" Key asked. "I mean, if he does give back the purse, those guys are going to kill him if they see him in the city."

"Precisely why we are going to arrange him a trip out of the city," Castor began counting on his fingers. "He has no parents, no gang, and there's nothing for him here. Even if he's released, he'll be back in a cell before not too long. That's why I lit the proverbial fire under his feet. The creator didn't invent pain to make us suffer, he made it to drive us into action. You'll see."

"Where are we off to then?" Key asked, following the captain through the city's winding streets.

"I have a friend that lives north of here," Castor said. "He runs a small shipyard, an Inn, and a farm. It seems impossible for one man to do all that, but he has a gift. It's this gift that helps a lot of the street urchins around these parts restart their lives. Every so often, I send a failed pickpocket to him, and he puts them to work and pays them honestly. Not all of them make it, but a lot do. Most of his businesses are run by reformed street thieves."

"Oh, I see," Key looked thoughtful. "You're planning on sending Crumb down there?"

"Correct," Castor lifted a finger. "Well, technically, it's up there, but yes. If he returns the money. Otherwise, I won't have the power to get him out of his sentence in the first place. Ah, here we are."

The pair arrived at a building called "Skipper's Transport" with a wooden cart in front with arches covered with a patchwork of sheets. Castor knocked on the side.

"A moment," a heavily accented voice announced from inside.

"Take your time," Castor said. "We'll just stand here in the street until you're done powdering your nose."

"Who is that?" The man asked, popping his head through the curtains. His face was round and framed by thick mutton chops down either side of his face. "Charles, is that you? How in the blazes are you?"

"Oh, just fine," he said. "I have some business to discuss."

"Is it business we have time to smoke about?" the man asked, climbing out with a box in his hands.

"We really shouldn't stay too long," Castor said. "We are on the king's time, so to speak."

"That's a shame because I am holding in my hands a box of a very rare, imported flake I just got from the islands of Fanara a week ago. It was so good I had to get a new pipe."

"If you put it that way," Castor said, producing a pipe seemingly out of thin air. "I would hate for you to have to smoke it all by yourself."

"That's the captain that I know!" the man said, opening the box. "I've already let some of it dry a bit, so it's ready to go."

"I believe some introductions are in order," Castor hed a hand towards Key. "This my new corporal, Key. Key, this is Grant Barlow. He's a former skipper of a small trading vessel."

"Call me Grant," the man said, filling Castor's pipe with tobacco. "Where's your pipe? You'll want to try this too."

"I don't believe I've ever seen him smoke," Castor mentioned solemnly before Key had the opportunity to decline.

"Doesn't smoke?" Grant asked in bewilderment. "Don't you know the health benefits of smoking? Saved my life on more than enough occasions.

"My mother always said the opposite," Key recounted. "She said it makes you hard of breath and that it makes it hard to taste good food."

"If you had ever tried my third wife's cooking, you wouldn't think that was such a bad thing," Grant guffawed. "If you ever change your mind, you can come over, and I'll teach you how to smoke a proper pipe. I'll even give you one."

"That's very generous of you, thanks," Key said allowing the matter to drop.

After the pipes were lit, Castor explained the situation with the young thief and how he would need to leave town.

"So, you saved another one?" Grant's words were wisps of smoke. "This makes three in one year."

"It might be four," Castor corrected. "I got the feeling like he has a sibling or something like it. They might be a package deal. That is if he accepts my offer."

"I suppose I'm due for another trip up North," Grant thought out loud. "When do we need to leave?"

"That all depends," Castor blew a failed smoke ring. "How soon can you leave?"

"I have some deliveries to make in the morning," Grant said. "I would need to pick up some supplies, but I suppose I could be out of here before noon. Is this kid going to try to stab me in my sleep like the last one?"

"I don't think so; he says he's likable," Castor shrugged. "Just don't leave your knife lying around this time."

"It was in my belt!" Grant exclaimed. "Well, lessons learned. I've sailed with enough riff-raff to know better anyway."

"Take this," Castor said, handing over two silver coins. "If, for whatever reason, the boy doesn't want a better life, just count it towards the next one we try to save."

"Alright, just do what you can," Grant pressed.

"Oh, and one more thing," Castor said, drawing from his pipe. "How much for the tobacco? This is incredible."

