CHAPTER XVII (17)- Prison Break

Mort was waiting behind the bars of his window. Kizu could feel the owl monkey there, active and alert.

“Mort,” he said to the monkey. “I need you to retrieve a key.”

Kizu felt the confusion between their bond.

“I don’t know which keys they used to lock me up or where they’re at,” he admitted. “But that key isn’t important. The key I need is down in that tunnel under the big foot statue. You remember it? Bring me a tiny piece of that tree we stared at for a long time, but be extremely careful with it. I want you to cover your hands in mud before you touch it.”

Mort scampered off. Kizu spent the next half hour worrying about the monkey. Frequent checks on their bond let him know Mort was safe, but little more than that. He tried to keep himself busy with other preparations.

No spell he knew could get him out of the cell. He could freeze the lock in ice, but he couldn’t get the temperature low enough to break it. Plus, as the constables had mentioned, the metal of the bars and lock had been reinforced with anti-magic. He encountered the same problems with the wood in the room. He could make boiling water, but not actual fire. So, no blasting through the bars with a fireball. No matter how he racked his brain, anti-magical shields seemed useless here. Illusions only worked on a third party, and he didn’t know a good divination spell that could contact people. That left only brewing.

He rapped his knuckles on the metal bars. Steel, as far as he could tell. Then he turned his attention to the wooden seat of his chamber pot. He removed it from the metal pot and performed a few tests on it. He quickly narrowed down the possible wood types. It definitely wasn’t something found in the basin. And it obviously wasn’t a normal wood like pine or cedar. But he had seen a similar wood while walking around the island. Molave, if he remembered correctly. He leaned toward that answer. The island matched the description of the natural habitat and the coloring looked correct. He stretched his memory, trying to recall the brewing applications of this particular type of wood. He believed his strategy would work. The wood was organic. But if its genus innately held any sort of resistance, his efforts would be in vain.

A familiar hum broke his concentration. Mort dropped the little shard of wood into the prison cell. It fell silently to the straw covered floor.

Kizu knelt and carefully used a piece of his uniform to lift the piece of wood and wipe off the mud. It was a sickly blue color, unnatural for a birch. Pieces of it were flaking off, blacker than tar.

“Go wash your hands off,” he told Mort. “I’ve got it from here.”

Kizu dropped the piece of sickly birch wood into the half-full cup of water, then spit in it for good measure. He found a small split in the molave chamber pot’s seat. He wedged the tips of his fingers into the crack. It took a few minutes, but he came away with a large splinter. Unfortunately, it also came with several smaller splinters in his thumb. He sucked on the wound, tasting the iron of his blood, before remembering that the splinters came from a toilet seat. He grimaced.

Regardless, he now had the tools he needed. The haunted wood had begun to dissolve in the clay cup. He used the large molave splinter to stir the liquid until it dissolved into the mixture as well. When the bottom of the cup began to sag, he knew it was time. He poured it out on three of the metal bars. The concoction worked wonders. Almost instantly, the bars bent. Then they appeared to sweat. As beads of liquid trailed down the metal toward the floor, they infected the rest of the bars. In a few minutes, the metal bars were nothing more than a pool of liquid on the floor of his cell. Anti-magic bars apparently didn’t mean much against the power of brewing.

Careful not to touch the puddle, Kizu stepped over it and out into the hallway. First hurdle, cleared.

He studied every door closely, looking for enchantments and traps. But he found very little security. It was extremely odd. He kept his wits about him though as he passed through the unlocked doors. By all accounts, he shouldn’t be able to get free so easily. The only reason he could think of for such poor security was that they must have next to no crime in the town. The only hiccup in his escape was the Tainted constable, snoozing in a comfortable chair by the front door.

Kizu removed his shoes and moved as silently as possible. He reached the exit door and held his breath as the guard shifted in his sleep. If he opened his eyes, he’d be looking straight at Kizu. Slowly, Kizu slid the door open a fraction of a meter, just wide enough for him to slip through. Then he was out, not even bothering to close it behind him.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Kizu dashed down the street, not slowing until the constable’s snores had long since faded into the night.

When he reached the academy, Mort leaped down from a nearby tree and perched on his head.

A James golem gave him a look of stern disapproval as he approached the front gate.

