CHAPTER XVII (17)- Prison Break

Mort waited behind the bars of his window. Kizu could feel the owl monkey there, active and waiting, without looking.

“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 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 touching it.”

Mort scampered off. Kizu spent the next half an 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 that temperature wouldn’t be able to get it low enough to break it. Plus, as the constables had mentioned, the metal of the bars and lock had been reinforced with antimagic. And he encountered the same problems with the wood in the room. He could make boiling water, but not actual fire. So, no melting the bars with a bonfire. No matter how he racked his brain, antimagical shields seemed useless. And illusions only worked on a third party. He didn’t know a good divination spell that could contact people. That left only brewing.

He wrapped 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. Through a series of tests involving touch, scent, and taste, he narrowed down the possible wood types. It definitely wasn’t a type of wood found in the basin. And it obviously wasn’t a normal wood like pine or cedar. In one of his books, he had read of an unnaturally hard wood found called molave. 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 uses of the wood type. He believed his strategy would work. The wood was organic. But if its genus innately held any sort of resistance, his attempt would be completely thwarted.

A hum behind him 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. And pieces of it were flaking off in black.

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

Dropping the piece of sickly birch wood into the half full cup of water, he 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 top of three metal bars. The concoction worked wonders. Almost instantly, the bars bent. Then they seemed to sweat. As the beads of liquid trailed down the metal toward the floor, it infected the rest of the bar. In a few minutes, the metal bars were nothing more than a pool of liquid at the bottom of his cell. Antimagic 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, complete.

Every door he studied closely, looking for enchantments and traps. The only ones he found though were for individuals coming in, not out. He was surprised to find the rest of the building so easily escaped. He simply unlocked the doors and walked through. The only hiccup to his escape was the fat Tainted guard. He was obviously on duty in charge of the night shift. He snoozed in a comfortable chair by the front door.

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Kizu removed his shoes and moved as silently as possible. He reached the door and held his breath as the guard turned over 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 enough for him to slip through. Then, he slid through and was gone, not even bothering to slide it closed again.

As he dashed down the street, not slowing until the constable’s snores faded far into the night.

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

A James gave him a look of 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 certain to report my name. Kaga Kizu.”

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

With that, Kizu did as commanded. 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 finally let a wave of relief wash over him.

Now he simply 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 confiscated by the constables. His divination book along with it.

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

Lifting the note, he read through it again. It remained the same as when he had found it at his house, the only legible marking on it was his sister’s name beside the imprint of her hanko stamp. Maybe, he realized, he could use 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 for an individual. In a way, it was an imprint of her identity.

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

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

Despite his better judgment, he pulled it out to stare at the items. 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 be cursed to send him into a blood frenzy. The book might forever lock his eyes to its pages. The necklace might strangle him. No, the crone had taught him to be at least a little mindful before snatching up random magical artifacts. But he needed a way to identify the objects. For a cheeky moment, he thought about leaving them in front of Finn to pick up. Use his brother as a trial-and-error test subject as payback for getting him arrested.

Mort gave him a look, as if 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. I’d hardly want 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. Obviously, it was designed for a woman. Instead, it was being worn by a scrawny boy colored a pasty white with patchy orange hair.

“Ahh, Kizu! Roomie! You’re back!” He hiccupped. “Missed you 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. “Thank you, thank you.”

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

“Of course, I sit next to you every day. Well, except for the day you missed. Today, right? I’m pretty sure that was today.”

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

“Oh Kizu, I’ve already been declined once tonight, 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.

In mere moments, 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 put him with the one monster.