Bailiff

“You’ve gotta help me, Col, they’ve got the wrong man.”  

Bailiff Colin Manning nodded as he looked through the narrow, barred window into the small cell.  

“Tell me what’s going on, Ralph,” he answered, looking at the old man chained up behind the bars.  

Ralph tried to rise, but the manacles were too heavy and he flopped back onto the cell floor with a grunt.  

“How long have we known each other, Col? I’ve spent decades working in this prison. There’s no way I’d betray Warden Lefroy. I don’t know how that necromancer escaped on my watch, but I swear on all that’s holy I wouldn’t break him out. You remember the Demon War – we both do. I say this as one veteran to another.” 

“I remember our time together in the war,” replied Colin, blinking away the memories that threatened to come. Shaking his head, the heavyset old man continued.  

“I’ll review the Warden’s evidence, but know this – if you did free a necromancer, especially one like Ashfield, I won’t protect you. I say this as one veteran to another.”  

Colin left the small cell-block, passing by the twisted and burnt remains of the cell from which the necromancer Ashfield had recently escaped. Walking up the stairs into the Prison’s courtyard, he was greeted by a tall, wiry man brandishing a truncheon and wearing a belt strung with keys.  

“Warden Lefroy,” nodded Colin.  

“Bailiff Manning. Have you spoken to the Guardsman?”  

“Ralph says he didn’t do it. I’d like to speak to everyone involved.” 

The tall man sighed and shrugged his shoulders.  

“I guess we owe old Ralph that much. We’re still holding the main suspects. It’s already late in the day, but I can give you a chance to speak to them in turn. However until you make a decision I’ll insist that you stay within the prison. The city’s already on edge and I don’t want our pronouncements to be at odds with each other. I’m already in trouble for locking up a veteran, let alone the Republic merchant and the Resident Surgeon.”  

The Bailiff let his gaze wander over the Warden, marking the stiffness of the Warden’s shoulders and how tightly he gripped the truncheon that served as his badge of office.  

Ralph isn’t the only one whose career is on the line. The mob at the gates are baying for a scapegoat, and this is your prison, after all.  

“Look Henry, I know we’ve had our disagreements over the years, but I promise I’m not here to stab you in the back,” Colin replied. “Whatever happens next, I’m not looking to turn this into a witch-hunt.”  

Warden Lefroy snorted.  

“A witch-hunt is what started this mess. What were they thinking, holding a prisoner like Ashfield in a prison like this? He should have been kept under heavy guard every step of the way to his trial, not just given to old Ralph to watch over.” 

“Probably budget cuts. The Kingdom can’t spare the money or manpower to round up every unlicensed hedge-wizard they come across. Gather up the witnesses, and I’ll meet you in the court room. It’s a good space for some… quiet discussion.”  

The Bailiff nodded and made his way into the small, humble courtroom located at the far end of Port Verde’s prison, passing by the open ruin that originally served this purpose. The prison compound had once boasted a grand courtroom and hall, complete with delicately carved wooden stands and benches, but after the building was gutted in the Demon War no money could be found to restore it, and the small storeroom that served as the “temporary” courtroom for decades had become a well-known joke among the locals. The space was only big enough to hold three or four people, but the room was familiar to the old soldier and useful for discreet interviews.  

The first witness ushered into the room by Warden Lefroy was a short, filthy man, dressed in rags and still wearing heavy iron hand- and leg-cuffs. The Bailiff tried not to roll his eyes as he recognized the grubby face. 

“Hello Guilders, back with us again, I see?”  

“I’m innocent, squire! I might have picked up some stuff that some people had lost, but I ain’t done nothin’ with no dark mage, see? My ol’ Mum would be rolling in her grave, she would!”  

“You told me you were innocent last time we brought you in,” replied Manning, taking a small metal flask from a pocket of his frayed uniform and giving it a swig. “And the time before that. So why should I believe you now? Tell me what you saw the night before last.” 

Guilders looked at the floor and fidgeted, his chains clinking nervously.  

“Well, I was just sleeping in me cell when I heard this godsawful noise, see? Like, right proper banging and then there was smoke everywhere. Ain’t seen nothing like it since me army days.”  

“You’re not a veteran, Guilders, and we both know you were never in the army. Don’t lie to me about that.”  

