The man sitting across the table from Dell raised his hand, and the watchman at his elbow produced a satchel of fine worked leather and handed it to him. He opened it and removed a notebook and a portfolio of blank documents, then relieved Dell of the pen and inkwell. He gestured, and Talker picked up Dell’s pack and returned to his position at the official’s elbow. “Now then, why don’t we start over? I am Watch Commander Harald Breakspear. Who are you?”

Dell didn’t see any point in lying anymore. They had his real documents in the pack. “Dellromoz Kablizzawhack, of Drumlummon.”

“Any aliases?” Commander Breakspear began to fill out the paperwork.

“Some people call me ‘Doc’.” Dell offered.

“Why do they call you that?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Well, Mr. Kablizzawhack, do you have any legitimate identification?” The commander emphasized the word without looking up from his paperwork.

Dell removed his cap and ran a hand through what was left of his hair. “It’s in there,” he pointed at his pack, “the older brown wallet.”

Commander Breakspear looked up from the table and fixed Dell with a penetrating glare. The pressure seemed to bear down on Dell again, and his eyes widened as he leaned back in the chair. “Are we going to find anything dangerous in that pack if we open it? Nothing sharp, or poisonous? No unpleasant surprises for bandits, that sort of thing?”

“No, of course not!” Dell exclaimed, wondering what sort of people booby-trapped their own packs. He’d thought himself sufficiently skilled in the fine art of paranoia, but it appeared he had much to learn. He supposed he’d have the time and necessity to pick it up soon, when he was in prison for presenting false documents. At least until Goswin’s crew caught word of where he was, after that he’d be too busy decomposing to bother with it.

The commander’s subordinate opened Dell’s pack and began to remove items from it. He set two other wallets in a pile before removing Dell’s actual documents, and handing them over. Breakspear took it and began to copy the details down. Dell watched as he was given his own file with Stanhope’s City Watch, complete with his name, birthdate, place of birth, parentage, education, and address history.

“You said you were a doctor? Who were you employed by? Temple, hospital, any other organizations of note?” Commander Breakspear resumed his questions. The pressure in the room seemed to return as fixed his gaze back on Dell.

“I was mostly self-employed, but I had an arrangement with Fulcher Goswin’s outfit. I treated anyone they sent me, and they didn’t require any protection money from me.” Dell hadn’t wanted to reveal the details of his deal with Goswin, he knew the association with the crime syndicate would only result in greater scrutiny from agents of the law. He couldn’t help himself though, it just sort of spilled out of him. If felt good to finally unburden himself, he hadn’t been able to tell his story to anyone, and it seemed to ease the oppressive weight of Commander Breakspear’s imperious stare.

“That’s the organization in Drumlummon? Did you spend much time with Goswin, or his associates?” The commander appeared interested, perhaps even curious, now.

“Yes, they run most of the underground industries in the city, and no, after I opened my office a couple of them stopped by with the offer. Standard rate for protection, or pay in services instead. A couple of the other people I talked to in the neighborhood said it wasn’t unusual, especially if you have goods or services the outfit can use.” Dell explained.

Commander Breakspear continued writing as Dell spoke. “Did you ever meet or speak with Goswin himself?”

“A handful of times, the first two times after a big fight with another outfit, the Rookery, and then the Iron Sons. Out of town organizations trying to come in and take over. My office was full of cut-up gangsters, and Goswin showed up with his men. He left me a nice coin purse after each time, and the second time took me to dinner at a nice restaurant a few days later. I didn’t want to make him angry, but he treated me well if when I had to put in a lot of work for him.” Dell was surprised at himself for saying all of this, he was usually more tight-lipped.

“Looking through your documents, I don’t see any medical training, are they incomplete?”

“No, I’m self-taught.”

The commander raised an eyebrow at Dell’s reply. “Explain.”

Dell hated this part, he’d had this conversation a thousand times, and it had not been enjoyable once. Still, the pressure that bore down on him under Commander Breakspear’s glare would brook no dissension.

“I started by studying with reference materials; books, journals, things like that. I moved onto dissecting animals, then cadavers. After that, I started applying what I’d learned to stitch up wounds, amputate septic limbs, pull teeth, sometimes cut out a baby if the mother was having trouble delivering. I stuck to surgery; I wasn’t much for herb lore, but there’s plenty of people out there who are skilled at that. I was on good terms with a couple, we’d refer patients to one another if we thought they were a better fit.”

“So you got your hands on the books that a temple or university would use to train a physician and taught yourself to be a surgeon from them?” The commander sounded impressed.

“... not exactly....” Dell squirmed in the chair.

Watch Commander Breakspear leaned forward, and the shadows cast on his face by the single light overhead obscured his eyes, giving his face the appearance of a statue of a judgmental deity. The oppressive weight in the room demanded he cooperate with his interrogator. “Elaborate.” It was not a request.

