by Rob J. Hayes
“I fuckin' knew it. They got me locked up right in the middle o' the Inquisition,” The Black Thorn said to no one and expecting no answer.
He glanced to his right and saw the black tower of the Inquisition rising high into the sky as if it were trying to block out the sun. Jagged, black spikes jutted out from the tower at strange angles. It reminded him of the otherworldly shade he had seen in Hostown. That memory felt like a lifetime ago now. Thanquil had banished the demon with a single command but not before it had slaughtered an entire garrison of soldiers. Not before it had snacked on the Black Thorn's old boss.
With some effort Betrim fixed the blank emotionless stare that he was known for onto his face and stepped out of his door into the dazzling sunlight.
The door was, in fact, little more than that. It looked as though someone had built an outhouse in the middle of the courtyard. Trying to look as official as possible Betrim turned, locked the door, deposited the keys in one pocket and pulled his stolen coat as tight as it would go. It would need to be a full hand length wider if it was going to fit him but he just had to hope it was enough to fool the rest of the folk in the courtyard long enough for him to make his escape.
Betrim turned left and walked as fast as his shaking legs would go. He could see the Imperial palace in the far distance rising even higher than the Inquisition tower. If he walked toward the palace he would come to the gate leading into the city soon enough. A more nerve-racking ordeal he had never experienced. It dawned on Betrim he was not wearing any shoes; the old Arbiter had tiny feet, far too small for the Black Thorn. While going barefoot would not have seemed the strangest sight in the untamed wilds, here in Sarth it would be a right oddity, more than enough to draw attention where attention was not needed.
He strode on past Arbiters in groups, buildings filled with Arbiters, and at one point a man who looked like he might have been an Inquisitor but Betrim just kept walking. If he'd believed in any of the Gods he might have started praying but the Black Thorn had long ago given up believing in anything but himself and money and he only believed in the latter because, with enough money, you could buy yourself out of any shady situation. Betrim looked around at all the righteous witch hunters that surrounded him and had to admit he doubted any sum of bits could buy his way out of this one.
As he approached the main gate of the Inquisition compound one of the guards in his immaculate white uniform nodded. “Arbiter.” the fat-lipped guard said with a slight lisp.
Betrim grunted in reply but refused to slow his pace. For a heart-stopping moment he thought the guard might block his exit but the man stepped aside and let him pass unmolested. Betrim found himself outside the Inquisition in the city of sun; Sarth.
He knew the street; he had been here before many times. To his left was the shop where he and Thanquil had argued about money; seemed a stupid thing to argue about now given how things turned out. To his right was the tavern where the Black Thorn had started a bar fight to stop them from being recognised. A little bit further down on the right was an alleyway that would lead to the street where Betrim had fought with Kessick. A strange, morbid thought occurred to him and Betrim wondered if he went back to that street whether he could find his eyeball; all dried up and shrivelled from the heat and the sun.
With a snort at his own stupidity Betrim spat into the street. A few folk turned to look at him with expressions of disgust then averted their gazes and hurried away. Took a moment for Betrim to realise it was because he was wearing an Arbiter's coat. With a horrific grin Betrim sauntered off towards, well, truth was he had no idea where he was going just as far away from the Inquisition as possible.
A couple of hours later Betrim found himself well and truly lost and sitting on the edge of one of the hundreds of canals that ran throughout the city of Sarth. The sun bounced off of the clear water and sent shards of piercing translucent light shooting in all directions. Truth was it felt all sorts of good just to see sunlight again, even if it was only with the one eye.
Betrim dangled his bare feet in the water of the canal and wriggled all his nine toes. Tiny little fish came to investigate, darting forwards and nibbling then swimming away. Of course the Black Thorn knew all too well that water could hold more than just little fish. All sorts of dangers were known to hide beneath the surface and even here, where Betrim could see the bottom of the canal, you could never be too cautious. He was just about to pull his feet out of the water and move away so nothing could come up from the depths and eat him when he spotted a fair number of people watching him. The folk looked away whenever he met their gaze but they had been looking and no mistake. Chances were it was just they weren't used to seeing an Arbiter with such an ugly face, or one dipping his feet in the blue waters of the canals. Either way it stopped Betrim from leaving, last thing the Black Thorn ever did was show fear to anyone.
