Spy Glass

5

“THAT’S A LIE,” I SAID, LETTING MY OUTRAGE COLOR my tone.

“Too bad there are only a few precious glass messengers left,” Zebb said. “Otherwise, you could tell them the fast way. But a message sent by courier will take five days. And, really, who would believe you over a magician assigned by Master Bloodgood?”

I assessed the magician. Sandy brown hair fell in layers around his face and the tip of his nose looked as if someone had pushed it down toward his upper lip. He wasn’t bluffing.

“That’s blackmail,” I said.

“No. I’m protecting the Councilor.”

I huffed in frustration. “No one sent me. As you pointed out, I’m not very popular with the Council or the Master Magicians right now. I came to ask Tama for a job, but when I saw how…fragile she had become, I wanted to help her instead.” The truth. When he failed to reply, I added, “Besides, I had planned to convince her of your…good intentions? Maybe I need to rethink that. Unless you’d rather she not trust you enough to let you be in the same room with her?”

His stance relaxed a smidge.

I pressed my advantage. “And I’m positive her view of magicians wouldn’t improve if I told her you’d been using magic to spy on her.”

“I’m not spying. I’m doing my job.”

“Then why isn’t she surrounded by a null shield? That would have protected her.”

“Not from you.” He gestured to me. “You could have attacked her with your sais. Magic isn’t the only weapon.”

“But she’s surrounded by guards at all times.”

“Guards you selected.”

“They’re Fulgor soldiers. They’re more loyal to her than you,” I shot back.

He crossed his arms again. This conversation had gone nowhere. I returned my sais to the holder hanging around my waist. Long slits in my cloak allowed me to access them without getting tangled in the fabric.

“How about a truce?” I asked.

“I’m listening.”

“I believe Tama can sense your magic on an unconscious level.” I held up my hand when he opened his mouth. “Hear me out. In order to help her over her fear of magicians, I need you to stop the protective magic. If you feel she’s in danger, you can surround her with a null shield. And in return, I will keep you updated on her progress.”

He considered my offer. “Not you. I want the Councilor’s First Adviser to give me twice daily reports.”

So he could read Faith’s mind to ensure we didn’t lie to him. “Fine.”

“And you have to answer two questions.”

Wary, I asked, “What questions?”

“Why didn’t you tell Master Bloodgood about your immunity?”

He couldn’t use magic to determine if I lied, but he studied me with a strong intensity. Remembering what Valek had said about my poor acting skills, I kept as close to the truth as possible.

“At first, I hoped my powers would return after I healed. They didn’t. Now, since the Council and Bain are dealing with the consequences of the soon-to-be-extinct glass messengers, I wanted to keep a low profile until things settled to a point where I can tell Bain and he’ll be more receptive to figuring out a way my immunity can help Sitia.” I waited, hoping that last bit wasn’t too much.

“Why did you come looking for a job in Fulgor?” Zebb asked.

“Obviously, I can’t go to the Citadel and my hometown, Booruby, is filled with glass factories.” I lowered my gaze, not having to pretend to be upset. The hot sweet smell of molten glass fogged the streets, and the glint of sunlight from shops displaying glasswares pierced the air. It was impossible to avoid the reminders of what I had sacrificed.

“I have a few friends in Fulgor. It seemed like a good place to start,” I said.

He agreed to the truce, but also puffed out his chest and threatened to tell the Council about my immunity if I failed to keep him informed. I ignored his bluster. What concerned me more was I still didn’t know why Zebb failed to erect a null shield around Tama. Until then, I wouldn’t trust him.

Tama Moon’s confidence crept back over the next twenty days. We had weeded out the inexperienced guards and assembled a group of seasoned veterans with flawless service records. Nic’s team remained her personal bodyguards, but her distrust of magicians failed to abate despite my assurances and the lack of magic.

The taverns buzzed with general rumblings from the citizens over the mass firings of the guards, but otherwise their biggest concern was over why their Councilor hadn’t returned to the Citadel.

Sipping wine at the bar of the Pig Pen, I overheard bits of a conversation from a few people talking nearby.

“…they’re making resolutions without her.”

“…we need someone to speak for our clan.”

“First Akako and now this…maybe we should demand her resignation.”

“The Council could assign someone…”

“…they take forever to make a decision.”

When they turned to another subject, I stopped listening. Their accurate comment about the Sitian Council and the slow pace of decisions snagged on one of my own worries. What if the Council decided to execute Ulrick, Tricky and his goons before I had a chance to find out where they hid my blood? A slight risk, but still a possibility. Perhaps it was time to resume my own project.

I had planned to ask Tama to arrange a visit with Ulrick for me, but no visitors were allowed inside Wirral. And I couldn’t find any exceptions—like by order of the Councilor—to that rule. I needed an alternative plan.