“Student, you are out far later than the curfew permits. Your antics will be reported to the headmaster.”

Kizu waved a hand in dismissal. “Sounds good to me. Can I go there now? Speak with the headmaster?”

“A report does not constitute an audience. The headmaster will summon you whenever convenient in the schedule.”

“That’s fine too. Just make sure to report my name. Kaga Kizu.”

“You are on file, Kaga Kizu. Return to your room immediately.”

With that, Kizu did as he was told. He kept his ears open for any sound of trailing footsteps as he walked, just out of curiosity, but heard nothing.

When he did finally reach his room, he let a wave of relief crash over him.

Now he just needed to find something to do until the headmaster summoned him. He realized that his scrying orb along with everything else in his satchel was still in custody with the constables. His divination book included.

Kizu looked through his things that he’d unpacked. A small brewing kit, his old clothes, and a folded note.

He read through the note again. It remained the same as when he’d found it at his house, the only legible marking on it being his sister’s name beside the imprint of her hanko stamp. Belatedly, he realized he could have used this as an anchor to his sister. It had her personal seal beside her name, that should be something at the very least. Hanko stamps were designed custom for the individuals that used them. In a way, it was an imprint of her identity.

As quick as the excitement built in him, it deflated. His chalk was of course in his bag with his other things. He would have to wait.

Disappointed, he stashed the letter under his bed for safekeeping. As he did, he noticed the wooden box.

Against his better judgment, he pulled it out to stare at the items within. He wanted to know what each of the different objects in it were enchanted with. But his trepidation to touch them was hardly unfounded. The knife might have been cursed to send him into a blood frenzy. The book may well forever lock his eyes to its pages if he opened it. The necklace could just strangle him. No, the crone had taught him to be at least a little mindful before snatching up random magical artifacts. He needed a way to identify them first. For a moment, he thought about leaving them out in front of the villa for Finn to pick up. Using his brother as a trial-and-error test subject was only fair, after Finn had gotten him arrested.

Mort gave him a look, sensing his thoughts.

“Relax,” he told the monkey. “Of course I’m not going to use my little brother like that.”

Mort seemed mollified as he climbed up on his shoulder.

“Because the items aren’t guaranteed to be cursed,” he added. “I might be handing over powerful enchanted items to my brother. We can’t have that.”

Mort nipped at his ear. Kizu laughed.

But he didn’t put the enchanted items away. Instead, he studied them. He knew just examining them with his eyes carried some risks, but nothing dangerous had happened yet.

The door banged open behind him. Kizu jumped and threw the lid back over the box.

A boy swaggered inside. He was dressed in a black ball gown covered in ruffles and frills. It was ill-fitted to him, obviously designed for someone with more chest and wider hips. Instead, it was being worn by a scrawny boy with pasty white skin and patchy orange hair.

“Ahh, Kizu! Roomie! You’re back!” His voice was slurred and garbled. As if several tones were competing with one another. “Didn’t get a chance to talk in class today. Or was that yesterday? What day is it now?”

“You’re Basil?” Kizu asked. He searched his memory, trying to recall anyone like him in his classes. Nobody came to mind.

“The one and only.” He bowed and then hiccupped. “Thank you, thank you.”

“You’re in my enchanting class?” he asked.

“Of course, I sit next to you everyday. Today, right? I’m pretty sure that we had class today.”

“I’ve never sat next to you,” Kizu said with certainty.

“Oh Kizu, I’ve already been declined once tonight, let’s not-” He hiccupped. “Let’s not argue about this. I’m…I’m gonna sleep now.” Then the boy collapsed in the bed opposite of Kizu’s. Stiletto heels pointed up at Kizu.

Moments later, Basil began to snore. And, as he did, his body loosened. The heels slipped from his feet and the dress seemed to slump. Kizu stood up and looked at the boy. His skin shifted its color. From a pale white, to translucent. He could see the skeleton laid out underneath Basil’s skin. If he had any muscles or organs, it didn’t show. Only translucent skin bloated over the bones with a clear ichor. Even his hair lost its pigment, lightening to a chalky gray.

Kizu stared at his roommate.

Of course, out of all the roommates available in the academy, they’d put him with the one and only monster.