There was a polite cough from behind and Betrim turned his head to see a tall, bookish man standing there, his gaze rooted on the stone floor in front of him. He looked to be middle-aged with hair that was both greying and thinning all at once. An unfortunate appearance if ever Betrim had seen one. “Are you in need of any assistance, Arbiter...”
Betrim narrowed his eye at the man. “Don't reckon I know you.”
“I am clerk Golgen, Arbiter,” said the bookish-man with the thin hair. His teeth were crooked but he had a full set.
“Aye, an' I look like I need help...”
“No... I... uh... I just mean...”
Betrim realised he was still speaking in his normal wilds' drawl. Arbiters tended to speak all posh, just like Thanquil had.
“You jus...t mean it is a little strange ta... to see a Arbiter sat by a canal,” Betrim said, trying his best to mimic the Sarth accent and instead murdering it.
The clerk looked confused and a little worried. He glanced around, looking for support. Betrim felt it best to get rid of the man before he got suspicious.
“As it happens I do seem... appear ta... to be a little lost. Don't tend ta come back here much. I'm a... wandering Arbiter.” Betrim remembered that was what Thanquil had called himself. “Do you know where...” He paused, realising if he asked the clerk a question it would give him away. “I'm lookin' fer... for the docks.”
The clerk was now staring at Betrim with his mouth open. Betrim got to his feet and stepped close to the man. Despite his wasted muscles and the shakes he could feel starting in his legs, the Black Thorn towered over the clerk and he had no doubt his face made for a real imposing sight. After a couple of moments the clerk lowered his gaze and pointed along the canal.
“If you follow this canal it will lead you to the docks, Arbiter... Would you... um... like me to show...”
“That'll be all, clerk... uh...”
“Golgen.”
“Clerk Golden. You can go now, eh.”
The clerk nodded once and then span, almost tripping over his feet as he scrambled to get away from Thorn. Betrim shook his head and decided he needed to ditch the Arbiter coat at the first opportunity. He also needed some new clothing, and some food, and way out of Sarth but more importantly than all of those the Black Thorn needed an axe.
The docks of Sarth were much the way Thorn remembered them when he had arrived; busy. More ships than he could count and for each ship there were more people than he could count. The noise was choking, the smell was debilitating and the sight was deafening but Betrim found he had one advantage amidst the chaos of the docks. He still hadn't gotten rid of the coat. The crowd parted as folk looked his way then flowed around him, desperate not to come to the attention of an Arbiter. Betrim might have enjoyed it but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was about to stab him in the back with something long and pointy. Of course he knew full well the only reason he had that feeling was because that was how he had once killed an Arbiter; the fifth one.
He could feel his legs shaking, straining to hold up his weight, despite the loss, due to being locked up in a cell for... Weeks? Mon
ths? Betrim still had no idea how long they'd held him there but right now he knew he needed to sit down somewhere, or at least lean against something for a while. A nice long lean would do him the world of good, he reckoned.
Finding a good-looking spot, a small wooden shack where the dock masters could retreat to after inspecting incoming ships and taxing those who couldn't afford to pay it, Betrim relaxed against the outside wall facing the water and settled in with a comfortable sigh. One of the dock masters, a small man with beady little eyes set in a piggy face stared at the Black Thorn for a moment with something that looked to be one part curiosity to three parts terror, before scampering away. Betrim paid him little mind, paid all of them little mind if truth be told, he was far more interested in leaning and scanning the ships arrayed at the docks.