“Faith, do you have a minute?” I asked from the threshold of her office.

“Sure, come in.”

Sunlight streamed in from the large glass windows behind her. I suppressed the memory of being here when Gressa had occupied the First Adviser’s position. Then I had been manacled and considered a criminal. Instead, I noted the lush carpet and rich furniture. Her office was as ornate as the Councilor’s, but smaller.

I settled into a comfortable chair in front of Faith’s desk. When she smiled at me, a prick of guilt jabbed me. Squashing all such feelings, I stayed pleasant as we exchanged small talk. Eventually, she asked what I needed.

“Tama has improved so much over the last twenty-five days, but she is still terrified of Zebb,” I said.

“That’s understandable,” Faith said.

“I know, but the townspeople are worried about her missing Council sessions and if she doesn’t return soon, there could be a call for her resignation.”

Faith tsked. “There are always naysayers out there. You can’t please everyone.”

“True, but I have an idea that might help.”

Her eyebrows arched as she waited for me to continue.

“I’m assuming her sister Akako and Gressa are in the maximum security prison?”

“Yes, they are both in the SMU along with those other men.”

“Do you know the correctional officers who work in the SMU?” I asked.

“Not personally. They’re a specially trained elite unit. In fact, there are only a handful of people allowed in the SMU.”

“Do the officers live there?” That seemed extreme.

“No.” She tapped her fingertips together. It was an unconscious habit that she displayed whenever the logic in a conversation didn’t quite add up; as if she could push all the illogical pieces together and build something she could understand. I’d spent more time with her than I realized. Tama had made an excellent choice when she appointed the practical and sensible Faith as her First Adviser.

“Do you have the names of those in the elite unit?” I asked.

“How is this related to Tama’s fear of Zebb?”

Time for a little creative reasoning. “We did background checks on all the guards in the Council Hall and Tama has relaxed. She’s afraid of a magical attack. So I thought if we did some digging into the backgrounds of the unit, she would feel better, knowing the men and women guarding those who know blood magic are trustworthy. I know I would sleep better with that information. And I think we should check into Zebb’s history, as well.”

Faith’s hands stilled and she pressed her steepled index fingers to her lips. “Why don’t you just ask Tama for their names?”

“She would want to know why I was interested. And it’s more complicated than with the Hall’s guards. Then we were just weeding out the inexperienced and those of questionable repute. The unit has been with these prisoners for over a season. What if we discover a real problem? Akako could have assigned moles in the prison just in case her plans failed. You know Tama requests daily updates, and I can’t lie to her. She would be terrified by the notion. I’d rather wait and tell her good news once we assess the situation.” I held my breath.

“A reasonable plan, and I agree we shouldn’t tell the Councilor. At least not yet.” Faith opened a drawer in her desk, pulling out a sheet of paper. “I’ll send a request to Wirral’s warden.”

Uh-oh. I hoped to keep the number of people involved to two. “Don’t you have that information here?”

“No. Grogan Moon is in charge of all Wirral’s personnel.”

“Is his office in the Hall?”

“No. It’s at the prison where he spends most of his time. He comes here for meetings with the Councilor and other clan business.” She dipped her quill into ink and wrote the request.

After she folded the paper and sealed it with wax, I jumped to my feet. “I’ll deliver the message.”

She hesitated.

“I want to make sure it reaches the warden and not some underling. Besides, I think it’ll be helpful if I take a look around.”

As soon as I entered, the solid mass of the prison’s stone walls bore down on my shoulders. The air thickened and I fought to draw a breath. I clutched Faith’s request in my hands, which were pressed against my chest as if it were a shield.

With each step, I sank deeper into the bowels of Wirral. My escort held a torch, illuminating his aggrieved scowl. Most messengers delivered their communications to the officers at the gate, but I had insisted on handing the missive to the warden himself.

After an intense debate, an order to disarm and a thorough search of my body, I had been permitted to enter. I’d regretted my insistence as soon as the first set of steel doors slammed behind me. The harsh clang reverberated off the stone walls, and matched the tremor of panic in my heart. More sets of locked gates followed until I lost all track of time or location.

Rank and putrid smells emanated from dark hallways. Shrieks of pain, curses and taunting cries pierced the air. We didn’t pass any cells. Thank fate. I had no wish to view the conditions nor the poor souls trapped in here.

Eventually, the officer led me up a spiral staircase so narrow my shoulders brushed both walls. The acrid odors disappeared and the oily blackness lightened. Dizzy with relief and the fast pace, I paused for a moment by the only window we encountered. Drinking in the crisp breeze, I looked down on an exercise yard. Completely surrounded by the prison, the packed dirt of the square at least allowed the prisoners some fresh air and sunlight.

