I’d had to wait nearly an hour for the Watch carriage to take me to the Coffin.

Waiting that long had been an hour of impatience, but going alone was out of the question, so instead I had tapped my foot just inside Voltar’s house till the carriage had arrived.

A quick exchange of passcodes and a mutual paralyzation of each other later, Captain Malstein welcomed me into the carriage. I settled across from him and two other members of the watch. Both of them had loaded crossbows, currently being aimed at the floor, but I had little doubts about where those bolts might be aimed if I proved…difficult.

The carriage jolted into action, moving across the road.

“There has to be a better way to test this,” Malstein said, massaging the back of his head. “You couldn’t have waited till I was inside the carriage to do that?”

“And you couldn’t have waited till I was off the steps?” I countered, tentatively prodding at my leg. “I still haven’t healed this leg, and taking a tumble on it doesn’t help. Besides, you’re the one with the captive shape-changer, if anyone is close to finding a better method it’s you.”

“I’m told proper testing takes time,” Malstein growled. “As in whenever the people brought to examine him think they’ve found something, they spend entire days testing to their limits to make sure it’s right. Almost to the point of paranoia.”

“Or just being thorough,” I replied. “He is healthy then?”

I hadn’t seen Hawkins since rotting him nearly to death. About all I had known is he’d survived that and was still in captivity. Whether my near-murder had left some kind of impact on the changer I had no idea. He might be restricted to that strange humanoid form for all I knew.

“As far as we can tell, he is healthy,” Malstein said. “He’s assumed an appearance close to the one you described him using, and has done minor shapeshiftings. Nothing as major or as dramatic as that worm from the party. Or what we’ve seen some of his fellow changers turn into.”

I drummed my fingers, looking outside at the passing city. “It could be that it’s something they can do rarely. I’ve had some hints on how they may have been created, but nothing concrete so it’s complete speculation, but for some of their changes, they must pull the energy for that from somewhere. And unless they were created with a truly massive reservoir of energy it must be replenished by one method or another.”

There were a variety of ways to replenish that kind of energy, especially if you were not a born mage who could generate it on their own. Most of it involved ambient magic and ran the gamut from simply waiting in places of high energy to sucking it out of other creatures. Vampires used the latter to sustain their unnatural states and the bevy of powers they used.

“You said ‘created’” Malstein noted. “They are artificial creations of someone else then?”

“Yes, although the details of that should maybe not be repeated out loud,” I muttered as I looked at the foot traffic. No one was trying to stay close to the coach, but with the right spell, or modification to one’s self, you could pick up quite a lot. “Not till we are inside the Coffin.”

“A fair point,” Malstein said. “You were at the bombings in the Quarter a while ago?”

“I was,” I answered hesitantly. “Why?”

“I had reports was all. I’d appreciate an account of it after your interview with Hawkins.”

“I’ll give one, but I didn’t see much,” I admitted. “Two Infernals with a cart, an explosion. Another Infernal and I made our way out of the chaos to safety.”

“Still, any point of view would be appreciated. When you saw the Infernals, did-”

***

One interview and carriage ride later, I stood waiting outside Hawkins cell for the chance to go inside.

Of course, Malstein wasn’t willing to let me in with his prize prisoner without some ground rules being set, and also knowing what I’d uncovered since last we’d met. That had meant an entire recounting of the adventure in the Archive.

“-both the papers are with Dawes and Voltar currently,” I finished. “They’ll be presenting them to further contacts so hopefully we can finally bring an end to this. And maybe even permission to toss Lord Montague in here as well.”

“It’s thin evidence,” Malstein observed. “Also thin for trying to get information from that changer. You not having it on hand makes it even thinner.”

“I agree, but it was needed elsewhere,” I replied. “Besides, implication enough might rattle something loose. Your own interrogations have turned up nothing?”

“Interrogations have turned up little. However, examinations of the shapechanger have turned up a small wealth of information on how they function.”

Malstein grabbed several sheets of paper, passing them over. Raising an eyebrow, I started reading through the first one.

Well, for all their talk about Colonel Colgraves no longer being allowed to interrogate prisoners, whoever was running experiments on Hawkins read like a disciple of the torture-happy colonel. They’d been cutting pieces off of him at first, testing to see how long they stayed alive separated from the Shapechanger.

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The answer was barely an hour, and only being able to react to outside stimuli. They were unable to act on their own, or at least they thought so.

More tests, and more attempts to get Hawkins to show the limitations of his powers. The changer flesh itself didn’t appear any different than the usual flesh of whatever he’d changed to, with one exception. It was more conducive to channeling magic. Probably to allow the change to happen faster. There might be something in that for testing people though.

I could look at these later. I turned my attention back to the iron cell door leading to the chamber where I’d interrogate Hawkins. Solid iron, an inch thick. There’d been close calls with escape attempts from him.

“Is there anything I can offer him?”

“Only what you’re capable of giving him,” Malstein answered flatly.

I sighed. That wasn’t much and left me bereft of any actual carrot to offer instead of the stick. Still, I couldn’t hold that against Malstein. His prisoner after all.

I opened the door to the cell, entered, and closed it behind me.

Gregory Montague looked at me; irons clasped around every bit of his limbs, metal chains leading to the surrounding walls. A metallic breastplate was sealed around him, more chains leading to the walls.

I averted my eyes, looking down towards the bag I’d carried with me into the room. “Please change back before we talk?”

