The firm grips of Chalight's guards, commanded to hoist her to her feet, held Noomi in place, forcing her to face the Lord Inspector once more. Her blood was fizzing in her veins as she breathed in hard. She was ravenous, and that small bit of her talent felt as if it had burned through her remaining strength.

Meeting Lord Chalight's flat gaze, her eyes were drawn back to the parchment, where a slight charring on one side bore witness to her intervention. As she attempted to conjure a name, her mind betrayed her, leaving only the image of a sweet, round face. An easy smile adorned a generous mouth—a young woman's visage veiling a carefully crafted facade. Tightly coiled raven curls framed it.

Tilly. Till to her friends. She was popular on the streets of Downwind, and Imeer, her man and handler, kept her in cleanish dresses and was careful never to mark her face, even when he was deep in his drink. Till, who was easy to laugh, and who was ignorant of Noomi’s longing from afar.

Noomi struggled to part her parched lips, swallowing hard to prevent her voice from emerging as a mere croak. "T-T--" She attempted to speak, pausing to regain control of her breath. "Till--" She finally managed, taking quick, shallow breaths. "I--I want y-you t-t-t'free her," she implored between gasps.

The Lord Inspector's lips formed a small moue. "Ah, the whore. Very well," he muttered, scribbling something on the paper and signing it. He sprinkled a fine sand across the document, blowing away the excess before gesturing to a guard not holding her. "Escort this young woman out of the building. She is to be released unharmed," he commanded, a stern look on his face. "Is that understood?"

"Not--" Noomi tried to protest between panting, heavy breaths, her voice a whisper, lost amidst the clatter of approaching shackles. "Not a--not a whore."

The guard near the door nodded at Lord Chalight’s admonition. "Aye, Lord Inspectah," he said with a thick, Downwind accent as he turned to head towards the dungeons below.

Lord Chalight glanced back at Noomi. "As for you, my dear, I believe a night's rest and a proper meal will improve your disposition for our discussion tomorrow." While the guards supported her arms, a third affixed the weighty manacles to her ankles, the cold metal biting into her bare skin. The chain dragged heavily, forcing her into a shuffling gait as they proceeded down the hallway, destination unknown.

They stayed on this floor, the two of them half holding her, half dragging her as she tried to shuffle along with the iron manacles. They didn't say anything to her until they were well out of sight of the door where the Lord Inspector had been sitting. Finally, one of them spoke up. "Yeah, you'd better be right fuckin' agreeable, like. The Lord Inspectah, he does right by those he favahs, yeah. But you fuckin' cross him," the guard shivered while the other one chuckled darkly. "You'd be fuckin' cursin' your mum and dah for havin' squirted' you out."

They eventually reached another imposing door, where a portly, older guard with large white mutton chops was seated at a table. He let out a groan as he rose, his face marked with a frown. He glanced at the approaching guards. "This one doesn't seem like a lady, lads. What's the story her?”

One of the men, the one who laughed, grunted. "The Lord Inspector says put her in here, we put her in here." The old guard was looking her up and down when the other shook his head. "This quim ain't for the takin'. Orders from the Lord hisself."

The fat guard made a snort, then shook his head. "Alright then." He turned to unlock the door with a large iron key, just as another guard caught up to them. He had strips of cloth in his hands as the fat guard opened the door. The new guard was slightly out of breath. "For...for her feet. Like he said."

They ushered her into the room, revealing its simplicity. A lone oil lamp cast a feeble glow, revealing a modest room. In the dim light, she saw a narrow mattress on a bed frame, a privacy screen emanating a faint scent of a privy hole, and a small table with a lone chair. Despite the thick panes of glass shielded by an iron screen, a semblance of a window remained.