My escort growled at me to hurry, and I rushed to catch up. The top of the staircase ended at another steel door. After a series of complicated knocks from both sides of the door, it swung open, revealing two officers wedged in a small vestibule. Another round of explanations followed another pat down.

Yep. This had been a bad idea. One of my worst.

I was finally admitted to the warden’s office. Windows ringed the large circular room. A stone hearth blazed with heat in the center, and behind a semicircle-shaped desk sat the warden.

My first impression—big bald head. Second—an immaculate uniform cut so tight wrinkles would be impossible. Another man lounged in a chair next to the desk. He also wore a correctional officer’s uniform, but instead of the standard blue, his shirt and pants were deep navy and no weapons or keys hung from his belt. He eyed me with keen interest.

My escort waited for the warden to acknowledge our presence before approaching the desk. I lagged behind and tried not to duck my head when the warden turned his irritation on me. Steel-gray eyes appraised me, and I stifled the need to scuff my foot and fidget like a small child. He stood and held out his hand. His movements were so precise and rigid, I wondered if his bones had been replaced by metal rods and his flesh petrified by years spent inside this stone prison.

“The message?” His voice matched his demeanor. Rough and sharp.

I handed him the request. He snatched it, ripped it open, scanned the words and tossed it on his desk. “Go,” he ordered.

“But—”

“What? Am I supposed to hand you the information?” His tone implied yes would be the wrong answer.

“Er…” Wonderful retort. Opal, the superspy.

“Am I supposed to stop everything I’m doing to give you classified documents?”

“Um…”

“Go now.”

I used to believe a powerful Daviian Warper addicted to blood magic was the scariest person I’d ever encounter. Not anymore.

Outside and several blocks away from Wirral, I sucked in huge gulps of air, trying to expel the fetid taint of the prison inside me. My gasps turned to hiccupy giggles as I imagined going through with my original plan to work undercover as a correctional officer. Light-headed and unable to draw in a decent breath, I reached for a lantern post as my head spun. I missed and toppled to the ground. Dazed, I waited for the spinning to stop.

“Hey! Are you all right?” a man asked. He peered down at me in concern.

“Fine. Fine.” I waved him away. “Just lost my balance.”

He knelt next to me. “It’s brutal the first time.”

I squinted at him. “What?”

“You were in Wirral. I thought you looked…shaky.”

Recognizing the man from the warden’s office, I pushed to my elbow in alarm. “You followed me?”

“Of course. Your face was whiter than a full moon, your eyes were bugged out and you wobbled when you left. What was I suppose to do? Let you fall and crack your head open?”

“No…sorry. I’m just… That was horrible!”

“It’s a punishment. It’s not supposed to be fun.”

“But it seemed…cruel.”

“What did?”

Was he teasing me? A cool humor lurked behind his grayish-green eyes, but it didn’t spoil his genuine interest in my answer.

“The smells, the shrieks, the darkness, the…”

He waited. When I didn’t continue, he said, “Did you actually see anything cruel?”

“No, but—”

“Your imagination filled in the details.”

I wanted to correct him. Not my imagination, but my experience.

“I won’t lie to you. It is bad, but not cruel. They’re fed, given water, exercise and fresh air. No one is tortured or harmed by the COs. And considering what most of them have done to others, it’s more than they deserve. Here…”

He hooked his arm under mine and helped me to my feet. I swayed, but regained my balance, trying to remember the last time I ate.

“What are COs?”

“Short for correctional officers. We abbreviate everything.”

The man still held my arm.

“Thanks for the help,” I said, trying and failing to subtly break his strong grip. “I’ll be fine.”

He gave me a skeptical look. “You need a drink, and I know just the place.”

Instinctively, I gauged his skill level. About six inches taller than me, he had a lean, wiry build. Buzzed black hair showed a few scars. I guessed he was five or six years older than me. Long, thin face that could easily get lost in a crowd, but those hazel eyes… Amusement filled them, and a slanted smile transformed him from common to unusual.

“Think you can take me?” he asked.

I laughed. “That obvious?”

“Yes.”

“Can you blame me? I don’t know you, and shouldn’t you be returning to work?” I pointed in the direction of the prison.

“My name is Finn. I’m off duty. And I’m wearing a lieutenant’s uniform and not a prison jumpsuit. Shouldn’t that be enough to trust me?”

“No.”

He laughed. Letting go of my arm, he stepped away with his hands up by his shoulders. “Smart lady. No wonder the Councilor hired you as her assistant.”

Alarm flashed through me. “How do you know?”

“COs like to gossip. Besides, I was consulted before they’d let you in.”

“But I had a message.”

“Doesn’t matter. No one enters. No visitors. No messengers. No deliverymen. Not even Councilor Moon can visit her sister, and for their safety, the Councilor and First Advisor are not even allowed inside. Authorized personnel only.”

“And you authorized me?”

“Yes. Now are you going to stand here all day, or are you going to let me buy you a drink?”

