The day after the fire was the 6th of Solen, the day the spies would be killed. Exams were still going forward for students, so everyone except Professor Jei was busy. Despite the stir Mirian had caused, it would still be at least a few days before the illusion of ‘normal’ would be shattered for most people. She was beginning to think of it as the ‘denial’ phase.
Mirian and Jei headed over to the town jail.
She hadn’t been there since the second cycle, and had made it a point to avoid the place. The jail was a small, squat building at the edge of town, quite ugly compared to anything surrounding it. Three lights shone from the barred windows. Two of the prisoners would be the spies; Mirian had no idea who the third was. A short hallway joined it to the Torrviol Guard’s Headquarters, a much nicer building decorated with the orange and white banners of Baracuel, with statues of lions figuring prominently.
She’d seen the captain’s office, the interrogation room, and the evidence storage room the last time she’d stayed. While the Magistrate’s Office on the other side of the block had its own people and rooms for dealing with evidence and investigations, its function was more for the official trials and sentences.
As they approached the entrance, they saw a man working on replacing the front door’s locks. That made sense. The entire Akanan network probably had the keys to the guardhouse by this point.
They made their way to the public lobby of the Guard’s Headquarters. The inside wasn’t all that spacious, since the building was an old converted barracks, but there were several benches for people to sit on, pegs for hanging cloaks, and a desk for the attendant on duty.
The desk attendant seemed busy with paperwork. Mirian had never quite understood what they did all day, but it seemed to involve filling in forms, stamping paper, and otherwise moving things from one pile to another.
Mirian had no idea what one was supposed to say in situations like these, so she said, “Hi, is there a procedure for visiting the prisoners to talk?”
Jei, meanwhile, sat on one of the benches, pretending not to do anything at all.
The attendant looked up at Mirian, annoyed that he had to interrupt his paperwork. “You submit a formal request through the magistrate’s office. The prisoner must also accept your visit. Magistrate Ada must approve it, which she won’t, because the prisoners are accused of being enemies of the crown and state. Is that all?”
Mirian had expected the conversation to take more time. Jei needed a bit longer to finish what she was doing. “Uh, what if I have information that the imprisoned spies might be assassinated?”
“Do you have that information?”
“Yes.”
The attendant frowned. “Should I expect an angry mob? I thought they were mostly angry at Mayor Wolden.”
“No, not them. Some other part of the spy network.”
“You would also report that to the magistrate’s office. What did you say your name was again?”
“Mirian.”
“Oh. You’re the one who… listen, you need to talk to the magistrate. Or the Luminate Order, really, I feel like they’re the ones who have the pedigree to handle, ah, cases like yours.”
She looked back at Jei, who gave her a subtle nod. “Thanks!” Mirian said, and went for the door. As they passed the locksmith, Roland, the guard she’d met so many cycles ago, walked in. He gave Jei a dirty glare, then walked past them heading for the jail.
As soon as they were outside, Mirian said, “I don’t think it’s him, I think it’s just his shift. What was that about? Does he… do you know him?”
Jei shrugged. “No. He doesn’t like me.”
“Why?”
“I am Zhighuan,” she said simply.
“Oh.” Mirian wrinkled her nose. “Oh.”
They took a seat on a stone bench in sight of the entrance, then each cast disguise spells. Most of town was busy in the forum with the plebiscite for the new mayor, so few people were on the street. She could vaguely hear the ruckus coming from several blocks away.
Mirian had prepared a copy of a spell Jei had taught her. It was also part of the illusion sub-school. It involved linking with a small magical device that could pick up sound waves. That would let them eavesdrop on the lobby. If anyone was going to visit the prisoners today, they should be coming from the magistrate’s office, and then they’d need to file the request with the attendant. Mirian and Jei could listen in every time someone went in the front door, while not causing the conditions that might lead the would-be assassin to abort their attempt. Mirian needed to catch them.
She’d decided there was no way the magistrate’s office would move fast enough to save the spies from assassination, even if they did believe her. It was also possible someone from the magistrate’s office was responsible. She and Jei had planned to spy on the guests entering the facility instead. At worst, the responsible spy would be someone already in the Guard’s Headquarters, narrowing down the field considerably. At best, they’d walk right through the front door.