They brought her in, and after locking the door behind her, spent some minutes trying to figure out how to keep her feet, already turning raw from the manacles, from chafing more. In the end, they undid one manacle while they bound her ankles and feet in layers of the cloth, locked it back in place, and then repeated it. When they were done, her ankles were still manacled but were not in immediate danger of blistering and bleeding from the iron. Noomi could only watch their efforts to minimize the injuries to her thin ankles from the manacles and even heard herself say a quiet ‘thank you’ when they finished. They finally left the room, leaving her to her thoughts and her fears.

Lord Chalight knew her secret, knew what made her so…different. And she suspected he knew her other secret. The one that wasn’t as important to the Lord Inspector as her gift, but would see her persecuted.

It was Yrad, she knew, who had said something. And knowing him, once he started talking he wouldn’t stop until he said what he needed to see free. But from the way Lord Chalight spoke, it was as if he knew before Yrad told him anything. He already knew and Yrad's backstabbing mouth had done nothing but confirm it.

Noomi's thoughts drifted through a haze. One moment, she had been in a damp, wretched cell, suffering from bruises, cold, and hunger, with the specter of cruel guard treatment or a hangman's noose looming overhead. But now, her thoughts snapped back into fearful focus as she heard the door creak open. She jerked in surprise, her shackles shifting slightly, still painful but not as injurious as before.

Muttonchops was there, but there was also a large woman who entered with a tray of food. She was sweaty, in a stained and worn dress, and her face was flushed from what was probably the heat of the kitchens. When she saw Noomi, she pursed her lips and clucked her tongue, giving a quick glower to the guard.

She put the tray down on the small table near Noomi. The smells threatened to drive the young woman mad with her hunger and nauseous from the richness of it. There was an entire roasted chicken, a clay pitcher of milk; purple boiled sweet beets with dandelions mixed in, and stacks of flatbread. The woman wiped her hands on an apron as she looked at Noomi. "Eat up girl. You never know in this place if this'll be your last." She shook her head, the words, "poor girl" barely audible as the fat guard hustled her out again, once more locking the door.

As the door closed, Noomi wasted no time in devouring the food. Her hunger was insatiable, a roaring furnace that consumed everything in its path. Chicken, flatbread, beets—it all disappeared into her mouth between noisy gulps of cool milk. Her hands moved so quickly they blurred, but she paid them no mind. All that mattered was the food in front of her, and in a matter of moments, she was dribbling the last drops of milk into her open mouth, even licking her fingers to savor every lingering taste. Others who hadn't eaten for a day might have felt sick, but Noomi seemed immune to sluggishness, her appetite unmatched.

She wiped her mouth on her already dirty sleeve and fell to her side on the bed with a small belch. She breathed in and out deeply, her mind settling somewhat. Fear was still the master, but a meal held it back just a bit. Enough for her to think.

Noomi watched the door, gazing at the handle. Waiting for it to turn. For the Lord’s men to return or Lord Chalight himself, with his even and friendly words. She had a flash of memory of that bloody napkin. With a lump beneath it. She squeezed her eyes shut as she realized she had passed up on a chance to try to see if Till and Noomi’s companions were even here. But her mind was too focused on getting that coin and getting back before she lost a…lost her…lost...

---

The rattle of the door jolted Noomi awake. She sat up abruptly, panic seizing her as the door opened with a slight squeal. Two guards entered briskly, making way for the woman who carried a new tray.

Stolen story; please report.

"Here, deary. A little somethin' to break your fast." She placed the tray on the table and lingered for a moment. It seemed as though she had more to say, but she eventually turned to leave. She backed up a step and moved to the side, her head bowing low as Lord Inspector Chalight entered the cell. He appeared freshly shaven, his uniform immaculate and freshly laundered. He had a cloak draped over his arm and paused at the door, offering a broad smile to Noomi. His very presence seemed to fill the room.

Noomi had frozen, her hand hovering over the tray as she watched Lord Chalight's entrance. He nodded to her with that unsettlingly friendly expression. "Ah, my dear friend. You are looking refreshed and well," he said, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I hope you slept better in these accommodations than your last." He turned slightly, gesturing, and the woman curtsied before leaving the room quickly.