“Well, uh, what I can tell you is that I saw two figures running past the cell amongst all the smoke. One of them was Ashfield, I’m sure of it.” 

“The other?”  

“Dunno, squire. Couldn’t see.” 

“And what happened after that?” 

“Why, I stayed in me cell, I did.”  

Manning sighed and rubbed his forehead.  

“You see, this is why I can’t rely on you, Guilders, you’re a compulsive liar. The guards found you out in the courtyard trying to scale the walls. Those chains are just for show, we all know you can slip out of them the moment you want to.” 

“But I might know things, squire. Things that could help you free old Ralphie. Perhaps you could, uh, have a little word in Warden Lefroy’s ear, perhaps he can forget a few things that accidentally ended up in my pockets?” 

“You’re just trying to save your own skin, Guilders, so I don’t believe a word of it. Guards!” 

“Aww, it ain’t like that, squire!” protested Guilders as the Bailiff opened the door and ushered the ragged prisoner back into the arms of the waiting guards. “I can tell you who did it! Honest!”   

Manning was still sifting through the prisoner’s words when there was a knock on the door and the next witness was ushered into the room. 

“Vosper?” said the Bailiff in surprise. “What are you doing here?”  

“Colin, is that you?” asked the well-dressed figure as he took a seat opposite the Bailiff. “How many years has it been?” 

“Too many,” said Manning, shaking Vosper’s hand. “I heard you’d left the Kingdom and were working for the Republic.” 

“More of a contractor, Col. I go where the money is. Speaking of that matter, how long will I be kept here? My staff are waiting for me back on the ship, and we should have left for Port Graelwuld by now.” 

“I just need to clear up a Kingdom matter, Vosper. A mage was sprung from this prison night before last – a dangerous one.” 

“I heard the one that let the mage out was that tub of lard they assigned to watch him.” 

“And where were you during all of this, Vosper?”  

“Upstairs, talking to Warden Lefroy,” replied Manning. “One of my crewmen got blind drunk, and was thrown in here to cool off. I was here with my staff to pay the fine and get him back – I should have sailed the next morning. Next thing I know, there’s smoke everywhere, people are confused, and some old woman was injured in the commotion. Then Lefroy orders a lockdown and I’m stuck here.” 

“You’re under arrest?” asked Manning in surprise.  

Vosper rolled his eyes. “The Kingdom wouldn’t dare, it would cause a diplomatic incident. Lefroy is just keeping me here until the matter is resolved – after all, a dangerous necromancer is on the loose.” 

The well-dressed man’s face turned cloudy as he continued.  

“Look, joking aside, I had nothing to do with helping this monster escape. I was never on the front lines, Col, but you know what happened to my village during the Demon War.”  

“I remember,” replied Manning, reaching back into his pocket and taking another swig from the flask to keep the dark images at bay.  

“You’ve got to find who did this, Col. We can’t let it happen again.” 

“I will,” promised Manning, feeling his age and he pulled himself back to his feet and showed Vosper back out the door. 

“Who’s next?”  

“Me,” snapped an old woman, pushing through the door and past the graying Bailiff. “Now hurry up with your questions, some of us still have laundry to be done.” 

“Hello, Sadie,” replied Manning with a smile. The old woman was a permanent fixture at the prison, performing the day-to-day cooking and cleaning of the prison while giving everyone a piece of her mind, whether they wanted it or not.  

“So where were you when Ashfield was spring from his cell?” continued the Bailiff, noting the bandage around the old woman’s arm. 

“I was still sweeping, of course! Can’t trust any of the men around here to lift so much as a finger to help me, lazy bastards, every one of them. Why just the other day-” 

“Sadie, please, I need you to focus. What do you remember?” 

“Well, I was doing my sweeping late the other night, when I heard this awful bang and there was this thick cloud of smoke. Everyone came running around, all screaming and yelling at each other, but I couldn’t see a thing. Then all the others who were in the offices came running out. By this time the smoke was everywhere, and some daft fool knocked me over and scraped up my arm. Luckily Doctor Growse was there, he bandaged me right up.”  

“And do you remember anything suspicious that happened that day?”  

“Well, it’s funny you should ask, because I do know Doctor Growse was arguing with the blacksmith and Warden Lefroy earlier that day. And I noticed your friend Ralph was drinking again, the no-good layabout. And then there was those filthy foreign men from the Republic were talking to Lefroy.” 

