Contrary to popular belief, the worse place in Lollardum is the prison. The streets are mundane and the workhouses are a walk in the park when compared to the single structure everyone calls the Tower. There are local jails the municipal lawmen use for the usual petty crimes. He’s seen his share of those. Standard buildings with a handful of cells and no meal options. Depending on how busy it was a petty thief can get out in a day or two with little to no fuss. Even shorter if there’s a bribe in play.

But the Tower is different. In a sick way, it’s one of Lollardum’s famous landmarks. Everyone knows it, knows someone who’s been there; and more importantly knows someone who was never seen again after entering. People go there to disappear. The Warden doesn’t keep records. The Inquisitor has free reign to get the answers the king needs. And no one ever counts the bodies in the exiting carts.

He doesn’t know when or who built the Tower. Ever since he can remember, it always loomed over him. The constant presence, crippling authority, and reminder that he’s one mistake away from vanishing forever. The heavy iron gate slams behind him. The room shudders as the guards in their stain tunics drag him to the repurposed cattle lifts. They’re wooden, with about five-foot-high sides and no roof.

There’s something unsettling watching the cable holding his life in his hands carry him from the safety of the ground. It sways just enough to test a man’s faith. The sister lift descends as his climbs. Surrounding them is a central cage of rusting prison bars extending an unprecedented number of floors above his head.

“We know you ain’t some Ambassador. You got these fancy clothes, but you can’t remove the stink from the streets.” The short guard with a missing ear and curly brown hair jabs at his side. “You’ll fool those Blue Bloods but not us.”

“Right, guess nothing gets by two upstanding gentleman like yourselves.” The taller one to his left yanks at his chain, almost causing him to fumble. His palms sweat as the lift sways but he stays upright. “So, we’re going to the Inquisitor then?”

“Not yet, we got our own questions first.”

Shafts of light cross their faces, casting spotlights into each passing level. Each one is the same, rounded space with a wall of iron bars. The lift under his feet shake, the bottom floor vanishes in the darkness. Occasionally there’s a few guards patrolling the hallway between the shaft cage and the prisoner’s area.

Little sunshine gets through the narrow windows in the wall; instead, it filters downward through larger windows below the roof. The pungent air clings to his skin, the heat makes him sweat, and the shouting assaults him every time they pass a new level. The muffle crying from the shadows is unnerving. It’s the only sound that follows them after they pass.

Nicole’s protests as they drag him through the crowd eats at him. It’s not like he didn’t expect it, but he thought they’ll be a bit more discreet. Grab him near a dark alley. Stop the carriage and yank him from the seat. He’s used to those games. But a public display of shackling him and dragging him out kicking; bravo.

An orchestrated farce. Despite the humiliation a grin creeps on his busted lips. He lost a lot of rich folks, a lot of coin. Why else would they make a spectacle of his arrest, if it wasn’t to assure some investors’ they’re taking care of business.

He'll laugh if his body didn’t ache. Once they moved him from prying eyes, all bets were off. They didn’t hesitate, they enjoyed it even, but then again, he wouldn’t expect anything less. But they always underestimate how much of a beating someone from the streets can take.

The creaking lift halts with a bump at a wooden platform extending outwards from the stone level. His knees are already weak, but he hazards a glance below. Darkness. Specks of dust float in the rays of light but the floor is gone. The short one pulls a key ring from his pocket, selecting one of many he grins at his prize. A rusty screech echoes as the taller one yanks open the iron door. The platform is steady, but his heart pounds in his throat. Don’t think about the fall.

They drag him over the threshold on to solid ground. Through another door, and he’s into the prison cell. Rows of rusty metal hoops dangle from the stone. The shackles cut into his wrist as the guards secure him. There’s a small window to his left; no glass only a gaping hole no wider than a man’s head. Wide heavy hands push his shoulders until his knees slam into a black puddle at his feet.

Behind him, one of them cracks his knuckles in anticipation. A small chuckle escapes their lips. He stares at the cracks in the stone as if they spell his grim fate; the dripping water echoing his pounding heart. A blade digs at his shirt, it tears the fabric and the cool steel traces his spine.

“Oi, now you’re gonna tell us what we wanna know. If not, you’ll have business with my friend here.” A whip cracks the air. “Now, what’s the connection to a Mr. Bayliss on Primrose.”

“Don’t think I know the guy.” Another crack and a sting across his shoulders.

“That was a small taste. Don’t be a wise guy.”

“If I was wise, how did I end up here?” the whip burns as the lashes stretch the length of his back. “I don’t know a Bayliss. But I know someone who does.”

“Who?”

“I think I saw your wife with him the other night. Ask her what he’s like.” The lashings are furious and sear his skin; blood soaks his shirt. Time drags as the assault continues; same questions then more lashing. They pause when he spits blood over the stone.

“Had enough yet?”

“Do you ask your wife that?” When he can’t hold himself upright, they release his shackles from the wall and drag him across the floor. Tossing his aching crumple body into a wooden chair. They yank his arms; pop his shoulder from the socket and secure them behind the chair. The silent brute, who he assumes is the one with a whip preference, carries a barrel towards them. The dingy water licks the rim as he places it with a thud at his feet.

“Tough guy, eh? That dirty mouth of yours needs some cleaning,” he dunks his head into the water. “Why were you at Bayliss’s warehouse?”

“There’s a lot of warehouses in this place,” he coughs, “which one does this guy own?”

“The one you blew sky high!” Water slips up his nose and burns his throat. He gulps for air between dunks.

“I wasn’t there!”

“Where were ya then?” He pulls his head free, forcing his eyes to stare into his.