Lord Chalight surveyed the tray and the chair positioned by the small table. He frowned slightly and then addressed the guards. "Please move the table closer to our guest's bed. Thank you," he finished as they promptly followed his instructions.

With a casual grace, he turned the chair around so it faced the bed, then settled into it. He unbuttoned his dark leather coat, letting it drape to the sides, and crossed one leg casually. His leather gloves, previously clenched in his fist, were placed on his knee. He paused to meticulously remove some imaginary speck of dirt, wiping his pant legs.

His gaze shifted to the tray. "That smells wonderful, dear Miss Noomi. Please," he gestured with one hand, "I will not be offended if you eat. We can speak as you break your fast."

Unsure if this was a trick or a test, Noomi reached for a bowl filled with what appeared to be cooked oats, crowned with a thick dollop of cream. She avoided making eye contact with Lord Chalight as she cautiously and deliberately ate, using a wooden spoon. Her stomach pleaded with her to devour the food hastily, but she resisted, keeping her actions measured, unlike the previous night.

She swallowed hard as a question came to her mind. Noomi felt the silence was stretching too long and struggled to fill it while he watched her. "Did you--" she said, holding the bowl in her lap, still not meeting his eyes. "Let Till go like you said you would?" she asked, moving the spoon in the cooked oats, not trusting herself to not drop it, but she pushed against her far. She had to know. "And what proof do you have that I can trust?" she asked him and swallowed, "Uh, please?" she added lamely, just now realizing her tone.

Lord Inspector Chalight arched an eyebrow at her question, followed by her demand. He offered a small nod of his head. "I did sign the release with her name. I then ordered my guards to release her from custody. Just as I stated."

He shook his head slightly. "As to what proof I can provide," he gave a non-committal shrug of his shoulders. "All that I would have to show you is an empty cell. That only means she is not here. She could either have returned to making a living on her back or," his hand drifted slowly in front him, his voice lightening a bit as if talking to a child, "her body is slowly bobbing up and down, up and down," his hand moved like a cork bobbing in the water, "to be retrieved out of the water with gaffing hooks like some great fish by the undertakers of Ashtown."

Ashtown, the village of death. It was the destination for those whose families couldn't afford a proper burial. They sent their loved ones by wagon or river to this desolate place. A small settlement had emerged near the riverbend, where bodies and logs frequently jammed up. Undertakers received a stipend from the city to maintain the river's flow. The name Ashtown originated from the central furnace where the bodies were incinerated. The chimneys emitted an unending stream of smoke, coating the entire town in a fine layer of cremated ash.

He placed his hand in his lap, one over the other, shaking his head slightly at her apparent naivety. "You speak of trust, young Miss Noomi." He extended his hands. "What is there in the world to trust? Will the sun," he realized something, pointing to the small window behind her. "Ah, there he is now," he remarked, smiling at the faint sunlight streaming into the otherwise gloomy room. "Where was I? Ah yes. How do you know that the sun will rise tomorrow?"

"We often take such things for granted. For example," he leaned forward, shaking a finger slightly at her. "How can I trust that you will not use your remarkable gift to simply escape? How can you trust me not to have harmed your friends during the night, for what purpose would they serve the city while occupying my cells? How can you trust that I have not merely dispatched this Til to the army barracks as a token of my profound respect for their hard work on behalf of our country?"

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a sigh. He absentmindedly brushed at his knee with one hand. "Trust, I'm afraid, is synonymous with hope. It hinges on the belief that one party in a contract will uphold their end of the bargain."

"You, for example," he gestured towards her, "hope that your friend is still alive and well. While I," he touched his chest, "hope that I have not made a mistake by providing you with comfort and food and isolation. You must trust that I will do as I say, while I must trust that you will do as I say."

"The whore is of no value to me, so releasing her to ease some," he waved a hand near his ear as if shooing a fly, "sense of guilt upon your part costs me nothing." He gave her a friendly smile. "And as long as I believe that you can be of some use to me, I won't order my men to put those," he looked down to her legs, smiling again as he shook his head, "simply marvelous feet of yours beneath the miller's grindstone."