“Yes, thank you, Sadie, that’s all I need to know for now,” nodded Manning, holding the door open and trying to motion the old woman through. 

“Mark my words, if it wasn’t for me and the Doctor Growse, this place would fall apart,” continued Sadie, glaring at the guardsman waiting by the door as she left the room. 

“Goddess help me,” muttered the Bailiff, feeling a headache coming on. “Who’s next?” 

After a few minutes there was a knock on the door and a tall, thin figure walked into the small room.  

“Hello Fergus,” said Manning shaking the old man’s hand. “They managed to pull you away from your smithy, did they?”  

The prison’s blacksmith nodded somberly, refusing to look anywhere but at his large, thick hands.  

“Yes, sir.” 

“Come on Fergus, we’ve known each other for years. How’s the grandkids?”  

“We’re getting by, sir. Can’t complain, I’m sure others have it worse.”  

Manning nodded, knowing that was all he was going to get from the old man. Fergus had worked in the prison for decades, toiling away in his small smithy to provide for three grandchildren left without parents when the Queensea Plague had struck. The old blacksmith’s body was well past its prime, and Fergus seemed to be slowly shrinking as the years advanced.  

“So, about this business with Ashfield, what did you see?”  

“Not much, sir. I was working in my smithy late last night, repairing a set of cuffs that Guilders managed to break. I heard a loud noise, then when I ran out to the courtyard, there was smoke everywhere and lots of confused people.”  

“I don’t suppose you spotted Ashfield in all of the commotion?”  

“No, sir. I did spot Guilders trying to escape over one of the walls. And I believe Doctor Growse was helping Sadie with her arm.”  

“I heard you had an argument with Growse this morning.”  

The blacksmith paused, and Manning watched as the old man rubbed his knuckles and searched for the words. 

“I’m sure he’s a good man, sir. But I’m uncomfortable with the doctor examining me. I’m not as strong as I was but I’m still fit for work. And what with his history, I just –” 

“The allegations were never proven, Fergus.”  

“A smoke weapon? One that made people need to run away? Sound familiar?”  

“Right now it could be anyone, Fergus. Unless there’s anything else you need to tell me, that will be all for now.” 

The wizened old blacksmith shook his head slowly and shuffled back out the door, exchanging a cold glance with the stocky middle-aged man who was waiting outside.  

“Come in, Doctor Growse,” called Manning. “Please leave your argument outside.”  

“As you wish,” replied the Doctor, taking a seat. “But I’m sure you are perfectly aware that Fergus’s allegations against me are utterly false. I had nothing to do with Ashfield’s disappearance – nor anything to do with that incident in the Demon War. I was a surgeon on the front line. I would never violate my oath by concocting poison gas weapons. Whoever made them was obviously a fool; they did more damage to our own forces that the monsters we were fighting against. As for Ashfield, his tricks are a perversion of true medicine. I abhor such methods.”  

“I’m not accusing anyone of anything, right now I just need to know what’s going on. Where were you when Ashfield was freed?” 

“I was in my office, sorting through paperwork. I heard a loud explosive force and immediately grabbed my medical bag to see if anyone was injured. When I reached the cell-block there was smoke everywhere. The smell was quite distinctive; I believe it was a mixture of Naptha and pine resin, designed to burn as hot as possible and give off enough smoke to hide in.” 

“And what happened next?”  

“I performed my duty. I tried to see if Ashfield was still in the cell; but could not make it through the smoke. I did note however that Guilders, the only other prisoner, had already escaped. When I made it back into the courtyard I saw that Sadie had been knocked over in the confusion and hurt her elbow. I was still tending to the wound when the Warden arrived and regained control of the situation.”  

“Thank you, Doctor,” nodded Manning, escorting the old man to the door. “By the way, what methods did Ashfield use that you seem to hate so much?”  

Doctor Growse looked back at Manning in surprise as he exited the small room.  

“You mean you don’t know? Ashfield specialized in necromantic tattoos. A magic sigil permanently placed on the skin. It provides unnatural strength and speed, so long as the bearer periodically kills something – or someone. Over time, however, the tattoos end up drawing more energy than they give, and the bearer either dies or is forced to spend every waking moment taking life.”  

