(Strive 10:4)
The guard took us from the cell and up a series of winding stairs, holding our kadas loosely in one hand. El stared at the jangling bracelets while she rode on my shoulder, and I shook my head vehemently, putting a hand on her back just in case she bolted for them. No way would that end well.
My chest tightened with a sense of impending doom. So far, the people we’d met inside the tower were almost uniformly assholes, but maybe this would be different. I remembered vaguely the purple glow of someone healing me from near death. At least one person had been kind.
The prison must’ve been far below ground, because the spiraling steps seemed to go on forever. Slowly but surely, we left dim corridors lit only by flickering orbs to enter brighter halls. I never thought I’d be so glad to see windows and feel fresh air on my skin. I only hoped it wasn’t the last time.
The guard escorted us to a large wooden door, opened it slightly, and passed our bracelets to someone inside. He indicated that we should enter without him, so we stepped through the threshold, the door slamming shut on our backs.
For some reason, I’d been expecting an opulent throne room where a high and mighty lord would pass judgment on us. But it was really a modest space: just a few chairs and a rug for comfort, and a fireplace that crackled with warmth. Two men faced us, one seated behind a desk almost submerged in paperwork, one hovering above in an advisory position. I wished I wasn’t wearing thin hospital clothes. They made me feel like I was at a severe disadvantage.
The seated man did have something lordly in him, but it was an old, weathered authority, like a gunslinging sheriff of the Wild West. He was dressed pragmatically in a shirt and pants, no stiff ruffled neckwear or luxurious robes. If he had a kada, it was hidden by the long sleeves of his tunic.
The other one was the harsh-looking man who’d arrested us, gripping our bracelets tightly in one fist. His own kada was deep red, like blood or anger. The seated man whispered something to him, and he responded in a low rumble without taking his eyes from El and me.
The seated man spoke aloud, in a surprisingly erudite voice, and thankfully in English. “You don’t much look like your last name’s Shaw, if you’ll forgive my saying. And you—” here he glanced at El, “—don’t seem like our El Bandito. Aside from the obvious similarity.”
I cleared my throat. “Family name’s originally spelled X-I-A. I changed it—wanted to make it easier for people to pronounce.”
He looked thoughtful. “Indeed. I’m a Shaw myself. We could call it convergent evolution, I suppose.”
“I am El Bandito,” snapped El. “What, is there a trademark on the name?”
That brought a small smile to Mr. Shaw’s face. “So you are, so you are. And I am Jacob Shaw, at your service. You’ve already met Artem.” I glanced at the policeman, who scowled in greeting. “You are currently in the headquarters of Uomo Universale, of which I am guildmaster.”
I had no idea what any of that was, so I just said something vaguely polite in response, although I took it as a good sign that this man wasn’t overtly aggressive toward us. There was a brief silence before he spoke again.
“You’re not in trouble,” the master said, and the word ‘yet’ was strongly implied. “I just need you to explain this.”
At some unspoken signal, the policeman—Artem—handed him El’s bracelet. His fingers flashed, and a transparent projection of the raccoon’s inventory appeared in the air, hovering between all of us.
The ghostly images of hundreds of items filled the air.
A bottle of Fernet and an ornate quill pen, I recognized. But there was also a gilded ashtray, a lighter, a single dress shoe, a vase full of flowers, some fancy water bottles, a pile of loose change… the list went on and on, and that was only the first floor.
Leftover vending machine tokens, random books nabbed from the library, a large copper cube, a rainbow of candies, an ice machine’s circuit board, miscellaneous rocks and gems and coins and even a bit of stardust which must’ve been dropped by one of the constellations we’d fought—I could barely see the master and his colleague through the cloud of stuff.
“Actually,” said Master Shaw after a brief silence, “I think it was in the other kada. One moment.”
Artem wordlessly switched El’s bracelet for mine, and the projection dismissed itself. The master’s fingers moved again, and my much more modest inventory’s contents appeared. There were only a few tokens from the second floor, my plunger and pellet gun, some health bars and candies, and finally, the glass jar that contained Yao’s remains. Bile rose up into my mouth at even the sight of its hologram, and El stiffened on my shoulder.
A moment later, text appeared in my contact, as if I’d Examined it myself.
Adamant-glass jar containing the remains of Ximen Yao.
“I can explain—” I started.
Artem barked something, and the translation flashed across my screen a second later. <
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“What is he doing?” I asked, and El snarled.
<
The guildmaster’s kada glowed blue-white, and my eyes saw nothing, but I suddenly felt the pressure of a thousand knife points cold on my skin.
“This is just a precaution, you understand,” said Master Shaw, his right eye glowing. “It’s called Porfiry’s Razor. You’re in no real danger, but any falsehoods you speak will feel… uncomfortable. This is the best method we have for ensuring truthfulness. I apologize.”
