The soldiers' heavy boots clomped in a relentless rhythm, their sound reverberating down the damp stone hallway. The walls wept with moisture, reflecting a wet gleam in the flickering torchlight, a clear reminder of the river's nearby presence.
Four soldiers moved in precise formation – one leading, one following, and two flanking in between. These were dedicated members of the Hearthtown city watch, their commitment to duty unwavering. Dressed in sturdy black and brown leathers, they sported flowing black cloaks that shielded them from the city's unrelenting chill.
"Between the unyielding grasp of the two soldiers at the heart of the formation, a young woman trudged along, almost more dragged than walking. Their grip was so unrelenting that her flesh would bore the mark of their fingers in bruises beneath her grey, filthy tunic. In the dim and stifling light, her features remained elusive within the protective ring of soldiers. However, a fleeting glimpses revealed a gamine face, a slender figure, and hair that once shimmered with the luster of silver, now tarnished and disheveled, yet still retaining a hint of its former brilliance.
Petra kept her gaze lowered, her body a canvas of weakness painted with hunger and imprinted with the bruises inflicted by her callous guards. Fear had taken a vice-like hold, not only for her impending fate but also for the safety of her friends. Amidst the turmoil, fear was the sole sensation of her world.
They marched in unison past the cells on this level, most of the occupants keeping well back in the shadows of the filthy holes. All save one. He was a young man, dressed more like a dandy down on his luck than the thief he was in truth. He was young and handsome, with thick, dark hair that seemed to never want to rest. Much like the young man himself. He had eyes of sky-blue, and it was not hard to imagine he might play prominently in the thoughts of several Downwind girls.
His fingers curled around the criss-cross of iron bands, their rust-colored patina hinting at the years of imprisonment they had witnessed. As the approaching group drew near, his gaze was not fixed on the soldiers, but rather on the young woman among them. Gradually, their footsteps brought them level with his cell. In that fleeting instant, he locked eyes with her, a silent plea in his gaze attempting to bridge the distance between them. Yet, an unspoken weight, perhaps guilt, forced his gaze to retreat, and as they moved on without pause, he receded into the concealment of shadows.
Petra briefly met Yrad’s gaze, her face streaked with sweat and tears. He wasn’t so dashing now, not behind the cold bars. She own chapped and cracked lips had kissed his, not so long ago it seemed. If only to keep him quiet on what he had seen her do. What she didn’t want him to suspect she was.
At the culmination of the corridor's gloomy expanse, the lead soldier produced a set of hefty iron keys, their jangling filling the air as they unlocked the banded, darkwood door sealing the entrance to the city dungeons.
Mounting the worn stone steps, the group left behind the clamor of cells and the feeble flicker of torchlight. Beneath their feet, the smoother stones denoted a shift in the labyrinthine construction. Finally, they came to a halt with a resounding clomp, one of the soldiers rapping a sturdy knock on a weathered wooden door. A voice from within beckoned, a single word echoing authority, "Enter." With a creaking groan, the door swung inward, and the soldiers marched in with their captive guest.
"The chamber exuded an austere ambiance, its stone-clad walls devoid of warmth. Dominating the space was a rusted grate-covered cavity, and from a beam above dangled manacles affixed to chains. Stains marred the floor around the ominous opening. Positioned not far off, a plain wooden table—sturdy and unadorned—stood in stark contrast. Seated in a chair on the opposing side of the table was Echull Chalight, the esteemed Lord Inspector of the city's vigilant watch.
Adjacent to him lay a leather-bound binder, holding what looked like a stack of parchment, while on the opposite side of the table, a linen napkin obscured a red-oozing object. Chalight dabbed his mouth with a napkin, setting it aside and placing a spoon beside a bowl of fish soup. The used napkin was folded meticulously, its neat placement beside the blood-soaked counterpart a bizarre contrast.
Petra took in all these details at once as she was brought into the room. The savage clues of a room used for dark purposes. But it was the bloody napkin, the freshness of the carmine stain that kept her attention.