Finn must have quite a bit of power within the prison. I chose the drink. He led me to a tavern a few blocks away. Called the Spotted Dog, the utilitarian decor lacked warmth, but the patrons didn’t seem to mind. They generated their own coziness, acting like one big family. It made sense since almost all of them worked at the prison.

My arrival with Finn sent a ripple through the tavern. The hum of conversation died for an awkward moment before spiking back to life. In that time, appraising glances, surprised stares and hostile glares were aimed at me. A few women mingled with the men. A couple of the women wore uniforms, but the rest were in civilian garb. Finn and I sat at a table away from the general crowd.

If this group learned to trust me, then I’d hit the jackpot. Finn had said the COs liked to gossip, and since I had no idea whether the warden would deliver the names to Faith or not, perhaps I would overhear information about the SMU or discover the names of the elite officers. Big if.

Would I be welcomed here without Finn? Doubtful. How much did Finn know about me? Did he know about Kade? And was I really considering using him to obtain the information I needed? How different was this from the story I spun for Faith? I was sure these questions didn’t bother Valek and his corp. Perhaps I should wait for the warden.

But the thought of waiting any longer sent nervous darts of fear through my body. The desire to find my blood before…What? My imagination created all kinds of scenarios. Spilled. Used. Lost. Hidden. Far better to be proactive than not.

“How long have you been working at the prison?” I asked Finn.

He swallowed a gulp of ale and flashed me his slanted smile. “Feels like forever. Actually, I recently transferred in from a Bloodgood prison.”

“Do you plan to stay?”

“This move was a promotion and I’m hoping to work my way to be a warden someday.”

A strange gleam shone in his eyes, and I couldn’t tell if he joked or teased or if he told the truth. “You seem too nice to be a warden. And I can’t imagine anyone ousting Grogan.” I shuddered, remembering his fierce demeanor.

“It’s not a matter of usurping the man.” Finn leaned forward. “It’s a matter of outliving him.”

The Lieutenant was serious. Yikes. “That bad? I thought Wirral is a maximum security prison.”

“It is. You’ve seen the fortifications. However we house the worst offenders from all over Sitia. And some of those guys are amazingly creative and intelligent. It doesn’t happen very often, but in Wirral’s long history, there have been a few escapes and riots and warden assassinations.”

Icy dread climbed up my throat. “Even from the SMU?” Tricky had escaped from Ixia—an almost impossible task. Would this prison be easier?

My obvious unease caused Finn to rush to assure me. “SMU is escape-proof. See those guys?” He pointed his mug toward a trio sitting at a far table.

They kept a distance from the others. Absorbed in conversation, the average-sized men didn’t evoke any warm feelings of safety in me. Plus I had learned words like impossible and escape-proof never worked. Someone, somewhere, at some time would prove it wrong.

“They’re the best of the best,” he said. “When we finish our training, we’re all locked inside the prison for thirty days. Those of us who escape or manage to outwit the COs in some way are given another year of training and assigned to the SMU.”

Impressive. “Thirty days inside must have been—”

“Not fun. And since I transferred in, I still had to do thirty days in Wirral despite my other time behind bars.”

“And?”

“I managed. And with my prior experience, I was assigned to the SMU.” He relaxed back in his seat. “So don’t worry. No one’s escaping on my watch.”

Finn asked me a few questions about my life and from them I learned he knew I had been involved with Councilor Moon’s rescue, but not all the details. Good.

As we talked, I kept an eye on the other SMU officers, trying to memorize their faces. At one point during our conversation, magic brushed me. A light inquisitive touch. I scanned the crowd, but, besides the two drunken soldiers glaring at me, no one paid me any attention. The drunks’ hostility didn’t match the magic, but making eye contact with them was a mistake. They approached us.

Finn stiffened and said, “Don’t say a word.”

Anger radiated from them. A sheen of alcohol and malice glazed their eyes. And they kept their hands on the hilts of their swords. They were a mirror image of each other, except the bruiser on the left had braided his hair into rows along his scalp and his companion’s lank hair hung straight to his shoulders.

“Hey, LT, do you know who you’re cozying with?” Braids asked Finn in a loud voice. “That’s the Councilor’s new assistant.”

“Why ’ja bring the bitch here?” Lank asked, slurring his words.

Finn placed his hand on my arm. A not too subtle hint to keep calm. His gaze never left the men.

“She fired my cousin, LT,” Braids said.

The tavern quieted.

Braids, sensing he had a larger audience, raised his voice and addressed the room. “She put my cousin and at least a dozen others out of work.”

Lank said, “And why ’ja think she was sniffing around the prison? How many of us are gonna be fired?”

Not good. I glanced around. Others nodded in agreement, siding with the drunks. No stopping it now. This was probably going to turn ugly.