by Neven Iliev
Part Four
“Teach!” demanded Boxxy.
“No!” replied Fizzy in a shrill voice. “Don’t wanna! Go away!”
“I want to! But! Cage!”
The Mimic swayed front to back while suspended inside its special cage as if to make a point. Not too hard though – the highly untasty zappy stuff was back, and it didn’t want any part of that.
Boxxy had been in a rage ever since it woke up half an hour ago and found itself back in the cell minus two Jobs. It was still coming to terms with its more … limited brain capacity. After all, it had lost about a third of its INT and a good chunk of WIS. Its mental processes had regressed back to what they were three weeks ago, just after the Calamity that started this whole mess.
And it did not like that. Not one bit.
“Teeeach!” yelled Xera’s misplaced head again.
It wanted to reclaim what it once had. The Warlock Job? It had no idea where it would get that. The first time was a total lucky fluke; it was highly unlikely for that to happen again. At least Artificer could be recovered easily enough as long as that insufferable gnome granted it the Job again.
“Please! Just leave me alone!”
She was, understandably, not especially willing to do so. Fizzy hadn’t had the chance to come to terms with the horrible reality of her unjust imprisonment before those guards came back and left this terrifying box in the same cell with her. She begged them to put her in a different place, but the humans just stared at each other awkwardly before locking them in together and walking away. A man bearing His Majesty’s royal seal had given them an order, and they carried it out. Nothing more, nothing less. Even though all of them sympathized with her, none of them were willing to risk incurring the wrath of someone who wielded the Emperor’s authority.
“HHHRRAAAHRG!” roared the Mimic.
“Shut up!” snapped Fizzy. “Shaddap-shaddap-shaddap!”
“No! Teach! Me! Art! Fisher!”
“Idiot!”
*CLANG*
*BDZT*
“Ow!”
Now, why had Fizzy gone and kicked the cage? She knew full well it was electrified. Maybe the real idiot was her after all?
“Okay, look!”
The gnome decided it would probably be better to just explain, so she lifted her bound arms for emphasis.
“You see these things? These are mana-sealing shackles, you dimwit! Not only do they drain your MP, but they also disable its recovery! And I can’t activate my Mentor Skill without MP! Therefore, I can’t give you the Job even if I wanted to! Which – big surprise – I don’t!”
“You lie! Betrayer! Liar! Untasty, nasty thing!”
“You have the same stuff bolted onto you, moron! You don’t have your MP, either, right?”
“ … No.”
“So if you understand then please just shut the fuck up!”
“…”
And it did indeed go silent. The gnome stared at it, her small shoulders going up and down as she steadied her agitated breathing. She really should have just said that stuff at the start. Boxxy was always good at listening to her, so it wouldn’t ask again once it had no choice but to accept her words. Alas, once the gnome finally calmed herself down, she was instead gripped by anxiety and uncertainty.
She had just yelled at and insulted a monster that could gobble her up in one mouthful. That realisation was more than enough to cause her to back off into the far corner of the cell and lay down in the foetal position, facing away from her cellmate. At least this arrangement was entirely temporary. Those guards said something about moving both of them the next day, so all she had to do was grin and bear it until they were separated.
And then continue grinning and bearing it. For years. While she was forced to build war machines. And would likely be whipped and beaten if she did a poor job of it. That was only if she was lucky. If not, then she would probably be whipped and beaten regardless of how well she did. Would they even release her once her sentence was up? Would that sentence even end? Or was death the only thing that would set her free?
“How fast?”
Fizzy looked over her shoulder at those words. The Mimic had regained its composure and was asking her something with a determined face. Granted, it was the borrowed face of its once-familiar, but it was a determined one nonetheless.
“ … How fast what?” answered Fizzy, despite herself.
“How fast does MP go away?”
“What does it matter?”
“How fast?” it repeated.
“Why should I tell you?”
“Talk is free. Nothing to lose.”
“…”
The monster had a point, but communicating with it any more than this was ill-advised. Yet she couldn’t just sit there quietly. The mentor inside her still wanted to answer the student. More importantly than that though, if she didn’t speak up now, that stupid box would probably start shouting like a spoiled child all over again. If Fizzy was going to wallow in her own misery, then it would be better if she did so without having a horrible creature screaming at her.
“I think it was fifty per second or something like that.”
The room fell completely silent after that. The pale-faced head retreated back inside its shell, leaving the monster’s appearance as that of a simple, suspended chest. It appeared to have no more desire to speak with her, and Fizzy was more than happy to oblige. Conversation was the last thing she was looking for right now.
Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. She desperately wanted someone to at least hear out her troubles, but she wasn’t going to get a shred of sympathy from that thing. Monsters were wholly incapable of empathy, after all. Why did she have to share a cell with this horrible creature that had caused her so much pain? First it … Huh?
She sat up and looked at it curiously. Did it actually do anything to her?