"Please, take a seat," the Lord Inspector motioned towards a chair opposite him, his demeanor feigning affability as he bestowed a congenial smile upon the young woman. The two soldiers maneuvered her roughly, each grasping an arm while their other hands clamped onto her shoulder, inflicting a painful pinch upon her muscle. Chalight intervened with a dismissive gesture. "Gentlemen, that won't be necessary. We are here for a civil discourse." His accent bore an unusual crispness, a departure from the lilting patois typical of Downwind residents or the cautious articulation favored by the high-born of Hearthtown society. The soldiers relinquished their grip, retreating a few paces to stand behind her, vanishing from her immediate field of vision.
"Lord Chalight—the name reverberated across Hearthtown's districts, its echoes even penetrating the dark corners of the Downwind district. Holding his position as the Lord Inspector for nearly a decade, his origins in Jannerus were an enigma. Whether a product of Hearthtown or an outsider was a matter of equal conjecture. Yet, consensus emerged on one fact—the undeniable change that transpired under his stewardship. The feeble guard force, once prone to negligence, corruption, and ineptitude, underwent a remarkable evolution into an entity reminiscent of the formidable Red Guard.
Whispers meandered through the air, speculating on his cryptic past. Some hinted at affiliations with the dreaded brigade, weaving tales of shadowed deeds and a subsequent expulsion, perhaps for a heinous deed. The veracity of these tales remained shrouded, but Lord Inspector's dominion over Hearthtown's streets remained a palpable truth. While the High Guard upheld their authority from the lofty chambers of the Magistrate's Court and the Governor's office, Chalight's grip persevered, fortified by an unrelenting efficacy.
Despite his influential position, his physical presence was unassuming. Slightly below average height, his cleanly shaven face framed graying brown hair, cropped short around his ears.
A square chin, neither prominent nor receding, was paired with an ordinary, slightly bulbous nose. Every aspect of his appearance painted the picture of a typical, unremarkable man—someone who could blend seamlessly into the city's bustling streets and crowded pubs without drawing a second glance.
However, the true revelation awaited in his gaze. His eyes, shaded with an indistinct hue of darkness, lacked depth and soul. A vacantness resided within them; an absence of emotion that suggested a lifetime devoid of genuine smiles. These eyes, akin to those of a predator, seemed to absorb every detail and assess every soul they met.
As he gently pushed the wide leather binder across the table, a small and warm smile graced his lips. Settling into his chair, he reclined slightly, causing his long leather coat, adorned with silvery wolf head buttons that glinted in the light, to emit a faint creak. Over the leather binder, his hands met in a gesture of quiet authority, the back of his right hand bearing a network of shining scars, remnants of an old, dreadful burn.
"Allow me to introduce myself," his voice retained its warm amiability. "I am Lord Inspector Chalight." With a slight inclination of his head and a touch to his chest, he conveyed a gesture of modest introduction. "My responsibility encompasses a solemn duty: safeguarding the well-being and security of Hearthtown's honorable citizens." His hands converged once more, a symbol of his commitment.
"I hold this duty with unwavering dedication," he articulated, his head nodding at a deliberate pace, his expression growing more solemn. "Such commitment extends to my colleagues," he indicated the soldiers behind her, their presence punctuating his point. A small smile curved his lips as he reminisced, a wistful shake of his head accompanying his words. "This city and its people have my devotion. Its potential and industry," he gestured expansively, his hands tracing an arc in the air, "reveal the flourishing of a great metropolis."
His smile dimmed slightly, a subtle furrowing of his brows accompanying the change. A soft sigh escaped his lips. "However, this city, for all its splendors, can be a stern mistress," he mused aloud, his gaze distant. "Even unforgiving, especially for those bereft of gainful employment or born outside the embrace of wealth and privilege." His expression bore a tinge of sorrow, a somber acknowledgment of hardship. "Such circumstances might push one to consider...alternative, less honorable paths, all to secure a mere crust of bread."
The Lord Inspector leaned forward over the binder, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "There is, in point of fact, a criminal element in this city that many people are not willing to admit exists," he said as he nodded. "But," he tapped the point of his index finger on the table, "it does. Right here, under our very noses. Yes. Yes it does."
Leaning in, the Lord Inspector's voice lowered, adopting a conspiratorial undertone. "There is, in point of fact, a criminal underbelly that pervades this city, an element many prefer to deny," he asserted, his head nodding affirmatively. He punctuated his point by tapping his index finger on the table's surface. "Yet, it exists—right beneath our very noses, hidden from view. Oh yes, it does."