“Sounds disgusting. Who would be interested in such a thing?” 

“People do strange things when they’re desperate, Bailiff.” 

Manning took another swig from his flask and turned over the different statements in his mind. He was still lost in thought when Warden Lefroy walked back into the court room.  

“What do you think, Col?”  

Manning shook his head. “It’s a mess, and no clear motive for anyone to free such a hated figure as Ashfield.” 

“Guilders is still yelling that he knows who did it. Why didn’t you press him more?”  

The graying Bailiff snorted.  

“Guilders has never told the truth, or at least the whole truth, in all the years I’ve known him. I wanted to get everyone else’s stories before I speak to him again.” 

“Shall I fetch him back?”  

“Let him stew for a while. I’m tired and it’s already been a long afternoon. Chain him down with everything you’ve got, then put a guard on his door. We’ll talk to the sewer-rat in the morning.”  

It was still dark when Manning awoke to the sound of heavy thumping in the door. 

“Colin!” shouted a voice, which the Bailiff blearily recognized as Warden Lefroy. 

“What’s going on?” groaned Manning. “Did Guilders try to escape again?” 

“No, he’s – well, you’d better have a look.” 

The old soldier felt a familiar sense of dread as he pulled on his uniform and stumbled out into the darkness. He had always felt this way before the demons attacked, and be reflexively felt for a sword that was no longer hanging by his hip as he followed the tall, wiry Warden into the cells. 

Inside, the heavy oak door that led to Guilders’s cell hung broken from its frame, the old wood split and snapped where it had been torn off its hinges. Lying in the wreckage was a young guard, his head dangling askew where his neck had been broken. Blood still seeped from a deep wound in his temple. Manning felt dizzy as he peeked into the small cell, already knowing what he was going to see.  

The body of Guilders was mangled almost beyond recognition, his chest nothing more than a bloody pulp and broken chains. 

“How long?” asked Lefroy from behind him. 

Manning sighed, the memories of battlefields past coming back to haunt him.  

“Probably only a few hours at most. Is Ralph safe?” 

“He’s still pretty shaken. What do we do?” 

“I waited before; I won’t make that same mistake again. Get everyone in the same room. Now.” 

Manning could still feel the cold anger in his gut when Warden Lefroy ushered the last of the suspects into the prison kitchen.  

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You should have gone back to Guilders. You just got tired and lazy.  

The graying Bailiff looked around the kitchen, trying to marshal his thoughts. In the absence of a proper meeting hall, the prison kitchen was the largest space in the complex, and the four suspects stood awkwardly by a heavy kitchen bench stacked with pots and pans.  

“You’re probably aware by now that Guilders has been murdered, along with the guard set to watch him” said Manning. “Only a few hours ago, in fact. He told me that he knew who had freed Ashfield. Obviously he was right. So no-one leaves this room until we’ve gotten to the truth of the matter.”  

“Well I think it was that horrible foreigner,” snapped Sadie, edging away from the well-dressed trader. “Hanging around the port for weeks, who knows what trouble he’s here to stir up?”  

“Madam, I hate to interrupt your bigotry, but I’m a trader. Staying at ports until I have something worth selling is what I do,” snapped Vosper. “Trust me, I would leave this port in a heartbeat if I could. I’m only here because my crewman was blind drunk.” 

“I saw to that man,” responded Doctor Growse. “He was a terminal alcoholic. Why was he allowed off the ship at all?”  

“Because otherwise I would have a mutiny on my hands,” snapped Vosper. “And what about you? We’ve all heard about your debacle in the Demon War. Or is it not a debacle at all? There were plenty of men who sided with the Warlock Lord when he raised his army of demons. Whose side were you really on?”  

“I agree,” said Fergus, the old blacksmith shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “He’s been touched by the darkness.”  

“How dare you,” started Doctor Growse, puffing out his chest. “I’ll have you know-” 

“Alright, enough!” shouted Manning, bringing everyone in the room to a halt. “Let’s do this again. Where was everyone last night when the murder occurred?”  

“Asleep in the room Lefroy put up for me,” replied Vosper.  

“Sleeping in my quarters,” said Doctor Growse.  

“I was asleep in the bunk behind my smithy,” shrugged Fergus.  

