Sworded Affair

Chapter 141: Jailhouse Rock

There were certain buildings that were practically required for any self-settlement that grew to a certain size. Storehouses for food and other provisions, kept safe from the elements, thieves and vermin. An administrative building, to gather the movers and shakers of local society in one place, for the dreadfully dull business of running a town. A guardhouse, to regulate arrivals and departures and keep track of just who was around. And most recently of all, a jail; to hold those who demonstrated a continued danger to society but for whom execution wasn’t suitable, for any number of reasons.

The jail was mostly empty as Elizabeth entered; half a dozen cells all empty save for one, and only a single guard on site, serving double duty at the receptionist’s desk.

“People have been pretty well behaved, generally speaking,” the guard explained. “ The workload doesn’t leave much time for crime. A bit of petty theft, and a scuffle or two between men deep in their cups, all sorted with fines and a night in the drunk tank. Matthew, on the other hand, well, you best see for yourself.”

The guard stood, grabbing a battered old shotgun that Elizabeth knew better than to underestimate, before leading the way to the cell in the corner. There inside, the building’s sole inmate knelt in silent contemplation, wrapped in chains from head to toe as he stared blankly at the wall.

“He’s been like that since he first woke up in the cell,” the guard muttered. “Doesn’t do anything unless spoken to, doesn’t move except when we feed him, and never needs the bathroom either. God forbid you go inside though, he’ll turn and try to rip you apart at the drop of a hat.”

“Not altogether uncommon, for a demonic infiltrator. Whilst they can take on a human appearance, the imitation is only skin deep; ultimately, they are creatures born of blood, hate and magic, barely compliant with biology as you know it.”

“So you said when we first locked him up,” the guard agreed. “But here’s what I don’t get. If this thing’s meant to be an infiltrator, then why’d it try to tear people’s heads off back at the hospital? Nobody suspected anything amiss until it went batshit insane at the first opportunity.”

“That’s what I’m here to find out,” Elizabeth reassured him. “Orders from the top, they don’t want any loose ends running around on the home front, not while we’re already being attacked from outside. One way or the other, I’ll take the prisoner off your hands today, before I go south.”

“Much appreciated,” the guard offered her the key to the cell, which was quickly rebuffed by a shake of the head.

Shrugging, he pocketed the key again and returned to the front desk, more than happy to hand the situation off to a specialist. Elizabeth didn’t bother with the door, though she could have easily forced her way in; the magic she was planning to use didn’t require touch, or even eye contact, just proximity and focus. It wasn’t powerful in the showy manner that many practitioners adored; when cast correctly, it left little to no trace of its passing, and for this reason was a prized legacy of the Empire’s intelligence wing.

“Now, let’s see just what you’re hiding.” The Empire’s resident specialist on mind magic whispered, as she slipped into her prisoner’s thoughts, digging through his memories in search of orders.

—

“Ugh, my head,” Marius Kimaris groaned pitifully as he returned to the waking world.

The events of the previous night were very much a blur; blending together into a mass of food, drink and drugs, so many drugs. Quite frankly, only his demonic constitution kept him alive; his consumption would have put even the worst human addict in an early grave. As it was, Marius had a pounding headache, a persistent desire to vomit, aches and pains all over his body, and he really needed the toilet.

“I’d rather be dead,” Marius swallowed hard, trying to keep his nausea at bay. “Gods, why’d I listen to Aster? Have a stag night, he said. Just a few drinks, he said. Never again.”

Pulling himself up by the edge of his hard mattress, Marius staggered to his feet and shambled towards the bathroom; doing over a long and painful minute what he could usually manage in seconds. Thankfully, the door was already open, sparing him the indignity of finding the handle by feel; even opening his eyes was out of the question, as the mere attempt left him seeing stars and only worsened his migraine. Eventually, he managed to find himself before a familiar porcelain throne, undoing his dressing gown and pulling the lid up.

“Slow and steady,” Marius murmured, adjusting his equipment; the last thing he needed was to paint the walls.

Sure, his servants were loyal and probably wouldn’t gossip, but his parents would definitely find out, to say nothing of his sister’s reaction. Annoyingly, the moment he was ready to let loose, the desire to urinate vanished. Marius gritted his teeth, waiting for the familiar biological reaction to pass, but nothing happened. After an indeterminate (and far too long) period of time, he bit the bullet, opening his eyes despite the pain to check on his little problem, and in that moment, Marius finally learned the meaning of the idiom, ‘hard as a rock’.

Thus began the biggest manhunt in magical England, a ripples of which would eventually impact a full third of the Empire’s population, leading to the unravelling of a dozen conspiracies and the passing of three acts of legislation, all of this off the back of a single, agonised scream.

“MY PENIS!”

—

Elizabeth jumped as the memory abruptly ended, the sheer emotions within breaking her concentration and sending her back to the real world. Her target was no less affected; having jumped to his feet and rushed the bars of the cell. A futile effort, for although he was stronger than a man, he wasn’t quite at the point of bending steel, but he persisted nonetheless.

“Impressive,” Elizabeth acknowledged. “Yet insufficient. If a light touch won’t do, then I’ll just have to be a bit more invasive; my apologies, for this is going to hurt a lot.”