“I brought some of my reference materials with me when I left, the ones I couldn’t bear to part with. They’re in the pack.” Dell pointed.

Talker rifled through the contents of the backpack, pulling out a book and a bundle of journals, bound up with string. He opened the book, tilted his head in confusion, and then handed it to the commander. The commander read the title, frowned, and then looked up at Dell, who nodded in confirmation.

“An Inquisitor’s Practical Field Guide to Humanoid Anatomy, a Publication of the Holy Church of Scaeptrius? This is the correct book?” Commander Breakspear asked incredulously.

“Yes, it outlines all the important organs and blood vessels, their functions and locations, and gives reasonably accurate estimations of how much damage they can sustain and heal from on their own. The illustrations are very detailed and easy to follow, and there’s even some recommendations about tools and technique. Not everything is directly applicable of course, but much of it can be easily adapted to suit my purposes. ” Dell explained, straining to remain patient.

Commander Breakspear reached over and plucked at the knot on the bundle of journals, unraveling it. He sifted through the pile, reading the titles: Practical Vivisection, Recreational Autopsy Quarterly, Blood-Letters’ Almanac, and The Home Embalmer’s Handbook.“You learned to heal people from these?”

“I think it would be more accurate to say I learned anatomy from them, and then inferred the practice of surgical medicine from that.”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“That,” the commander seemed to be searching for the right words, “does not sound like the way things are usually done.”

“University admission is a matter of money and connections. There are a limited number of students accepted, since there are a limited number of instructors and actual medical texts. The best doctors open lucrative practices treating the nobility, who don’t want to share their doctors with commoners. Those same doctors hoard the best books, and don’t share their advanced techniques unless it’s with their children, or an apprentice from a family they have or want a connection to. Getting into medicine the traditional way is more about who you know than what you know.

"There are plenty of folk magic practitioners or herbalists out there that can show you how to put together a poultice, brew a cup of tea, or mix up a batch of incense. That stuff is more accessible to commoners, but there are things it just can’t fix.

"Vitaemancy seems to be nothing more than a legend, and not a pleasant one in any case. If it turned out to be real, then the Dahji probably would be as well, and I'd not care to meet them.

"A temple that offers healing will usually just provide the same thing as a good herbalist, with some prayers on top. Sometimes gods will intervene, but that’s a rarity. Depending on the god there might be conditions attached, and sometimes those are worse that whatever the original problem was. Not all of the gods are benevolent.” Dell finished his speech, which he had been giving on a regular basis for three years by now.

“So you taught yourself surgery by reading a torturer’s instruction manual. What are you doing here?” The commander moved on.

“It’s all Leudo’s fault.” Dell said, clenching his fists.

“Who is Leudo?” Breakspear continued writing down details of Dell’s story for his file, even as he produced a sheet to begin compiling a file on this new individual.

“Leudo Goswin, Fulcher’s cousin. He was a real cad, liked to drink, liked to gamble, liked to spend time with Madame Gismunda’s girls and beat them up afterward. Loved to hit people, probably the only thing he really loved. People would have to take the beating too, since he was a Goswin, defying the outfit would get you worse. Everybody knew to watch out for him, to stay on his good side, to just give him whatever he wanted.

He must have finally hurt the wrong person, because one night three members of the outfit kicked down my door and carried him inside. Somebody had stabbed him half a dozen times in an alley and left him for dead, and nobody saw anything. A couple of his friends found him and brought him to me, but he had lost too much blood. I did my best to staunch the bleeding and close up his wounds, but he died anyway.” Dell rubbed his forehead, which was beginning to ache. Something didn’t feel right. Why was he giving away this much information?

“So Fulcher blamed you for his death.” the commander concluded.

“The truth is, ” Dell paused to consider, “ ... stranger.”

Watch Commander Breakspear gestured for him to continue.

“So it turns out that Leudo’s friends were working for Fulcher, and they were supposed to keep an eye on him, keep him out of trouble as much as was possible. Now they were in deep shit. One of them suggested that they tell Fulcher it was my fault, say I was drunk, or that I didn't want to help, something like that.

"I was afraid. I couldn't get away from them, and even if he didn't quite believe their story, why leave it to chance? He'd kill me just to be sure. So, I proposed a solution.

"I was familiar with a necromancer. I’d met him while I was procuring... study materials. We ran into each other often enough to have a bit of a rapport. Leudo was already dead, so we really didn't have anything to lose.”

“What did you do?” Breakspear asked.