“I didn’t do it,” I whispered. “I didn’t kill him or harm him in any way. Neither of us did. It was M—” I paused. Although she’d freely admitted it, I didn’t know if Mia’d been telling the truth about anything, even her name. Would we be penalized for an unknowing lie? Best to step carefully. “We met someone who called themselves Mia,” I said slowly, “who claimed to have seduced and murdered Yao using his own abilities. She attempted to harm us as well, and we only narrowly escaped.”
The guildmaster stared at the jar’s image for a second. “Interchange is the ability. I know it, but I’ve never seen it used like this.” New tension appeared in his shoulders. “Where and when did this happen?”
“The forest.” I spoke more rapidly now. “Maybe a day or two ago, I don’t know how long I was out for. We were teleported there on arrival from this floor, and we were misled by M— by the woman into following her. That’s when she tried to do us in. El stole the jar from her inventory with a skill—”
“Shit,” said Master Shaw, decorum forgotten. “Where is she now? Artem!”
“What do you mean, ‘where is she?’” I said. “I killed her—ah fuck!”
A sliver of skin drifted to the floor like a flower petal, and I clutched my nose in pain.
“You want it to be true, but even you don’t believe that,” said Shaw. “And she’s almost certainly still alive.” He turned to Artem. “Get me her location, now.”
The brawny man muttered a response so quickly my translator didn’t catch it as he rushed out the door. I felt his knife points retreat, and let out a shaky breath. Removing my hand from my face, I saw that it was bloodless.
“How could she survive that?” I persisted. “It was a point-blank explosion. There’s no way.”
The master squeezed his temples like he wanted to crush his own head. “There are in fact many ways,” he said. He curled his finger, and the projection of my inventory vanished. “This cannot leave this room. Tell no one.”
“Why?” I asked.
Shaw steepled his fingers before replying. “Because we’re one incident away from…” He took a deep breath. “Do you know why the city is shaped the way it is?”
“Like a tin of canned food,” El said, “which would be welcome right now, by the way.”
“There is a zone,” said the guildmaster, “that extends three kilometers in each direction from the ascending elevator, and six kilometers upwards, within which monsters will not spawn.” With a twist of his fingers, he drew a circle that hovered in midair, then extended it into a cylinder. “Less than thirty square kilometers. That’s all the space we’ve been given to work with. Outside of that, danger and death. Now take a hodgepodge medley of people from across all of spacetime, empowered with magic and cram them into that volume. And more coming every day. A little hot water, and it’s a recipe for instant disaster.”
Without taking his eyes off of us, he obliterated the drawing with a wipe of his hand.
“In these circumstances, society is a fragile thing at best: at worst, a collective delusion. News of this murder could result in unbridled panic and chaos. So until we apprehend her, it’s in all our interests that this be kept quiet.”
I was still shaken by the knowledge Mia had lived, but I gave a subdued nod.
“Sure, whatever,” said El.
The master was about to return our kadas when Artem burst back in. <
“What do you mean, ‘gone’?”
<
Shaw rubbed his eyes, seeming unsurprised. “We can bar her return, but she’ll be far gone by now. Yao’s Interchange spell is almost unparalleled for speed of movement.”
<
The guildmaster stood, his gaze turning melancholic as he moved to look out the window. “This city can be such a lovely place,” he sighed, “doubly so because of its unlikeliness.” He handed our bracelets back to us, and mine felt right as it slid onto my wrist. “I believe I already made my point about keeping your silence.”
“We get it,” I said. “Promise.”
<
“Ah, yes. We’ll need to requisition Yao’s remains. Next of kin, legalities… you understand.”
“Fine by me. I sure as hell don’t want this thing.” I signed R-T to retrieve the jar from my inventory, glancing away and feeling sick as I did so. It was a great relief to feel its weight taken off my hands.
“Right,” said the master, stowing the remains. “With that, you two are free to go. Please accept my utmost apologies for detaining you.” He gave a short bow, then made clear with a motion of his eyes that the meeting was over.
“What should we do now?” I asked, as El dashed out the door, and my voice sounded plaintive and whining to my own ears.
The master forced a smile. “I’m sure you need some time to decompress. Take a tour of the city, to start. People will be glad to show a newcomer around.” Other people, his eyes seemed to say.
“Alright, I can take a hint.” I scooted my chair back and stood to leave.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” the guildmaster sighed, and he suddenly looked weary. “But Artem and I must prepare an operational plan to arrest the murderer as soon as possible. Believe me when I say we appreciate your help, Mr. Xavier Shaw.” Artem looked dour as he nodded at me, and Shaw gave a sudden, humorless chuckle.
“What’s funny?”
“Xavier Xia,” he repeated, as if speaking to himself. “Kind of a superhero name, isn’t it?”
“Or a supervillain,” I replied, and Artem snorted in disdain. Can’t butter me up that easy, old man, I thought as the door closed behind me.