Gregor The Cripple

Through the grimy windows of the auberge, which was a type of establishment approximate to a tavern in function, Gregor could see that the snow and the sun had both finished falling, and that it was now clear night.

Sitting beside him was Mildred, and across from him were three conspicuous men, all individually conspicuous for different reasons. The lead of these, it seemed, was their new friend the courier. Four more sat at a table nearby, and either by design or miraculous coincidence, not a single other person was present in the building, not even the proprietor.

Gregor judged that the three were each a spy, an obvious inquisitor, and a less-obvious mixture probably of both of the aforementioned; the four others being more regular varieties of person that a government might employ to do things in a foreign country, all here as help from the Golden Empire.

Crown agents, they had called themselves, instructed to escort and protect Mildred all the way from there 'till they reached the steps of the imperial palace, however long that might take. This was in addition, of course, to delivering a letter from their queen, which had become an unforeseen source of discord.

"It is marked as confidential, you understand. We – and naturally you – may be nearby when it is opened. He-" the spy-courier here gestured with an upturned palm toward Gregor, "-cannot. Not for all the trust in the world. This is a bureaucratic matter, I am afraid; a problem of organisational security. Protocol, you understand."

He stated this with a significance that was completely lost on Mildred, because she had never been heavily entrenched in the bowels of a bureaucracy, unlike himself, and nor did she have any idea at all what that might be like. "-And I share your frustration, I really do," the man continued, "the rules aren't often convenient for people like me, but all the same… I must insist."

Unblinking, Mildred stared at this courier who refused to deliver, her elbows resting on the table and her fingers steepled, just barely touching her pursed lips, the very image of consternation. Being that she was tallest in the room even while sitting, and was by far taller than him, it was also a slightly threatening posture, which was not yet her intention.

"This letter is for me, correct? Mine, you might say. Written by my aunt, and intended for my possession." She chased these words with a period of further staring, brow raised into attack position. "You plan to withhold it because the man that my aunt trusts to preserve my life happens to also be in the room. And in fact, you want him to halt his protection purely so that he might leave the room. You 'insist' upon it? Brilliant. I decline."

Clearly, they knew very little about who precisely they were protecting, or the precise magnitude of the threat they were protecting her from, because there was an all-round exchanging of looks and double-takes at Mildred's mention of her 'aunt', who they presumably knew by quite a different title.

"…Unfortunately, uh, my lady, matters of confidentiality are not nearly so easily ignored as either of us would like. I simply cannot give you this letter while the wizard is present. It is beyond my power."

"It is similarly beyond your power to keep from me while he is present, so this will eventually be a pointless discussion."

"My lady, we are your escort. We're here to help, not fight. If he could simply step away-"

The argument continued along those same lines for a while, and through all of it, the inquisitors only had eyes for Gregor.

It had been that way since first contact, which made sense, Gregor thought, because they knew exactly who he was. It'd be far stranger if they managed not to pay attention to he of such monstrous lineage.

Likely, these inquisitors hated him or feared him or otherwise suspected his immanent descent into rabid frenzy – their organisation's enmity with his master ought to be about that deep – and being that they were probably part of whichever subset of the inquisition covertly operated on the continent, it wasn't impossible that they had a very personal reason for this great measure of displeasure.

One of them – the obvious one – had horrible scarring all over the left of his face and wore unambiguously the enchanted duster issued to all members of their organisation. Gregor had always assumed that they were tailored each to their wearer, but this one seemed a little too large.

The other was different. He didn't wear the duster or the scars of his work, but he certainly had the unmistakable manner and intensity of an inquisitor, and wore countless little charms and enchanted trinkets that were probably just as much trophies collected over a successful career as they were worn for function. The imposing man's most notable feature, however, was the stink of demon magic.

He wasn't a sorcerer, so far as Gregor could feel, but he had very clearly dealt with demons, and they had left a heavy mark. Might his government have subsidised the cost? Deals with devils are not cheap, and dealings so extensive would be prohibitively difficult for an individual of any profession to independently finance.

"-Wizard?"

Gregor dragged his glare from the inquisitors to look again at the spy.

"Could you help us resolve this? I understand that you are concerned primarily with the safety of Miss Mildred here, but she won't be alone while you step out. We will still be here, and we're capable protectors too. No harm shall come to her, I assure you. These gentlemen from the inquisition, with whom you seem to have… acquainted yourself, well, they're quite formidable, I'm sure you'd agree. And you'll only be just outside, and only just for a moment. If anything should happen in that small time, I imagine you'll notice, and have very little trouble with reentry."

Saying nothing, Gregor glanced over to Mildred, though everyone else at the table felt distinctly that his evil red eye never broke contact with any of theirs.

Catching his gaze, Mildred's brow shifted minutely, and she leaned back in her seat, also saying nothing.

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After a moment of further silence, the spy began again. "Uh, my apologies, is there a language barrier? Does he not understand-"

"I speak more languages than you know to exist." Spake Gregor the Omniglot, casually.

"He really might." Mildred affirmed, and it struck her that these agents of the crown were altogether far too inflexible. A little compromise would do them some good, she decided, pointedly ignoring the fact that she was being just as inflexible, because she didn't need to compromise. She had a Gregor.

And when that Gregor received from Mildred neither instruction to leave nor to just take the damn letter, he considered his options.