“Asking your wife if she had enough.”

The cell slips into a blur. Between the ringing in his ears and the sloshing of water; it brings him back to the night at the docks. As the warehouse timbers tumble into the harbour, he fights to keep his head above the restless waves. The booms shudder in his ears. He counts the barrels as they ignite and explode. The air smells like hundreds of cannons shooting off at once.

A voice calls his name, he slaps his palms on the surface but its blind faith that keeps him from drowning. The worse part, above the chaos of the screaming dock workers and the explosions is the most beautiful thing to touch the midnight sky. The smog usually smothers the stars. But that night is different. The only rainbow he’s seen was that in the oily water running through the drainage pipes. But high over his head, he swears that’s what he saw.

Fire, in florescent blues, pinks, and greens, streak across the nigh sky. Blooming like flowers from the heavens. A sign from the stars for the mere mortals trapped in destitute. Or that’s how he’d describe them if he didn’t know the truth. The mysterious powder Bayliss’s men tried to harness, backed fired. The Mages he experimented on fought back. And that dark powder was flammable.

His eyelids flutter as the sun shines through the morning smog; drifting through a hole beside him. His body aches as he forces his stiff muscles to stand. There’s a foot or two of leeway from the chain connecting his shackles to the wall. He doesn’t know when he passed out, but they’ll try again. Treason. A smirk creases his mouth, the length of Castellan’s atrocities keeps surprising him.

But at least Nicole took him down a peg or two; of all people, he didn’t expect her to use fear to bully him into submitting. Guess the little kitten has some fight in her after all. Half an of Castellan’s army of brutes should be enough for Zack. She did her best, standing against Castellan isn’t an easy task. Hopefully, she has enough sense to get on the ferry; he didn’t need her dragged into his mess.

Lollardum’s problems are her own. No use bringing in outsiders. Especially Moira. The warehouse might’ve been destroyed but Bayliss fled. The filthy rat. The Mages in Lollardum aren’t safe, and he’ll cut off his own hand before he brings Moira into this mess. He rests his head against the cool stone, attempting to quell the throbbing.

Is this what Eclipse wanted? His ass kicked, to prove a point. The only good thing that came of this, was to see the lengths the king will go to silence him. The sly cat, now he’ll know they’re on the right trail. The metal door creaks open, across from the hole a lift on the opposite side containing guards and a blonde woman waits as the guests disembark. He curses Nicole’s self-sacrificing heart. What was it with nobles being noble?

“I told you to get to the ferry! What’s with you people and your inability to do what you’re told!”

“I am afraid you confuse me with someone else,” the queen approaches the bars with her hands folded on her stomach. “I sent her Highness to the ferry; I know her safety is your highest concern.”

“Thank you,” adding, “My Queen.” He eyes the guard behind her and whispers, “what are you doing here?”

“General Steele is negotiating your release. Regretfully you were confused with a perpetrator who attacked the dockyard a few months ago. However, I informed the king that you are an Ambassador for Alexanderia and not in Lollardum at the time. I am sorry for the inconvenience, My Lord.”

“Thank you...Your Majesty, I am glad you rectified the situation.”

“Please send our apologies to Queen Avalon, along with our sympathies.”

“Cecelia,” he whispers. Forgetting himself as he grabs her shimmering dress, “it’s too dangerous for you to do this for me. You should let me rot in here.”

“I can not bear the thought of you imprisoned. I told you to forsake Lollardum. Chris please, return to Alexanderia and stay there.”

“You don’t miss me?”

“I rather you live far from me than hang here for treason.”

“Cecelia please…”

“I can not save you next time.” Her perfect mouth reveals a brief smile before it fades and she exits into the shadows.

He listens to her footsteps, committing them to memory. In case this is the last time they speak, he wants to remember every last detail. Her smile, her scent, the way her eyes light up when she discovers something new. He always dreaded the sound of her walking away. It mimics his own steps when he abandoned her those many years ago. Now, he listens to them again and he remembers the familiar pain.

“Chris!” Nicole shouts from another lift. “Are you here?”

Nicole, a guard and one of the Alexanderian soldiers’ step through the threshold and she races to the door facing him. The clips in her hair barely contain her curls. And the bags under her eyes, no doubt, rival his.

“For Gods sake woman, aren’t you supposed to be gone by now?” She hurries to his cell, clutching the key master’s key ring. “Where did you get that?”

“I asked for it.”

“And he gave it to you?”

“General Steele threatened the Warden, but we must go now!” Trembling hands jabs they key in the lock, and with all her effort she twists it open. The door pops with a clunk and she pulls it free.

“At least you had the sense to bring Jasper with you.” He nods to the soldier, grateful for a friendly face. He won’t forget the new husband who joined his card game that night. Jasper wasn’t the vulgar sort; especially after a few beers. He wasn’t aggressive or reckless with his hands; playing very safe. Which did end well in his favor.

“You two know each other?”

“If you count me winning all his money in one night, friendship.” Jasper winks.

“Hey, for the record, I let you win.” Jasper unlocks his chains and helps him to his feet.

“Zack warned us there might be trouble, but I didn’t expect this…” he whispers.

“Expect the unexpected, good sir,” he winks again before stretching. “Will we catch the ferry?”

“Getting out of the Tower alive is a more pressing matter.”

“What do you mean, you got the keys?”

“True, but there are a lot of people who refuse to let you leave.”

He leads them to the unoccupied lift, but the guard still stands in front of the door. He’s different than the other two yesterday but he doubts he’ll treat him any better.

“Alright Jasper, get ready. It’s about to get exciting.”