"It's not for sale," Grant said. "But you can come over whenever you want, and I'll smoke it with you. Maybe you'll come shoot the bull when you're not on the king's time, huh?"

"I'll visit when you get back," Castor reguarded the man. "Besides, I'll want to know how the rest of my street urchins are doing."

The three clasped hands in turn and separated ways.

"To the prison then?" Key asked.

"To prison," Castor replied.

When they arrived, Keebler saluted and opened up the door without a word. The two walked down the dim corridor until they reached the cell holding the teary-eyed Crumb.

"Guard, I will need to interrogate this boy one more time," Castor said, stealing a glance toward Donohue, or rather, the temple desecrating Gerard. "His story checks out. We just have one more question about Gerard."

"Can't you see he's lying," Donohue said from behind his bars. "You can ask anyone what my name is. I didn't desecrate any temples."

"Tell it to the hangman," Castor spat.

The guard unlocked Crumb's cell and ushered him to the interrogation room.

"Leave us," Castor said to the guard. "We'll take it from here."

The guard left and closed the door behind him.

"Why did you tell that man I turned him in?" Crumb asked. "I didn't say anything. You lied to him, and now he's going to kill me!"

"I don't think you get it," Castor crouched down so he was eye level with the boy. "You are dead anyway. The purse you snatched apparently had enough money in it to afford you a swift hanging. The only reason why you're not swinging on a rope right now is because someone out there believes that they can get it back.

"Now, I'm in a position to make you a pretty substantial offer. If you get the purse back, I will arrange your freedom. I will also arrange for you to leave the city and see that you are given honest work. I have a friend who helps people like you resurface from the streets and become valuable members of society. But I need something from you."

"What?" the boy asked, nearly in tears.

"I need honesty," Castor demanded. "Not just about the purse, because there's no chance of you living without it, but I want you to answer some other questions. Help me understand that I'm not wasting my time trying to help you."

The three sat in silence for a brief moment before Castor continued. He asked the boy how he felt about honest work and if he would ever be able to put thievery behind him. Crumb didn't seem to know. He explained that he had never had honest work before, but he would be willing to try.

"That's what I was hoping you would say," Castor smiled. "I've arranged you a ride. Tell me where the purse is, and you and your friend will leave tomorrow to start your new life. It's going to be hard work, but you will be in good hands. You'll be working for a close friend of mine. He has a kind heart and treats people with respect."

"How do I know I can trust you?" the boy asked. "And how do I know you're not just going to arrest my sister too?"

"Let's weigh your options," Castor said. "Either you help me so I can help you, or you can keep silent, and I put you in the same cell as your mortal enemy out there. With one option, you have a chance of living, and you and your sister can make something of yourselves. With the other option, you have no chance of either. When your sister runs out of money, and you're not around to help her, what happens to her then? She'll have no more family, no more friends, and no more options. Do you know what happens to girls out there who don't have the means to support themselves?"

Castor could see by the look in the boy's eye that he did know. "I'm asking you again, where is the purse?"

The boy didn't move.

"May I?" Key asked.

Castor gestured towards the boy in a way that said, "Go ahead."

"In the king's guard, we have this rule called, "the brotherhood of the guard." It means that we are not allowed to snitch on anyone. It also means we keep our word even in peril of death. I can see that same strength in you. You don't want to turn in your sister even though it could cost you your life. I respect that more than you could ever know.

"So, I will give you my word under the oath of the brotherhood of the guard that we will not arrest your sister and that my captain is being honest when he says he wants to help you. Give me your arm."

The boy lifted his shackled wrists and held them out.

He took the boy's forearm. "I swear by the brotherhood of the guard that your sister will not be arrested, and you will be set free if you help us."

A tear started welling in the boy's eyes as his resolution had unexpectedly upturned. "Okay, I'll tell you, but please don't frighten her."

Castor lifted two approving eyebrows towards Key, who promised, "I will do the best I can not to frighten her."

"My sister's name is Marie. She's nine. You can find her on the poor side behind Blanton's bakery. If you tell her, "Your brother said you can trust us or he'll eat twenty dirty rat tails," she will give you both purses."

"There's two?" Key asked.

"Yeah."

"Okay, we'll be back."

"Hey," the boy said. "The brotherhood of the guard is a real promise, right?"

"More than you'll ever know," Key replied.