He settled back, a gentle shake of his head conveying a mix of disbelief and dismay. "Could you fathom that the most reprehensible of these miscreants stoop so low as to enlist children in their malevolent deeds?" His words dripped with contempt. "Truly despicable. Utterly despicable."
Resting his hands in his lap, the Lord Inspector exhibited a gesture of resignation, his shoulders lifting in a subtle shrug. "Yet, what recourse do we possess?" His voice held a hint of exasperation. "Even in a city basking in prosperity and progress, there persist those who seek shortcuts, who fault others for their own adversities and seize what isn't rightfully theirs."
Then he smiled again, as if he was aware of something hopeful. He gestured towards her with both hands clasped together as he leaned forward earnestly. "However I am convinced that those who are exploited have hope. There are so many in this city, myself included, who are willing to extend the hand of friendship to those," and he nodded towards the young woman, "and please pardon me if I might extend that sentiment to include yourself in that number, in such need."
He gestured towards the soldiers somewhere behind the young women. "We only wish to be friends here." He tilted his head slightly as he looked towards the young woman. "So I will ask; may I be honored to count you as a friend? Miss Petra of no family name?"
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Petra had watched this wolf in human skin speaking, his clean hands as he gestured and folded them. She couldn’t help but draw back slightly as he leaned forward, even with the table between them. Downwind had its share of flat-eyed killers, that was the silvered truth, but she recognized the look of a man who enjoyed such work.
She had pulled into herself as a natural defense, her hands holding her thin arms against her slight frame. Her eyes fell to her bare feet, filthy, but, and if was only odd if others paid close attention, they were neither scraped nor bruised. Just covered in layers of dirt.
The silence stretched until it as an uncomfortable weight. Petra was lost in this conversation. Not understanding anything except for the simple fact that her life was simply not her own, and was squarely in this man’s hands. She took in a shaking breath. “M-may I ha-have s-s-some water?” she daringly stuttered. “P-please m’lord?”
When the silence between them felt like it had lasted far too long she took in a ragged breath through her ever parted, trembling lips and cleared her throat, "C-can I ha-have s-ss-some water?" she dared, "P-please m'Lord?"
The Lord Inspector spread his hands slightly and bowed his head to her. "Miss Petra with no family at all, I am remiss in my manners. But of course. Of course you may." He gestured towards one of the guards behind her, and there was a sound of movement, until one of the guards walked into her view with a pitcher and wooden cup. The guard poured the water into the cup, but he did it slowly as he looked at her with a smirk.
There was a flash of something in the Inspector's eyes at that, as if the only characters meant to be the center of this little drama were the jailer and the criminal, and this was an unwelcome addition to the play. The way his eyes lingered on the guard for just a moment longer than normal spoke volumes, the guard handing the cup to Petra as he stepped back, his face a bit pale.
The Lord Inspector unsnapped a small leather case at his side, and put something in his hand, gesturing towards the same guard. "Please open the doors to Miss Petra’s cell, and place this inside. Just in the middle of the floor, please." The guard reached for it, but the Lord Inspector held it tight for just a moment. "Put it in her cell. In the middle of the floor." He repeated calmly. The guard swallowed, then nodded. "Yes, sar," he said, then moved out of the room in a stomping of hard boots.
Petra could only hold the cup with slightly trembling hands, not sure if this small act of charity was a trick or not, and if there was a punishment for make the wrong choice.
Lord Chalight’s smile returned as he focused his attention to Petra and he gestured to the cup. "Please. Please. We must follow common courtesy if we are to be friends, as true friends help each other in their time of need." He looked back down to the binder as he began to undo a fastening of twine, then back up to the young woman, as she shakily brought the cup to her lips.
Her stomach twisted in pain anticipating something beyond water. She was starving, a state she was almost always in, as this tepid liquid brought only relief to her lips and throat, and nothing else.
The Lord Inspector finished unrolling the fastener as he opened the binder. There were several pages of clean, unwrinkled parchment, with tight, looping script she could see from her seat and what looked like a seal the page.
