In stark contrast to the night shifts behind the mission’s front desk, the day patrols around Back City were a nightmare for Sam. The protests going on around the Back City had actually begun inside The Throne proper. His father had mentioned them a handful times in letters to Sam while he was studying.
The issue with protesting in the Throne, though, was that the Church was everywhere. And more practically, to live in The Throne, you would need a job. There just was not enough time in the day to work, riot, and relax.
The Back City was a different story, however. Low employment and low cost of living meant everyone could sacrifice some time out of the day to spit on Sam, or splash buckets of garbage on him as he patrolled. The mission, and its patrolman, was the main target of the protesters’ ire because it stood as extravagance amongst slums and was as unwelcome as an occupying military. And for good reason. Especially when Brother Nathan would go out for “outreach” and would claim the Back City resident’s social and economic status were a result of their imperfect devotion to the Dreamer.
The protesters spent their nights in bed or in taverns, making the plush night watch even more enjoyable when compared to the loud, boisterous day duty. Sam rounded the corner to the main square of Back City and the main entrance to the mission. He was sorrowfully aware of the fact that he was headed out of one trial and into another. Day watch meant Brother Nathan was awake and working inside.
“Oi, tin soldier!” cried a man down the street behind Sam as he planted his foot on the steps to the mission. “Going inside to ask more permission to drag us beggars out of our beds at night? Or are you tired from sightseeing?”
Sam ignored the cries and pushed through the front door of the mission. In the foyer, he took a deep breath. He focused on needing to look presentable within the mission and a golden light surrounded the stains and smears across his armor. Even the mud on his shoes was being burned off by pure gold magic.
“Welcome back, Corporal,” said a gentle female priest behind the desk.
“Thanks, Sister,” Sam grumbled in spite of himself. He hated being so bitter to the desk worker, but the cries of the man outside rang so fresh in his ears, he had trouble being friendly. “I’ve nothing out of the ordinary to report.”
“No better out there?”
“Not yet. Ever since we took in the Wrath Lich, we’ve become kidnappers,” Sam mused. “I’m going to go to the study for bit before my next round. Do you need anything from inside?”
“No, I don’t think so, Corporal,” she replied as she finished writing in the log. “Thank you for offering!”
Without saying anything more, Sam pushed his way through the door from the lobby to the mission proper. A long hallway containing the guest rooms and leadership offices snaked back and off to the right to the rest of the building behind the lobby.
Sam moved as quickly and quietly past Brother Nathan’s office as he could. The priest inside was shouting laughter behind a closed door. He momentarily considered how the priest leaders rarely kept their office doors open before turning the corner to see Private Grim moving the mission’s captive from the interrogation room to his holding chamber. Sam stopped himself to allow the pair to move the hallway unhindered.
“Corporal,” Grim said with a nod.
Sam intended no disrespect when he ignored Grim. He was too distracted when he got his first look at the Wrath Lich unmasked since the man was captured several nights back. Despite the still bruised face from its collision with Grim’s armored kneecap, Sam recognized him. He had grown up with the young man.
Quickly and without another word, Grim was moving the Wrath Lich aside. The captive did not seem to notice Sam, which was probably for the best. Sam continued down to the study, completely confused.
Growing up in East Rest meant so much exposure to the Church. School children up there learned of the horrors of Dorvan’s wrath so early, too. What could have happened to that man to turn him to the toxic magics?
As he mused, Sam wound his way to the study at the back of the mission. A small wooden placard near the door had the word “Library” burned into it, but the room only had two tables and three walls of half full bookshelves. As such, the men and women who frequent it refer to it as “the study” in a thinly veiled jab at its unimpressive stature. Magical lights kept the room comfortably lit, and though the transition from the brightly lit, white painted halls of the mission to the calm dimness of the study was jarring, Sam felt calmed. And he was pleased to see Sister Maribel sitting at one of the tables.
In her hands she held a long piece of fabric with brightly colored patterns sewn in. She was studying it the way a child would study their favorite toy, with a wide grin and twinkling eyes.
“Sister Maribel?” Sam called out to her quietly.
“Oh, hello Corporal!” she said looking up. Sam noticed she gently folded the fabric as she addressed him.
“What have you got there?”
“Oh, this?” she said looking down. Then she made sudden eye contact with Sam. “I enjoy fine cloth work.”
Sam paused for a moment. Sister Maribel had never seemed unusual before. But he supposed everyone had their quirks. “Right. It’s nice, I suppose.”
Sister Maribel suddenly relaxed and brushed back her chin length, light brown hair. Sam had not even noticed her tense up. “It really is. A purchase from a trade band! These Back City markets, you know? Did you need something?”
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“Well, I was just saying hello, but,” Sam lowered his voice as he sat down at the table across from Maribel. “I saw the Wrath Lich just now. Without his mask.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Well, no. But I had not seen him before now. I knew him.”
Maribel looked quizzically at Sam. “What do you mean?”
“We grew up on the Rests together. He went to the same school as me. We played on the same street.”
The priestess began to smile, the freckles across the bridge of her nose seemed to turn up to match the curve of her mouth. “Did you now? We may be able to use that, Sam.”
“Use it?”
“Well, cultural outreach. That’s what you’re for, right? You know the city and know the people.”
Sam was taken aback. What started as a confiding of coincidence was turning him into an interrogator. “I have no idea how to handle a prisoner, Sister. And… We were classmates! I don’t...” Sam could not continue the thought. He did not want to sound like an apologist.
Sister Maribel looked down at the cloth again. “Well, I do, Corporal, and no matter how much I stick to my training and stick to protocol, he calls me names, curses me, and tries to cast. I’ve spoken to him four times and I have nothing to show for it. I don’t even know his name.”