He sat back, his hand under his chin as he looked to one side as if remembering something. "Many years ago, I remember seeing the results of a man who had his hand caught under a millstone." He nodded, then looked at her, his fingers coming together as if feeling sand between his fingertips. "Do you know that even the bones are crushed to powder? There is simply nothing left but blood and this, red, wet paste where the blood mixed with the flour."

Noomi’s heart fell at his casual, yet somehow vivid description of a horrific event. She backed up, dropping the bowl, as panic overcame her. She thought she could feel the pain of it now. It was his voice. So calm, so even. Why was that so much worse than beating her?

"Please--" she whispered, "I'm sorry m'lord--" she said and sucked in an awkward breath, feeling herself losing control, "I'll do whatever-wh-whatever you want--" she said as her eyes reddened and tears began to stream down her face, "Pl-please don't--" she said and sniffled to stop mucus from running into her mouth.

"While it might be deemed acceptable in our society for tears to be a woman's prerogative," he remarked dryly, observing her tears and emotional outburst, "I hope you understand that in my time, I've witnessed oceans of tears and endured years of pleading and begging. I've listened to men offering their wives and children and women proposing all manner of unimaginable deviancy, all in a futile effort to sway my judgment." He sighed wearily.

Reaching into his coat, he retrieved a neatly folded kerchief and extended it toward her. Then, he pushed the small table toward her side, concealing the food. "Clean yourself," he instructed, raising his hand slightly. "And please, keep it."

"Now, Mistress Noomi," he slapped his gloves against his leg slightly. "I have a proposal for you, and I want to ensure that I have your undivided attention. Do I have your undivided attention, my dear?" He raised his brows as Noomi tentatively took the kerchief, wiping at her face as she could.

He waited a few moments as he watched to see if she would stop crying. Finally, he continued, his fingers interlaced as he sat back, his legs crossed. "This city, and beyond its borders, this country, has suffered greatly at the hands and schemes of our enemies. Our streets are filled with criminals, our city is crowded with houses secretly supporting all manner of perversions, and our hands our tied by the rigid system of laws and magisterial overview currently in place." He shook his head. "And men like myself, men with a vision of how this city, and after that, the country, should be run, are kept busy trying to keep peace and order in a city that is suffocating under the weight of refugees from beyond our borders and moral decay from within."

The Lord Inspector looked to Noomi. "But, I, and a few others of a like mind, have hope. We have a vision of a much brighter future for all of Jannerus, not just our mother city. And there is a place in that future for people like you, Mistress Noomi." He tilted his head slightly as he looked at her. "You have a wonderful talent. I would not see it wasted in picking pockets and robbing merchants. I would like to allow you to use your gift for the good of the people. To help us establish a rule of law and order and moral decency that will once more make Jannerus and her people proud to take their place as leaders in this land."

He paused in thought. "I would like to offer you this opportunity in exchange for the continued survival and humane treatment of your friends. Until such a day that you may see for yourself the good you can do, and will do so willingly, and, dare we hope, with pride."

"Now, I have a very specific task in mind for you, my nimble-footed young lady. There are individuals in our government who care only for their own gluttony and riches, obtained at the expense of the toil and blood of our citizens. They are parasites that must be removed from the body of our society. We shall commence with a certain Magistrate Dyvesh. You will be cleaned up, provided with proper attire, given a meal, and set on the trail of Magistrate Dyvesh. I will assign someone I trust to work closely with you, conveying my instructions. Your mission is to infiltrate his residence and locate specific documents, most likely stored in a locked drawer within his office. You will be provided with the necessary details of what you are searching for."

Lord Chalight took a deep breath. "Consider this akin to stealing from an undeserving merchant. The prize is the ongoing well-being of your friends and the accumulation of my favor. I trust you recognize the value of cultivating my goodwill."