He touched the paper before him with all the fingertips of one hand. "What I have before me are warrants of arrest, listing the names, descriptions and crimes of all of your...associates that have labored so long under the delusion that the city watch were not watching. Along with those..." he began to move the parchment sheets from one side of the binder to the other, "let me see..." he said to himself as he turned each one carefully. "Ah yes." He looked up with a nod.
"I see that Magistrate Makeen has also issued writs of execution... hmm..." he leaned forward to read a section of the page, "yes, I see now 'in event of a verdict of guilty by three or more seated Magistrates presiding over the accused's trial'." He raised his brows and nodded. "Magistrate Makeen is very efficient. You must admire that about the man. No wasting the public's time or money, no indeed."
He sighed, looking through the paperwork, shaking his head at each turn of page, a measure of disappointment and displeasure at the list of sins on the sheets. While Petra knew her letters and numbers, the script was too small or looping or the pages at the wrong angle for her to read what he was looking at.
Finally, he organized the sheets, closing the binder, and carefully wound the twine once more around the fastener. But he left one sheet out. He interlaced his fingers his fingers as he leaned slightly so his clasped hands were resting on the table. It was quiet for a long, uncomfortable span of time as he looked at her, taking in her quivering, bruised, and disheveled form.
"I have need of a friend, Miss Petra who is all alone. It is true, even one such as I, with rank and a certain measure of public esteem, if I may be so humble to claim, from time to time need the assistance of someone I can trust. Someone I can come to with a task and I know they can complete that task with competence and discretion. That," he said, leaning a little closer for emphasis, "is the definition of a true friend."
He looked past Petra and nodded. There was more movement behind her, something opening and closing, the smell of something burning, then another guard walked into her line of sight and placed a short, fat candle on the table, the wick burning cheerily. The Lord Inspector gave a quick smile of thanks and a nod of his head, then looked back to the young woman.
"I hope, I truly do, that I can come to trust you, my little lost girl. I have read the confessions of yourself and your companions, and I can say, with utmost certainty, that you are not responsible for your transgressions. That you are, in fact, one of those teeming number who have been steered into a life of crime at such a young age, that if you had only been given an opportunity for redemption, your life would be world's different from where you find yourself today."
He sighed, looking down once more at the binder, then back up to her. "But alas, if you were a Magistrate, and only had the contents of this folder as your guide as to your guilt or innocence, I am afraid that there would be very few writs of execution that would remain unsigned." He paused, raising his thumbs from his interlaced fingers as he shrugged. "But as I say, if I could believe that I might count you as a friend, I think I may," he raised a brow, "may, mind you, be able to sweep away these sins," he said with a shuffling of his hand as if he were wiping dirt from the table, "before they could ever stain the eyes of a good Magistrate."
He looked down to the paper he had left out, his eyes widening as if in slight surprise. "Ah, I see someone has gone through the trouble and signed a warrant of repeal. Ah,” frowned as he looked at it from top to bottom, “but I see that the name has been left empty," he said, somewhat disappointed. Looking back up to her, he smiled once more. "But perhaps you can assist me with this, if, in fact, you are a friend of the city, and of myself."
At that moment, someone came into the room behind her. He looked up. "It is done, Lord Inspectah," came the voice of the one sent on the odd errand. Chalight nodded. "Thank you."
He then picked up the paper, so official looking with the pressed wax seal. He held it in both hands as he read it while speaking to her. "One of your own companions told me a very, very interesting tale about you, Miss Petra. So interesting in fact, that it immediately drew my attention, because, you see," he said, looking over the paper to her, "it was so fantastical as to beggar belief." He still held the paper in one hand as he let go with the other, raising a finger. "Yet it just so happens, that a report from a watch warden of the Downwind district, as reported to him by a watchman, mentioned something along the same lines to verify such a tale."
He shrugged again. "What to make of something like that? Something so..." he strained for a moment, as if struggling to find the right word, "so...amazing, that I simply had to determine the veracity of these claims for myself."
The Lord Inspector held the piece of paper by a corner, then, he looked from the lit candle to the paper, to Petra. "My dear Miss Petra. I was told that you can do a thing. Now, either a watchman was confused about what he thought he saw, or not. Or your companion was lying, or not. Either you can do a thing, or you cannot. I wish to see this for myself."