The next few hours were full of interminable waiting. Mirian hated having nothing to do. Practicing magic right there would look suspicious—they were disguised as townsfolk, not students—and if they talked about Zhighua or magic, that would also be suspicious. So they just sat. The weather wasn’t even nice.
Three hours into the wait, two different couriers had delivered letters, but the interaction had sounded normal, and they’d gone right out. The locksmith had finished with the front door and bid his farewell. Mirian discovered the identity of the third person in the jail when a woman stopped by with a writ from the magistrate saying she could visit. Apparently, the man was her husband, and he’d gotten into a bar fight the night before over who the next mayor should be. The squabble had turned into a full-on brawl, and he’d accidentally killed another man. That gave Mirian pause. She hadn’t even considered knock-on effects like that from her actions.
Another hour passed, though, and Mirian was so bored she turned her attention to anything that could be interesting. She was so busy watching a bird flutter about, trying to decide if it was a common redwing or a myrvite rubywing, that she almost missed when another man walked into the mayor’s office. She’d let the eavesdropping spell lapse to save mana, so hastily dug into her bag to open her spellbook and reactivate it.
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“—to check on the prisoners,” the man was saying. The voice was slightly distorted by the spell, but she thought it sounded familiar. Mirian cursed herself for her inattention; she’d missed getting a good look at him before he entered.
“Go ahead,” the desk attendant said.
No writ from the magistrate? Is the desk attendant another corrupt official? Mirian stood. “We need to go in.”
Jei stood with her.
“Ah, you’re back,” the desk attendant said as they entered. “Do you have the writ?”
“Who did you just let in? They didn’t have a writ.” Mirian could hear the door down the hall closing as whoever it was made their way to the jail. She glanced at the logbook on the desk. She could see the names of the other visitors—the couriers who had made deliveries, and the woman visiting her husband—but no new names.
“You know, a bit of polite formality would do you some good,” the attendant said, annoyance creeping into his voice.
“This is important. Who was it?”
The desk attendant rolled his eyes. “I don’t report to you.”
“Aren’t all visitors supposed to sign in? Why didn’t they have to? I think the magistrate would be interested in that,” Mirian said.
He let out an annoyed sigh. “Officials of Torrviol don’t need to, because that would just be annoying. You’ll notice the guards don’t sign in either. Imagine how ridiculous it would be if each guardsman had to sign in and out every time they left on patrol or had to run a quick errand. So go ahead; tell Magistrate Ada. I’m sure she could use a laugh.”
Mirian glanced at the door further into the headquarters. Every moment they were delayed might count. She looked at Respected Jei, then at the door again.
Jei jerked her head towards the door leading past the lobby into the guard house.
Mirian nodded. Without a word, she made for the door.
She heard the squeal of the attendant’s chair as he hurriedly stood. “Hey! You’re not allowed to—you’re not a government official!”
While Jei delayed him, Mirian went in. Torrviol was a small enough town that it didn’t have a huge guard. There weren’t personnel to waste on just standing around in hallways that were generally empty, guarding buildings that no one but a fool would break into. With only one real way out of town, any prospective criminals usually didn’t have long careers. The only thing stopping her from walking in, then, was social convention. Sure, most rooms were locked, but the hallway was open.
Mirian remembered the route to the jail from her stay there; it wasn’t particularly complicated. She went forward, right down a hall, past two offices. One person looked up as she passed, but must have assumed she had permission, because he stayed silent.
She heard footsteps rounding the corner from another adjoining hall, in front of her, and pressed herself up against the wall. There was a muffled commotion behind her, but she kept her eyes forward. A man rounded the corner, coming from the small kitchen that supplied the jail. Why they needed a kitchen for stale bread and nasty porridge, Mirian hadn’t figured out, but whatever fare was being delivered today smelled a lot better than what she’d gotten.
Then she recognized the man. The mayor’s assistant! Why is he delivering food to the prisoners?