No, no, no, Boxxy had clearly stated it was responsible for the death of her father and brother! That was more than enough reason to hate it, right? Wait, that wasn’t right. During the interrogation, it mentioned being at the scene of their deaths, but it claimed it didn’t kill them. It merely … ate them. Still, desecrating the dead like that was surely deserving of scorn, right? But it had also gone on a murdering spree and wiped out both the bandits that killed her family and the adventurers that failed to protect them. As well as that shady bastard who lured them away in the first place.
Looking at things objectively, didn’t Boxxy avenge their deaths? Anyone and everyone who could be held responsible for her father and brother’s untimely demise was sitting somewhere at the bottom of that monster’s gullet. Or at least, that was what it claimed. But if that scary government spy was willing to believe its claims, then nobody would blame Fizzy for doing the same, right?
“Argh!”
She screamed and rolled around on the ground. What was she thinking? There was no way that monster had acted out of anything other than self-interest. It would have definitely killed her family if the bandits hadn’t gotten to them first. Regardless of that, it also killed and ate people. It had a lot of crimes to answer for, to be sure – especially for all those times it messed with her head!
Come to think of it, why did it do that? To protect its identity? If it was just that, then shouldn’t it have been easier to kill her? If Fizzy had simply talked to it rather than betrayed it, then wasn’t there a chance they could be practising their craft in her workshop right now instead of sitting in a jail cell awaiting some dismal fate? Maybe, just maybe, if she hadn’t forced it to defend itself, then none of this would’ve happened. From what she was able to gather, it had even tried to carry her away from all that madness.
The more the confused gnome thought about it while curled up on that hard, damp floor, the less Boxxy seemed like a villain to her. For one thing, it had given her heaps of business. Fizzy’s Fidgety Widgets was never a prosperous shop, and the unfortunate gnome was struggling to keep it afloat all on her own. The vast majori
ty of her clients had cancelled their orders once they found out her father and brother were no more, so she’d really been in a pinch about how to maintain her father’s legacy.
“ … Boxxy, can I ask you something?”
The Mimic was currently trying to organize its fractured mind, so it didn’t feel like engaging with the pink thing in the corner. All the information pertaining to magic and almost everything it knew about demons had vanished in a flash of light, along with its knowledge of cogwheels, gears, sprockets, springs, and explosives.
No wait, it wasn’t all gone. Those one-on-one tutoring sessions with Fizzy were still in the back of its mind. The conversations with Carl and most of the memories it had concerning its familiars were still there. The information Xera had gathered for it before it got captured was mostly intact as well. Perhaps it could recover from this after all?
“Why did you want to become an Artificer?” asked Fizzy.
She had taken the monster’s lack of response for silent confirmation it would speak with her, when in truth it wasn’t paying attention to her at all. If it could magnificently ignore a couple of demons having violent sex for hours on end, then some nosy little gnome was no trouble at all. But still, perhaps there was some merit in speaking with her. It was possible she would yield some more useful information, and the Mimic would need all the help it could get if it was to break out of this place. And if not, then it wouldn’t have lost anything. In its own words, talking was free.
Xera’s bald face emerged from the chest’s front. The gnome didn’t even flinch at the bizarre action, though she was a tiny bit surprised she was already used to it.
“Machines are tasty,” it said simply.
“ … What?”
“Machines are tasty.”
“You … eat Artificer-made tools?”
“No.”
“But you think they’re tasty?”
“Yes.”
“How can you claim they’re tasty when you don’t want to eat them?”
“Because they are.”
“ … What’s with that inane reasoning?”
“You don’t think art fishers are tasty?”
“Um, no?”
“Then why teach art fishing if you don’t think it’s tasty?”
“…”
The gnome decided it would be better for everyone involved if she just minded her own business after all. She lay down in the foetal position once again, but with one small change. This time she lay facing the Mimic so she could quietly stare at it. Boxxy didn’t seem to mirror that sentiment and returned to its mental cataloguing after making its head disappear.
The cell remained silent for the rest of the day and evening, save for the footsteps of the odd guard patrol, Fizzy’s own breathing, and the gentle hum of the electrified cage. The mentally exhausted gnome ended up focusing on that last one.
It was a nostalgic sound, for she was the one who built the thing over six months ago at the behest of the local Lord-Mayor. She never found out why he wanted an electrified cage, nor did she want to know. She just let that oddly comforting sound lull her to sleep. It was a minor thing, but it still reminded her of a better, happier time.
Perhaps it was because of that noise that she dreamt about the time she had an argument with her brother over what constituted a ‘clean work environment.’ How that guy managed to find anything inside that ‘organized chaos’ of his was a complete mystery. He even had the audacity to get angry when Cornie tidied up the mess of tools and parts that was his workstation. The argument got so intense that they nearly came to blows over it, but it was still a strangely happy dream.
“Look alive in there!”
One that was suddenly cut short when a guard shouted at her.
“Ack! Wha-! Oh …”
She was now back in the real world, much to her disappointment. At least she didn’t feel quite as depressed about it as yesterday. Somehow, watching the Mimic quietly sit there made her strangely calm, as she realised that wailing and thrashing about wasn’t going to help her in any way. Also, she really didn’t want to lose to Boxxy. If that stupid box could calmly await what Fizzy assumed would be a much crueller fate than her own, then the least she could do was not be a crybaby about her predicament.