He held the corner of the paper slightly closer towards the burning wick, the edge of the smooth parchment starting to smoke and brown from the heat. "In your cell, is a gold coin. You will retrieve it and return before this warrant of appeal burns, then you may put any name on the sheet that you wish. Or, you cannot. But either way, I will have my answer."
It was just a touch more moement further, the paper's edge caught fire.
Petra had been watching him, holding the now empty cup with both hands as he spoke, that piece of paper in his hands. She didn’t follow all of his words, but it was clear that, at least for one of her supposed friends, those she had come to even think of as family among the thieves, harlots and pickpockets who had taken her in, this might mean freedom from this place.
Her blue-hazel eyes, large in her face, darted from the document to the candle as he began to move one to the other. He knew. Maybe it was Yrad who revealed her secret. Did it matter? She watched the paper begin to smoke, feeling helpless as she sat motionless, caught by fear and uncertainty. But she also understood that the hangman’s noose was a sure thing if she didn’t act.
She rose as the paperr smoked, browned, blackened, and the edge caught fire. A tendril of flame and wisp of black smoke trailed up the edge of the paper being held to the candle.
Chalight was watching the young woman, when he saw her demeanor change. He had seen fear often. He could sniff it out regardless of how deep those he pursued tried to hide it from him. He also saw the desperation in her eyes. That was good. That meant she was going to try something.
And then she stood...and what happened next was disarming. One moment she was sitting, and he thought he saw her stand, but then she was gone. A wind like a short, sharp breeze extinguished the candle flame and the burning edge of the paper, the smoke from the small corner that had been lit, the parchment and smoke pulled towards the open door. This thin, silver haired girl simply disappeared.
Only one of the guards had the presence of mind to begin to reach for his sword in that moment.
But before it could travel more than an inch, there was a hard
He frowned, then looked down at edge of the desk. There was the coin. He lowered his hand to place the paper on the desk, when he heard scrambling on the floor and someone breathing in great, shuddering gasps. "Close the door," he said as he slowly rose to his own feet, to walk around the simple, thick table that had so many other uses than just a desk.
The guard nearest the door closed it, standing before it. Chalight came around the table to look down at the young woman, her body shaking slightly as she rubbed at her eyes while she looked around the room with a frantic glance. She finally saw him as he stood over her.
He looked from the coin to the girl. "Well. I believe 'amazing' does not convey what we have just witnessed here. No. No indeed."
The Lord Inspector gestured to two of the guards to pick her up. They gripped her arms, pulling her to her feet while he stood before her. He looked at her while her chest rose and fell like a rabbit in a snare, the short, quick breaths sounding more animal than human.
He gave a nod of his head. "Yes, Miss Petra. I believe that we just might be the best of friends."
Moving to sit once more behind the table, he spoke again to the guards. "Cobble her legs in iron, but please ensure you pad them. I do not wish to bring further harm to our wonderful guest. Take her to the noble’s holding cell on this floor and bring her food and water."
He sat down as the guards began to pull her from the room. "Hold a moment please." He reached for the paper she had inadvertently extinguished. He dipped a quill in a small pot of ink and looked to Noomi.
"Now, I had stated that if you retrieved that coin for me, you could select a name that I would put on this writ of appeal. That person will then be released immediately to whatever fates might await them on the streets." He held the wet tip of the quill to the sheet of parchment.
"Please give me a name. It is important that you understand that when I state I am going to do something, you will be guaranteed that I will carry it through." He looked down to the binder. "Of course, there are so many other names here. Perhaps if you can prove yourself to be the friend that I certainly hope you will be, it may be that more writs of appeal will appear, with spaces for other names."
He looked back up to her own, frightened eyes. "But that depends on you. For now, you will remain a guest. The quarters my companions will take you to are meant to hold the fine lords and ladies of this city on minor charges. A bit more comfortable than our quarters downstairs." He glanced at the guards with a short, hard look. "And for now, I simply wish you to rest undisturbed, to eat, and contemplate on just how you might earn the release of the rest of your friends."
The Lord Inspector gestured with his quill towards the page.