He hadn’t bothered looking down the hall, so he hadn’t seen her. Mirian hastened to follow him, because right now, the door leading to the cells was open.
She burst into the jail area just behind him, before the door could shut. The six cells were lined up in a row. A little table nearby was covered in paperwork, the ink on some of the papers still fresh. Roland was opening up the slats to the cell doors so the food could be delivered. When he heard Mirian, he turned and reached for his pistol. “What in the five hells?” he swore.
“This man’s a spy!” Mirian blurted out, pointing at the mayor’s assistant. “The food’s poison!”
Roland kept his hand on his pistol. “Students aren’t allowed in the… oh, it’s you. The one who….” He trailed off, then looked at the open slats. The prisoners could hear their conversation.
“Well, my just reward for offering to help,” the assistant said sardonically. He laid the three plates on the table, then turned and said, “Is the paperwork done?”
“As requested,” Roland said. Then to Mirian, “You really need to leave. How did you get back here anyways?”
Mirian planted herself in front of the door so that the mayor’s assistant couldn’t leave without pushing her aside. “Eat it, then.” she said, in Eskanar.
The man rolled his eyes, but Mirian could see faint tension in his neck. “I’m not interested in your paranoid delusions, girl. And I’m certainly not eating this slop. You know, Roland, there’s plenty of cells here—”
“What did she ask you to do, Timmon?” Roland asked. His tone had shifted from exasperated to cautious.
“What do you mean? She asked me to eat….” The assistant trailed off, before the realization of what he’d done hit him.
Mirian looked at Roland. “Did you know he was fluent in Eskanar?”
Timmon looked at Mirian, then back at Roland. “Are you seriously entertaining this? Out of the way, girl.”
“If it’s not poison, have a bite.” She said it loud enough she was sure the prisoners could hear. They needed to know that for all their loyalty, their masters would rather kill them than even attempt to save them.
“Get out of my way,” he snapped.
Roland was staring at Timmon now. “You seem a bit nervous. You know, let’s just make sure there’s no problem. Have a bite of the bread.”
“You’re not seriously…?”
“Humor me,” said Roland, this time with more authority.
Timmon had grown quite tense by now, and his eyes were starting to dart about. The room had grown silent, only to be broken by hurried footsteps and then the door opening again behind Mirian.
The desk attendant burst in. “I am so sorry. This girl just—uh. Is everyone okay?”
“Yeah. Our honored assistant here was just going to have a quick snack before we got on with our day.”
“I am not,” he snapped. “You insult my dignity.”
“You insult mine,” Roland spat back. “Wolden never asked for these forms, did he?”
There was another moment of silence as Timmon stared at Mirian, not speaking. Then, in a flash, he reached for something concealed in his belt. He only got the pistol halfway drawn. A single shot range out, the CRACK of the gun deafening in the small confines.
It was a clean shot, right through his head. Timmon crumpled to the ground like a sack of flour. Roland lowered his smoking pistol.
“Bloody hell,” the desk attendant said. “Wait—I don’t… I don’t believe this! Timmon? Oh Gods. But he’s… Mayor Wolden relies on him. Oh Gods, he’s dead! I’m going to be sick.”
Mirian felt blood dripping down her face from where some of it had splattered her.
A voice came from the third cell. “Let me see him,” the man said. Mirian recognized it as Idras, the third spy.
The desk attendant went back into the hall and started retching. Roland gave a grim look to the corpse, then turned to Mirian. He jerked his head at the cell.
“Let him see,” Mirian said.
Roland nodded. “You know what happens if you try anything,” he said, and unlocked the door.
Idras stepped out. He looked quite different when not in the shadows. He was gaunt in a way his cloak had hidden, though very clearly Akanan. “Damn,” Idras said upon seeing the corpse. Then he walked back into his cell and sat down, looking dejected.
Roland locked the door behind him. “The curse of the guard,” he said. “And there I was, thinking I’d like something to alleviate the boredom. Mirian, fetch the magistrate, if you would. She’ll want to see this. Hell of a mess we have here.”