Problem was, he reckoned, was that he was flat broke and ships rarely took on passengers that couldn't pay their way. Problem was also that he wasn't able to work his way across the ocean and back to the wilds as the Black Thorn had a long-term relationship with seasickness, they were in fact very well acquainted. As far as Betrim could see it that left him with two choices; he could either stowaway or try to exploit the Arbiter coat to its fullest.
Stowaways, Betrim was well aware, had a habit of being thrown overboard when discovered and the Black Thorn was known for a great many things but swimming was not one of them. Continuing his show at posing as an Arbiter seemed less likely to end in his death but, if the captain of the ship decided to check with the Inquisition, it could end up with his re-capture and Betrim was fairly sure he'd rather learn to swim.
There was, of course, a third option, something the Black Thorn was very well known for; crime. He could stay in Sarth a while, rob folk, cheat folk, kill folk if need be. There must be some people in Sarth who deserved a good stabbing and, more importantly, those that would pay to have others receive good stabbing. It was all a matter of finding a fixer, someone who knew about the jobs and would match them with someone like Betrim for a small price.
He was just thinking of leaving the docks when Betrim spotted something, a name he knew well; the Bloody Bride. Truth was the Black Thorn was one of only a few people left who knew why the ship was named such. Truth was if the captain of the Bloody Bride was still Arip Winters, then Betrim might just have found his way back to the wilds.
Jacob Lee
There was no music but Jacob hummed anyway. He hated silence; couldn't abide it. When the world went silent how could you know if it still existed or not? If all noise stopped, for all Jacob knew, the world could have ended and only he and his cell would be left. A daunting and terrifying prospect.
The world wasn't silent today though. Apart from his humming he could hear the people outside. There was only a small window, at the top of his cell and barred, but it opened out just a small way from the courtyard. Most people would be able to hear at least a dim buzz that was many voices talking from a distance but Jacob could hear almost every word.
It's reassuring, he thought and his mind decided to agree. The world hasn't ended. It's not just me sat here, alone in my cell, for all time. They haven't forgotten about me. Not yet.
Jacob looked at the door to his cell just as he heard a soft sigh and a knock. He continued humming for a few seconds; letting the man outside reach a level of frustration that made him knock again, more forcefully this time.
“Can I help you, Arbiter Fields?” Jacob asked in a pleasant tone. His voice had always been described as having a musical quality to it. Sarah had once pointed out it was the prettiest thing about him. In every other way he was just normal but his voice was pleasant.
“I... uh... you were humming, Jacob,” the muffled voice said from behind the heavy iron door.
“There's no music, Arbiter. I just felt like humming,” Jacob replied.
“Right. I'm opening the door then.” There was a pause, Jacob didn't say a word. “Is that OK?”
Jacob sat up on the stone bench he called a bed and stretched. “I can't stop you.”
“I... hmm.” A few moments later Jacob heard a key turning in the first lock on his cell door, then the second lock, then the heavy metal bolt being pulled aside. Arbiter Fields waited, coughed and then pushed the door open.
Jacob sat on the bed and watched the small Arbiter step into the cell. His face was wrinkled and wore a cautious expression. He was wringing his hands together around the key to Jacob's cell. There was some bruising around the Arbiter's neck, faint but starting to discolour. Whatever had happened to him had happened recently. Jacob could just about make out finger marks in the bruising.
“Arbiter...” Jacob said after the old man had been standing in the doorway for a while.
“No music? You're certain?” Arbiter Fields asked.
Jacob almost smiled but stopped himself; he'd never smile at Arbiter Fields. “No music.”
“It has been a long time, Jacob.”
Ten years since you put me in this cage and left me to rot. It if wasn't for some of the others letting me out from time to time I might have gone crazy. Jacob laughed inside his head but his face remained as passive as the stone bench he sat on.
“You look well,” Arbiter Fields said. Despite the old man's nervousness he kept eye contact with Jacob the entire time. Jacob decided to sway a little from side to side and he saw the Arbiter take a hesitant step backwards.
“What is it you want, Arbiter?” Jacob asked. “Not often that people come to visit me, least of all the one that put me in here, and when they do there is always a reason.”