“Terrance Berky.”
“Four days work and I couldn’t get that. And you drop it right here. I don’t think we should not tell Brother Nathan, but I think you should talk to Mr. Berky.”
“Sister Maribel, this seems,” Sam started, finding himself strangely shamed by the prospect.
“Against the rules, Corporal?” Sister Maribel stood up. “I mean, technically, Brother Nathan has only authorized me to talk to prisoners. But this is Lieutenant’s Mission, is it not? You’re not at the Abbey any more, Sammy.” She smiled as she used Shiner’s nickname for him. “I’m going to go get Shiner to help me track down the Berky family. On the way we’ll tell Grim to get Terrance into the interview room with you. If Terrance won’t talk, maybe his dear mother will.”
Maribel handed Sam a wad of folded papers from her pocket. He slowly reached out and took them, but then the priestess left the room without waiting for Sam to respond further. He grumbled at her hardheadedness. Lieutenant Braver had warned him, and Shiner had as well. Though Shiner’s failed courtship of her may have spoiled things.
The paladin rose from his chair, and paused for a moment, thinking of the priestess at the front desk who was probably expecting him back at some point. Then he made his way to Terrance’s holding cell.
Sure enough, as he rounded the corner, he saw Sister Maribel and a very sleepy Corporal Shiner walking single-file toward him. Sister Maribel did not even make contact as they passed, but Shiner waved cheerily while yawning. At the far end of the hall, Grim was watching them walk past with interest. As they passed Sam, Grim’s gaze switched targets.
Too nervous to maintain eye contact, Sam unfolded the papers as he made his way to where Grim was standing.
Each sheet only had three questions on it with blank space for note taking between them. What is your name? When did you become a Wrath Lich? Does Dorvan have anything to do with these continued protests?
The blank spaces were still blank despite the creases in the folded sheets running deep and the paper folding easily. She truly did get nowhere with him.
Sam approached Terrance’s room slowly, peeking down the final hall to make sure Brother Nathan’s door was still shut. Lieutenant Braver’s was wide open, as he had expected, but he could not imagine the Lieutenant being the one who would be upset. With a sigh and a quick daydream about a frustrated and disappointed Sister Maribel, Sam looked at Grim. Grim snorted, like some sort of massive predator. A bear, or a boar, and he turned to knock on the door.
“Bounce off!” Terrance called out. “I just talked to the bitch.”
Grimacing, Sam looked to the key ring beside the door. A bronze eagle fixture in the wall was holding the ring in its beak. Next to the eagle fixture was a large, white silk cloth hanging on a hook. Grim gestured for Sam to keep quiet as he reached past the cloth toward the eagle fixture and it took on a golden glow. He brushed the finger down the eagle’s head, between its eyes, and the beak eased open, dropping the key into his waiting free hand.
“The cleaning man is in the interview room. You’re going to have to talk to him in his cell,” Grim whispered. He worked the lock and pulled the door open, and stepped aside to offer privacy.
“I said I was not gonna talk to her anymore today!” Terrance was sitting on a simple cot, his back to the door. The room was one of the bunk rooms, only stripped of furnishings and amenities to transform it into a prison cell
“Terrance?” Sam called to him.
The Wrath Lich looked over his shoulder, his intrigued gae studying Sam. “Chael’s breath. Samson Estin? Well, I suppose that ain’t your name now.”
“Bleedingheart,” Sam said nodding.
“Should’ve known a goody little boy like you would get all wrapped up in this,” Terrance said, gesturing to the walls and ceiling. “Not the room of course. The Church.”
“I understood. I didn’t expect to see you again, much less wearing crimson.”
“Desperate times, Sam!” Terrance said matter of factly.
“What do you mean?”
“The guides are all talking about the storm coming. The poison rooted in our society that will be ripping us apart.”
“And you think it’s the Church of the Will?”
“Well, the Guides don’t think so. But they don’t think you all are ready to handle it either.”
“So why incite the protests?”
“Incite them?” Terrance laughed. “The beggars and starving folks don’t need inciting, Sam. They are already plenty pissed at this house and what it stands for. Isolation and elitism.”
“So what were you doing the other night?”
“The only thing we can do, Sam,” Terrance said, looking his old friend in the eyes. “Sharing our tools.”
“Wrath magic?”
Terrance suddenly looked past Sam and went wide eyes. He went pale in horror when he realized how much he had just divulged. Friend or not, Sam was a paladin. Sam followed Terrance’s gaze to see an interested Lieutenant Braver standing in the doorway. Grim had never shut the door behind him.
The room became unbearably hot in a matter of seconds. The heat seemed to concentrate in Sam’s chest, beneath the scar that covered his torso. Licks of fire began to appear floating past his shocked eyes. He turned his head to look at Terrance, but as he did, Lieutenant Braver never left his sight. The paladin officer was across the room in a flash, pulling the white sheet from the hook on the wall as he moved.
With a flourish, he slung it over Terrance, and golden glyphs suddenly began to shine across the fabric. The temperature returned to normal as quickly as it had risen, and Braver looked up at Sam and Grim, who had stepped into the doorway.
“Where’s Maribel?”
“Looking for this man’s family,” Sam said, confidently, but not without shame. “I grew up with him. I told her his name and she and Shiner are trying to find an address of information.”
“You did great, Sam,” the officer said, looking at the Wrath Lich struggling under the warded cloth. “Unconventional, and a little dangerous, but good. Are you friends with him?”
“Acquaintances is probably more fitting, sir.”
Braver nodded. “So the protestors are being taught magic? That is more than a little troubling.”
Just then, the wail of the front desk alarm filled the Back City mission.