Hawkins laughed with Gregory’s voice, my mind hating the wrongness of it. “Oh, little Foulhorn, will it really be that-”

I didn’t let him finish, pulling the revolver from my bag, aiming, and pulling the trigger. Hawkins barely had to register before the bullet blew through his ear, ripping cartilage to shreds as it went flying across the interrogation room.

“Mr. Hawkins,” I said, pulling the hammer back on the revolver as the cylinder rotated. “You seem to be mistaken about your situation. Let me rephrase myself. Would you please change to a form more comfortable for the both of us before I’m forced to shoot you again?”

Hawkins-Gregory eyed the barrel of the revolver, blood dripping down his neck from the blown-off ear before the wound closed. “You wouldn’t dare shoot me again, unless you want to risk my death.”

“There’s plenty of places to shoot that won't kill you, Mr Hawkins,” I said, taking a step closer and letting the revolver’s barrel move, allowing my aim to travel across his body. “I know you have nerves, and I imagine it takes effort to let them not form inside you, otherwise you’d have done it more often during our encounters. And you’ve exhausted yourself, so you can’t force them away.”

Hawkins’s ear refused to regrow as he considered me, then his form turned waxen, skin changing as he grew a bit, loose irons fitting on him better as he turned into the same Hawkins I’d fought in the warehouse.

“Thank you,” I said cheerily, putting the revolver back on the table. “You see what a little cooperation can get for the both of us?”

“Maniac,” he spat at me, eyeing the revolver.

“I’ve been called worse,” I replied. “Tolerated worse, typically from people I either liked or had to tolerate. You are neither, Mr. Hawkins. Mr. Hawkins does work for addressing you, yes?”

He didn’t reply, stealing a glance instead at the gun. Shaking my head, I snapped my fingers and Hellfire blazed into existence inches in front of his face.

He recoiled backward, nearly topping the chair he was chained to.

“You can go for it if you want,” I told him. “I’ll be faster. And what do you do after shooting me anyway? Back to being cut apart while they try to carve more secrets out of you.”

“As if that won’t keep happening no matter what I do,” Hawkins seethed as he leaned forward, ignoring the Hellfire. “I am destined to be a Guinea pig no matter what I choose.”

“There’s different levels to that,” I told him. “Some cooperation might end up getting you some things you’d only dream of.”

“Speaking from experience?” Hawkins snapped. “Tell me, how little did a lowly vermin like you agree to for being the Watch’s pet diabolist on a leash.”

The…the Watch’s? Something built up in my chest, heading up my throat and before I could contain it giggles started escaping my mouth. Within seconds they had become a fit of laughter so hard tears were forming in my eyes as Hawkins stared blankly at me.

“The-the Watch?” I got out eventually. “That’s who you think I work for?”

Oh gods, please let this one not be a ringleader of their organization, otherwise their view of this was so skewed. Even if they had no idea of who pulled Voltar’s strings, the idea that I was answering to the Watch was…no.

“No, I don’t work for the Watch,” I said. “Mind you, I don’t know if your services would suit my current employers. I mean, your creator made you quite well, but I don’t know if they’d want you.”

“My creator?” Hawkins asked, seemingly bemused.

“Dustin Tarry,” I answered. “He was your creator, was he not?”

Hawkins didn’t so much as twitch but the lack of reaction could be a reaction itself.

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?” He finally said.

“I’m not,” I replied glibly. “I copied someone else’s work on this. Lord Montague’s to be precise.”

“So his Lordship has finally utilized that as his fingertips,” Hawkins said with a sneer. “How much did he tell you of us then?”

“None,” I said. “I pieced it together from a list of what he’s been reading in the Archives. And saving it mere minutes before two of your fellows destroyed it on his behalf.”

A bit of a guess on my part, but I doubted those two changers had been there to copy it like they’d told Martel.

Hawkins’ expression did not shift but I took his lack of response as an indication of shock.

“It seems a little strange, to try and replace a noble’s heir and then work with him,” I said. “It makes one think one event followed the other. Possibly one leads directly to the other. Well, I should stop speculating, since I’m quite sure when it took place. How long ago did you choose to replace the actual Lady Karsin?”

Was that a twitch? It had been so brief I couldn’t tell for certain, if it had been only the slightest twinge of a muscle in his face.

“You think yourself clever, don’t you?” He said, leaning forward a little.

“Not really,” I said. “I got lucky and stumbled across a few things. If I was clever I’d have figured out why use me and Versalicci as your scapegoats. I mean, you hadn’t done your research on me, and especially not Versalicci if you thought he’d make an easy person to pawn the blame off on. He’s already found the underground base you're keeping the celestial in, or the one you're having the rest of those Purebloods hang around in. He’s very vague about which it is, a bit annoying. Probably waiting on a solution to that Basilisk you're keeping down there before he finishes off your little operation.”

Hawkins was still for a while, then snorted. “You are making things up. The Watch would never work with the Black Flame.”

“Who said they were?” I said. “Versalicci needs my services, he offers me things. Information is one of those things, like when he’s found places full of Pure-Bloods and ripped their souls out because he’s irritated. He could have left me one, but I gues he was feeling greedy.”

Hawkins stared at me in incredulity as I lazily opened my mouth, showing my full array of pointed teeth.

“I get the sense someone didn’t do the proper amount of research?” I asked, and this time the twitch was real.

“Definitely not,” the Changer growled, and my smile grew broader.

The voice of the aggrieved was one of the most common ones, when your irritation at the failures of others landing you in hot water needed to be let out so you could vent your bile. I’d coaxed it past his mask.

Time to see what else I might be able to coax.