Arbiter Fields coughed again, rubbed at his neck and winced at the pain. “Well... Inquisitor...”
“One of them escaped didn't they?” Jacob knew he was right as soon as he asked. “One of your experiments. Your neck...” Jacob pointed at the bruising around Arbiter Fields neck and the old man stepped backwards again.
“How much do you know about recent events?” the Arbiter asked him. Jacob could hear the old man’s heart pounding in his chest.
“This and that.” Jacob stood on his bed and pushed onto his toes. From here he could just about see out of his window into the Inquisition courtyard. “I know Arbiter Karkland failed his three year report. Did they burn him for heresy or did they give him to you? That I haven't heard. Clerk Veril is in love with clerk Yurn but the coward is too frightened to tell her. Probably a good thing; clerk Yurn is sleeping with an initiate. I haven't managed to catch the name yet.
“Arbiter Vance is set to be promoted to Inquisitor very soon. That could just be a rumour but it seems a lot of people aren't pleased about it. He is very young after all and only graduated a few years ago. It wouldn't surprise me though, him being the son of the Grand Inquisitor and...”
“You know that Inquisitor Heron was killed then?”
“Of course,” Jacob said, still staring out of the window. “It was all anybody talked about for a long time. She was a heretic, or so I hear. Arbiter Darkheart tried her for heresy himself, without the approval of the Inquisitors. I heard they let him go. Is that true?” He turned to Arbiter Fields to find the man squinting at him.
“You heard all of that from here?” the Arbiter asked. Jacob didn't answer; he didn't feel the need to. “Hmm. What you may not know is that we recently captured the man known as the Black Thorn.”
“The thorn in the Inquisition's side. What were you doing to him?”
“I was treating him, his injuries. He was to stand trial for the murder of six Arbiters. Only he escaped earlier today.” The Arbiter lied, Jacob knew that he lied but he wasn’t sure how much of it was a lie.
“Which one of them sent you to me?” Jacob asked.
“What?”
“You know what I mean, Arbiter. I'm only allowed out of my cage under the direct orders of an Inquisitor. So which one was it?”
Arbiter Fields grumbled a curse under his breath. Jacob pretended not to hear. “Inquisitor Jeyne.”
“Ahh. Yes. Inquisitor Jeyne always did have
a soft spot for me. I believe he appreciated my directness. You're aware, of course, I don't bring them back alive, Arbiter Fields?”
“That's why Jeyne ordered me to send you, Jacob. He wants the Black Thorn dead.”
“And what do you want?”
“I want you to not make me look bad while you're outside. The Black Thorn escaped only a few hours ago. He is most likely still in the city. We believe he will try to secure passage back to the untamed wilds as a priority. That means the docks are your best chance of catching him.”
“Thank you, Arbiter. I am well aware of how to hunt.”
“You're to come straight back here once you are done so...” Arbiter Fields started.
“So you can lock me back up again.”
Arbiter Fields swallowed down a reply. Jacob could hear the man's heart beating rapidly, could see the perspiration leaking from his old skin, could smell the fear rising from him. “You're the one that requested the locks on the door, Jacob.”
Locks on the inside to keep things out. Locks on the outside to keep things in.
Jacob heard a single note from somewhere. The start of an epic ballad or maybe just a tawdry little ditty. He rarely knew the song, never knew the words, but he had to dance all the same.
He looked from the Arbiter to the cell door to the small hook that held his Arbiter coat dyed black where most Arbiters' coats were brown. Jacob hopped down from his bed, crossed to the hook that held his coat and reached towards it. His hand stopped just inches from the coat as another note drifted by.
“This job may have to wait until tomorrow, Arbiter,” Jacob said to the old man, his hand still hovering close to his coat.
“I don't think it can, Jacob. Every moment is another the Black Thorn could...”
Jacob turned to look at Arbiter Fields and the old man went pale. A moment later and he was scrabbling out the door to the cell and fumbling to put the key in the locks.