The guards escorted both her and the caged monster out of the dungeon and into the courtyard. Waiting for them there were a duo of griffins – barn-sized winged monsters that resembled the front half of an eagle. Their beak-tipped heads and long necks were covered in brilliantly white feathers that turned to a dark brown around their chest and forelegs. The front two feet ended in birdlike talons and were covered in brown plumage, much like their front shoulders. The rest of a griffin’s torso and its hind legs were like that of a huge cat with a golden coat that seemed to glisten in the morning sun. It also had a long, slender tail tipped with a smattering of feathers but was otherwise feline in appearance.
If one were to describe these magnificent beasts in a single word, ‘majestic’ was the most fitting. That was probably why they were pictured prominently on the Empire’s flag, though the images upon the blue banners hanging around the courtyard didn’t do them justice. The feeling they gave off when met in person was completely different from some caricature. It was like they had the aura of a ruler, their very presence demanding people grovel before them.
Then again, that last bit was probably because of their sheer size. Standing with their heads held high put their eye level a good seven to eight metres off the ground. The massive feathered wings that were just above their front legs unfurled to a wingspan of nearly fifteen metres. No wonder griffin eyries were built only at the highest points of a castle; they wouldn’t be able to land anywhere else.
Strapped to each of their wide backs like a pair of oversized backpacks were two specially designed cabins. The front one was made out of wood and had round glass windows. It was clearly intended to ferry passengers while shielding them from the frigid winds that usually accompanied high-altitude flight. The temperature inside was likely regulated through magical means to ensure maximum comfort. As for the other one, the only way to describe it would be like a giant steel box – a place to strap in the cargo and luggage of the passengers in the primary cabin.
“That’s how we’re being transported?” asked Fizzy with an oddly enthusiastic tone. “I’ve always wanted to ride a griffin!”
“Easy there, girlie,” said one of the guards escorting the two prisoners. “Don’t get your hopes up. You and that thing over there are riding with the cargo.”
And there went what little optimism the female gnome could muster. Now she really felt like crying.
She and Boxxy were brought before the gigantic beast that was currently lying down. A large wheeled ramp had been brought out to provide access to its back, which was a few metres off the ground. The guards dutifully escorted both prisoners up the wooden slope and unlocked the double doors at the back of the windowless metal container. They swung open to reveal a largely empty space. Beams of sunlight entered through a series of small holes along the sides near the top. It wasn’t hard to imagine those would be the only sources of air and light once the door was shut tight.
Boxxy’s cage was carried off to the far right corner of the container, as far away from the door as it could go. It was placed on a mat of processed Bouncewood bark. One that was, in a fit of irony, made from the same raw materials the monster itself had delivered. The cage was then strapped securely to the floor using a number of ropes that were coated in some type of resin. They wrapped around the bars of the cage and were tied to specially designed hooks that poked out of the floor and walls of the container itself. Once the cage was properly secured, one of the guards re-started its electric field. The floor mat and special ropes served to insulate the device, lest it electrify the entire container and the beast it was carrying.
As for Fizzy, she was also put in a cage that was attached to the floor, although this one was considerably smaller, lik
ely intended for animals rather than people. It wasn’t strictly necessary though, as she had nowhere to escape to while flying thousands of metres up in the sky. Which was also partially why this container would be left unsupervised during the forty-hour flight back to the Imperial capital of Oshinas.
This was by no means negligence on the Spymaster’s part though, as he was confident Boxxy’s restraints would be sufficient. With its MP drained and unable to recover, the monster would be unable to fuel any of its active Skills. It could still use the passive ones like Shapeshift, but any attempts to break free or try something funny would be cut short by an electric jolt. In some ways, the gnome was far more likely to escape her shackles. An Artificer was able to take apart pretty much anything, provided they had the right tools. Of which Fizzy had none, rendering her about as useful as a half-rotten potato.
In some ways, locking her up was unnecessary, but Edward made sure she was securely strapped in all the same, lest she do something profoundly stupid. At least he had the common courtesy to provide her with some basic necessities: A small cot filled with hay to lie down on, thick blankets to shield herself from the cold, a number of water skins and dried military rations for sustenance, and a small bucket for her leavings. This wasn’t out of kindness or pity but necessity. He couldn’t put her to work if she ended up starving or freezing to death during the trip, after all. And if she was the kind of person who would give up on life and let herself die, then that would be that.
Once the prisoners were securely strapped in place and Edward had personally inspected their restraints, he left the cargo container and locked its doors. About an hour later, Fizzy and Boxxy heard the griffins’ eagle-like cries. Their temporary dwelling then started shaking violently and Fizzy felt an invisible force press down on her body as the griffin rapidly ascended into the air. This lasted for about twenty minutes until the creature climbed to cruising altitude, at which point the container levelled out.