“We took Leudo down to my acquaintance’s laboratory and asked what he could do for us. After a brief examination, he said that Leudo’s spirit had already departed from this plane, but that he could put another one in the body. The result would be a creature that looked like Leudo, just a bit paler, had his memories, and could follow orders. Feeding it would be the only downside, the new Leudo would prefer raw meat; the fresher, the better.”

“Then Fulcher took offense at what you’d done to his cousin?”

“After we brought Leudo back to the outfit I never saw his bodyguards again. Fulcher was skeptical about how useful the new Leudo would be, but he didn't kill me. He said I'd suggested the treatment, so he'd judge me based on my results. I don't think he liked his cousin very much."

"Then how did it go?"

"Good at first. New Leudo didn’t drink, he didn’t gamble, and he never went down to Madame Gismunda’s anymore. He didn’t brag and run his mouth about the outfit’s business either, he kept his mouth shut and did what he was told. If he didn’t have something to do, he just sort of sat there, staring at nothing in particular. After a month, they figured out if they needed to dispose of an inconvenient corpse, they could just give it to Leudo, and clean him up afterwards.

"Eventually Fulcher sent me a fantastic bottle of brandy, he said he wished he had ten more just like the new Leudo.”

Commander Breakspear looked disgusted and confused. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Leudo’s mother was a woman named Luthera, and she hadn’t been real happy about the change to her little boy. He was less volatile, but he lacked... personality, I guess you’d call it? She’d been complaining to her sister, Fulcher’s mother, every couple of days, then Fulcher would get it from his mother, and it while it annoyed him, he could live with his mother nagging him every now and then.

"But one evening Aunt Luthera went over to Leudo’s place to look after him, clean up, dote on her boy, that kind of thing. She got tired after all her bustling around, sat down in a chair, and nodded off. Her servants thought nothing of it and went home. And then Leudo ate her.”

The commander’s eyes widened.

“Fulcher was livid when he found out, and he had me picked up. I don’t know whether or not they put Leudo down, Fulcher didn’t mention it while his guys were beating me bloody.”

“They let you off with a beating?”

“No, they were going to kill me, but they needed me to tell them where to find Puglith, the necromancer I mentioned. They beat an address out of me, then tied me up and threw me in a back room. They probably just wanted to be sure they caught him before they killed us both. I escaped before they got back.”

“How?” Breakspear asked.

Something just wasn’t right. Dell shook his aching head. “How what?”

“How did you escape?” Watch Commander Breakspear spoke the words, and the pressure increased again. Dell’s hands were sweating, and his throat was dry. He knew if he just told the commander, it would ease things. There was no point in resisting...

Memories of what he was being asked suddenly filled his mind.

Watching as the beams overhead began to char, and the room filled with smoke. The rope around him burning away. His throat burning as he screamed, unsure if it was in fear or rage. That terrible voice calling his name.

Why do I want to tell him this? Nothing good will come of it!Dell thought to himself as the pressure on him intensified under the commander’s unrelenting gaze.I don’t want to tell him...

“You’re doing magic!” Dell shouted, outraged at the coercion. He jumped up on the chair and looked the commander in the eye. “I don't know how you're doing it, but you are!”

Breakspear rolled his eyes, then pointed at the falsified identification papers that they had removed from Dellromoz’s pack.

“Do you know what I see when I look at these?”

“What?!” Dell snapped.

“Commitment. A commitment to not telling the truth to those of us tasked with keeping the peace. Am I supposed to take you at your word after you lied to my men previously, especially when you came prepared to support your lies with the sort of forgeries that would have cost enough silver to feed a family for a month?”

“Why should I trust you?! Do you think the Goswin outfit doesn’t have a deal with the watch in Drumlummon? Do you expect me me to believe the watch just never noticed his activities before?! For all I know, you could have a deal too! You might already be imagining how to spend the silver Fulcher will give you for handing me over!”

Dell was shaking with anger, his hands balled up into fists, fingernails digging into his palms. For just a moment, something in the depths of his eyes glowed with a red-orange light, like an ember left behind after the rest of a campfire has burned out. Then Dell blinked and it was gone.

Commander Breakspear glared and began to speak again, but then door burst open. A woman of about forty entered the room, clad in the uniform of the watch. She looked at Dell briefly, and then returned her gaze to the commander. “We found him renting a room in some widow’s house. Our agents saw him go in earlier, he hasn’t been seen leaving.”

Breakspear stood up immediately. He turned to the watchman at his side. “Get these filed,” he waved at the documents on the table, “then search him, secure his possessions, and put him in holding until I have time to finish questioning him.” He strode out after the watchwoman, checking his saber as he went.

Dell watched him go as different emotions fought one another for dominance in his mind. Rage, relief, indignation, confusion, curiosity, and fear whirled and then subsided.

“Alright little doctor,” Talker said, “let’s not make this any harder than it has to be.”