He did not remotely anticipate that Mildred would ask him to step out for a moment, though she could. Rather, he found it far more likely that she would require something subtle from him – a thing of the kind that would be far less useful if she just outright asked for it, like a murderous look in support of a persuasive statement, or a threat; unprompted but timely. Diplomacy was a tricky thing when dealing with people you did not have the luxury to murder, so he must be attentive.

Perhaps, he thought, they might relent if he helped them to better understand their situation.

"Little spy," he intoned, hoping to offend, "do you happen to know who is currently your enemy? Or why precisely it would be a bad idea for me to leave Mildred alone?"

"She wouldn't be alone." The spy protested.

"She would."

To Gregor's credit, the spy did seem offended.

"I see, well, in any case, I know that it isn't you, Mister wizard, if that's what you're insinuating. I know who you are, and I know very obviously about your master, but it isn't that I want you out because I think you're a danger in some way, if that's what you're trying to get at. It really is a matter of protocol."

"Right…" Gregor sneered. "You did not happen upon us by chance, correct?"

"Obviously not."

"You found us through the divination of your nation's intelligence apparatus."

"…Your point?"

"You are not the only people in the world for whom such a thing is possible. For this reason, and for the precedent that it has established, I will not step away. In fact, I would sooner kill you, and, because you know my master – whom I have also killed, by the way – you know that this isn't a lie."

Frowning heavily, the spy faltered, thinking. And as if stepping forward to fill the void in the conversation, it was then that the scarred inquisitor spoke his first words, dripping with unconcealed mistrust.

"Then who, wizard? Who can be our enemy? For surely, if we were here to combat someone so grand as to threaten the great and powerful you, and so well-resourced as to have divined the few moments that you might be apart from your charge, they would not be unknown to us. They could not. How then can it be that we are unaware?"

That… was a good point, Gregor conceded, finding a new snag in the situation. Why hadn't they been told?

These were inquisitors, shadowy, trusted people, probably privy to all sorts of secrets of state, here to escort the niece of their queen to safety, which was something else they ought to have known. It was the job of the inquisition to find and combat non-mundane threats to peace and tranquillity within their empire, and though the Worldeater might be an extreme case, he and things like him were exactly within their wheelhouse. They should know him.

So then, why might they be so poorly informed? The queen knew about the Worldeater. And it seemed incomprehensible that she would withhold that information from an institution she had created to handle precisely that manner of problem, and it was particularly incomprehensible a thing to withhold from agents who would be directly involved in so important a capacity as these men before him.

It didn't make sense.

Thinking back to a time when his mind was pure sludge, Gregor recalled a meeting between himself and two agents of the Golden Empire's inquisition – not inquisitors themselves, but some lesser men mobilised in haste subsequent to an incident in Staltland. They had been poking around the continent, trying to gauge the affiliations of people who had the power to matter. People like him.

Shortly thereafter, Gregor had met Labourd, and had become inextricably involved in all his present business.

It wasn't a sure thing, but he very heavily suspected that they had been fishing for allegiance to the enemy – his enemy. If so, the Worldeater must have been involved in the Staltland matter, which was still entirely opaque to the world at large. Thus, at the very least from that point onward, the inquisition should have been aware of the Worldeater.

And if the Worldeater was involved in that, what else might he be doing in furtherance of his ambition to Eat World? Because Mildred was clearly not his sole concern, and nor did she seem at all proximate to his end goal. There was obviously more.

The spy cleared his throat politely, interrupting the long silence.

Wurmburg? Perhaps. Those odd rats? Likely. Add them to Staltland and the Kopfbiest and Gregor's tower and the Republic's new civil strife, and perhaps even the destruction at Harsdorf or at Sine (the consequences of which might very conceivably have been intentional on the part of the enemy), not to mention all the things which might have occurred outside Gregor's knowledge; these matters all in consideration, one arrives at the very muddy picture of a continent-spanning campaign of chaos.

…To what end? How did any of it benefit the Worldeater's designs? Unknown. Perhaps unknowable. Things were happening at an extra-mortal scale, and probably had been since at least before the time of Mildred's birth. The information necessary to understand it all might not even exist yet.

Down at the mortal scale of things, however, Gregor did know that it was impossible for the inquisitors across the table to be aware of none of it.

Thus, they must be lying, but why, and about exactly what?

And… did it really matter? A lie is a lie, and Gregor had rather severe opinions about subterfuge in Mildred's matters. A lie here might very well be tantamount to an attempt on her life. And for that, clemency would not be granted, no matter the truth behind the falsehood.

So, after an entire second of deliberation, he decided that there was no need to be overly subtle in addressing his suspicions.

"Excuse me, Mister wizard?"

"You are not excused, spy, but I do have a secret to share. This new eye of mine can see some very special things," Gregor claimed, tap-tapping the artificial organ for effect.

The method was quite simple: when one finds oneself victim to a confusion of facts, the fastest way to find the truth is to inform the liar that the lie is long-exposed and the truth already known, and to use their reaction to gauge the reality of things.

"For instance, did you know that the souls of liars glow a very particular hue?" Lied Gregor. "You are all very green."

The response to this claim was both immediate and self-explanatory, and far more amenable to Gregor's sensibilities than Mildred's careful diplomacy.

The lie, it seemed, was that they had been here to help.