39. Bird in a Cage

Jorge mixed a little pink in his wine bottle before he entered the room.

An impressively large number of people were assembled in Bloodhound’s office. The normally spacious room had been made cramped by a veritable wall of bodies.

Conversia was there, of course, beside the Guild Master himself. Steelfeather stood behind them, clad in his thundercloud grey outfit, as the only A-Rank remaining in the Guild chapter apart from Jorge himself.

Titaness was squeezed into a corner, trying her best to keep her bulk to herself. Goldcoin, Good Doctor, Eagle-Eyes, and Cliff-Face were also there.

In the middle of the room, on his knees and shackled to a pair of iron domes which covered his hands entirely, was Magpie the thief. His face was still bruised and swollen from the beating Kiren had apparently given him.

Jorge couldn’t help but feel proud of the lad.

He hobbled into the silent room, using the wall as support. His leg braces squeaked with every step.

At this point, it was the sound that was driving him mad, not the pain.

Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak.

Cliff-Face offered him a chair, and Jorge sat with a grateful nod. The C-Rank Hero’s stony face split in a big, dumb grin, and a dusting of pebbles fell into Jorge’s lap. He frowned at it before brushing it off.

Jorge took a drink from his bottle of piss-tasting wine.

He wasn’t drunk enough for this.

Bloodhound cleared his throat and stood up behind his desk. “Now that everyone is here, we may begin.” He regarded the Villain on the floor from under his furry brows. “Your name is Magpie, correct?”

Magpie nodded.

“And you are aware of the charges leveled against you?”

Magpie shrugged. He licked his cut-up, swollen lips. “Life on the Hill.”

Bloodhound nodded. “Correct. However, we are willing to offer you a deal, in exchange for certain information regarding your former colleagues.”

Magpie’s eyebrows shot up. “The Thieves’ Guild?” He laughed. “You don’t rat on the Thieves’ Guild. Not ever. I’m lucky I got out of there with my life.”

“Then you find yourself hard-pressed for choice,” Jorge said.

Bloodhound gave him a dirty look, but he ignored it.

“If you don’t talk, we will not be as charitable as we have been until this point. Am I correct in assuming your Power works through your hands?”

Magpie’s eyes narrowed. “Sure. Why?”

“Well, then…” Jorge grinned. “Why don’t we try lopping one off? If that doesn’t get you talking, we’ll take the other. Let’s see you steal without hands, locked in Wailing HIll for the rest of your short, miserable life.” He shrugged. “You won’t even be able to kill yourself, because…” He held up his arms and shook his hands for emphasis. “No hands!”

Jorge laughed bitterly.

No one joined in.

He had another drink.

Magpie stared down at his shackled arms. “Y-You wouldn’t… You’re Heroes…”

“Heroes with the full authority of the Queen,” Titaness said, her rumbling, husky voice filling the room. “I would be careful with assuming what we would or wouldn’t do.”

‘Nice assist’, Jorge mouthed in her direction.

Bloodhound looked displeased but didn’t contradict them.

“If I talk…” Magpie said, weighing each word carefully. “What’s in it for me?”

“Aside from the continued ability to wipe your own ass?” Jorge asked.

“Your sentence will be commuted indefinitely, so long as you remain of use to the Heroes’ Guild,” Bloodhound said, “and your time in prison will be reduced corresponding to your contribution.”

Magpie nodded slowly. “I… I think I can tell you some stuff. But I’ll need some assurances.”

Bloodhound spread his clawed hands. “Allow us to assure you.”

Jorge held back a grin. They had never been this close to getting any real information on the Thieves’ Guild before. The shadowy organization had existed for many decades, maybe even centuries.

And yet, in that time, they had only ever caught minor henchmen, stooges, fall men. None of them had had any information worth having. Nothing on the leaders.

“Once I talk, people will come after me,” Magpie said. “A man. A… thing. You have to make sure he doesn’t get to me.”

“Give us a name,” Steelfeather said. “We will make sure that he doesn’t get close to you, as long as you cooperate.”

“Whisper-Man,” Magpie whimpered. “That’s what they call him. Whenever something’s about to leak, he’s the one they send in to fix it. He never fails. Never.”

Bloodhound looked over at Conversia, who shook her head.

Whisper-Man, whoever he was, was not a part of the Guild’s established network of known Villains. Whether a figment of Magpie’s imagination or a credible threat remained to be seen.

“What are you doing, Jay?” a familiar, feminine voice whispered in Jorge’s ear.

He started and turned back, but there was no woman there. Cliff-Face gave him a strange look.

“Did you just say something?” Jorge asked.

Cliff-Face shook his head.

He turned back with a sigh.

Right. He’s mute, anyway.

“Why don’t you come back to bed?” the voice whispered.

Jorge twitched, but this time he didn’t turn around.

It was Reya’s voice.

It’s not real, he told himself. Just the pink talking. Act normal.

“This, ahem, Whisper-Man,” Bloodhound said, “does he have a Power? If so, give us any details you have on it.”

“He’s Powered, alright,” Magpie said. “I mean, he must be. There’s no way he’s a regular guy.”

“What is his Power?”

“I dunno, man. It’s not like they hand you a fucking book when you join the Guild. ‘Oh, here’s your complimentary Guild secrets’. Nah. They keep stuff under wraps. Tightly. Even from their own members. How do you think they’ve stayed hidden until now?”

“Well, rest assured, with your continued support, we will find this Whisper-Man and detain him. He won’t touch you.”

Magpie nodded. He was blinking rapidly. “Good. That’s good.”

Jorge felt a tickle behind his ear. Hot breath on his neck. Soft fingers stroking his chin.

“I love you, Jay,” Reya said.

Jorge placed the bottle on the floor and put his head in his hands.

“Now, for the important part,” Goldcoin said. True to his name, he was flipping a coin. “Give us the names of the Thieves’ Guild’s leaders.”

Magpie went pale. he shook his head.

“Mm-mm. No. Can’t do that.”

“Why?” Goldcoin asked. “As per the reasons previously outlined, you have plenty of reason to give us reliable information.”

“I can’t because I don’t know,” Magpie growled. “I’ve never seen him. Never even heard a name. It’s always middle-men and dead drops.”

“But they do have a leader,” Bloodhound said. “And you know it’s one man.”

Magpie nodded. “Yes. From the way they speak about it, at least.”

“Is that all you can give us?” Titaness asked. She didn’t have to put much of an edge to her voice for it to sound like a booming storm cloud.

“No!” Magpie said, holding up his shackled hands. “No, I’ve got more! Something just as good!”

“And what is that?” Bloodhound asked.

“The Thieves’ Guild is working with the Dark Eye.”

There was a brief silence.

Then the room erupted in a chorus of voices.

*****

Ingemar rested his head against the back of the wheelchair as Rory wheeled him along. Anu walked close behind, judging by the clinking of his armor.

Ingemar’s world was all darkness, sliced through by thin threads of light. These strings ran into himself, his guards, every living human.

The threads of fate.

Some had more threads woven around them, some had less. Rory, for instance, had dozens of threads running through him, while a servant they passed only had a handful.

Rory was taking him up to the observatory, where he could sit and think, far away from the spiritual noise of everyone in the temple. He would have Rory write down the prophecies he had gleaned during the day, as he did every day, and those prophecies, vital or not, would be squirreled away to be poured over by some junior scholars.

It seemed that was all he was good for, these days. A receptacle of dubious wisdom, and nothing more.

“Not so fast, damn you,” Ingemar grumbled, groaning at the bumpy ride over the stone floor.

“Apologies, Grandmaster,” Rory said, slowing down just a hair.

Ingemar had half a mind to reprimand the lad, but something else caught his attention.

A tangle of fate, bright and hot, belonging to a man.

The number of threads was staggering, spilling out of him like an intricate web. He came down the hallway in the opposite direction.

“Stop, stop!” Ingemar croaked, thumping a hand on the armrest of his wheelchair.

Rory immediately obeyed and put a stop to the wheelchair.

Ingemar grabbed the staff off of his lap and held it out, letting the tip strike against the wall to his left.

The man surrounded by fate stopped.

Ingemar quickly plucked at the threads. It was too much to go through all at once, but it helped him identify the man.

He knew him.

Battlepriest Legario Stencin.

Leader of the Purifiers.

“Grandmaster,” Legario said in a deep, smooth voice, sounding somewhat shocked. “Can I assist you in some way?”

“You can,” Ingemar said, “by taking my hand.”

Ingemar held out his hand. a few seconds later, he felt a large, rough hand slip into his.

A myriad of images and sensation flashed around Ingemar’s very being. He struggled to remain anchored in the present, as allowing himself to be swept up in any particular thread of fate could easily cause him to lose track of time.

He sensed turmoil. Struggle. A great upheaval.

He couldn’t see the other side of this struggle, but it was dark.

Legario and his cohort were at the center of it all.

Ingemar got a shock of stabbing pain up his arm and jerked his hand back.

“I’m sorry, Grandmaster, I don’t quite understand,” Legario said. By the many threads twisting around him, Ingemar could tell that he was looking down at his hand. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Ingemar panted. “There will be a battle. You and your Purifiers should keep your weapons close, and your heads clear.”

“Well, if I’m involved, it could only mean one thing,” Legario said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “Beasts.”

END OF 'RETRIEVAL' ARC