“Typical!” grumbled Sadie. “No-wonder this Port is falling apart. I was doing the same as the night before, sweeping out the courtyard, the stables and the smithy, all by myself, never any help from anyone at all, of course, and let me tell you-” 

“Really?” asked Manning, a tiny thread of memory pulling at the back of his mind. “I seem to recall that Fergus was working on some cuffs the night before. He didn’t offer to help?” 

“No, he wasn’t there, no-one ever helps an old lady like me. He was probably off somewhere else, leaving me to do all the work, typical really, these days I just can’t…” 

The old woman’s rambling complaint trailed off as she realized everyone in the room was staring at the old blacksmith.  

“Fergus, is there anything you’d like to tell us?” said Manning, slowly lowering his hand towards the a cleaver on the nearest kitchen bench.  

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” replied Fergus, looking down and rubbing his knuckles.  

“It’s the tattoos, isn’t it?” said Manning. “That’s how you were able to break through the door to murder Guilders – you killed the guard to get a burst of necromantic strength. That’s why you were willing to free Ashfield. You’re an addict.”  

For a second Fergus was completely silent, staring down at his old, rough hands. Then without warning the old man sprung forward, flipping the heavy wooden kitchen bench towards Manning like it was a child’s toy.  

Manning raised his arms and tried to rise from his chair, but the impact sent him flying and all he could do was flail about as the room span around him.  

“Somebody stop him!” a voice shouted. 

“Help the Warden!” 

“Keep your hands off Sadie, you monster!” 

“Get him!” came Doctor Growse’s voice. “If he kills her, he’ll be unstoppable!” 

Manning pulled himself up out of the wooden wreckage in time to see Fergus, backed up against the wall, holding Sadie in front of him like she was a rag doll.  

“Fergus, talk to me,” said Manning. “No-one has to die today. How did all this start?”  

The old blacksmith laughed, a deep, hopeless sound. 

“It happened when the Demon War destroyed our Kingdom,” replied Fergus, lifting up Sadie by the neck. “It happened when I was left with two children to feed. It happened when I grew old. And now all that’s left is-” 

The withered old man’s body snapped sideways as a crossbow bolt sprouted from his chest. 

Sadie dropped to the ground in a weeping heap, and Manning scrambled over to help Doctor Growse pick her up before turning to the stricken blacksmith. 

“Talk to me, Fergus,” he said, tearing open the old man’s shirt. However the Bailiff stuttered to a halt at the sight that met his eyes.  

Fergus’s chest and arms were a network of tiny tattoos, each a tiny, spiky blasphemy that made the Bailiff’s skin crawl.  

“Why?” Manning whispered. The old blacksmith’s eye fluttered and he licked his bloodied lips looking for the words.  

“I was too old to keep smithing,” Fergus whispered. “So I turned – to dark magic. Not the large tattoos. Just little ones. Enough to keep me at work, provide for my girls. Didn’t want them in the streets, as beggars, or worse.”  

“But the cost!” 

“Small. Small tattoos. Only needed a little charge. Killing a bug would do. At first. Then needed to feed them more. Lizards. Birds. After a while, had to, had to kill cats and dogs. Hid my tracks. No-one knew.” 

“And Ashfield? Did you free him just to add another tattoo?” 

“A few weeks ago, I got a message. From a group, claimed to be, underground. Underground resistance for mages. Wanted me to free Ashfield. Gave – gave me a smoke bomb. Told me they would get Ashfield out once he was in the courtyard. Lots of confusion. Easy.” 

The blacksmith coughed up a dark gobbet if blood continuing.  

“Didn’t want to kill Guilders. But he must have seen me. He knew. Couldn’t – couldn’t risk it. Had to look after my girls, you see…” 

Manning leaned in close to hear more but Fergus only gurgled, his chest convulsing weakly as he breathed his last.  

For a long minute everyone in the kitchen stood in silence, sage Sadie, who was still whimpering in Doctor Growse’s arms.  

Finally, Warden Lefroy coughed discreetly.  

“Well, I think we should all step outside and get this cleaned up,” he said. “And there’ll be reports to write to the local governor. In the meantime, Col, perhaps you could go let old Ralph out of his cell.” 

Manning stared down at the spiderweb of gruesome tattoos across the blacksmith’s chest and could only nod in reply. 

Several hours later Manning slouched back against his chair in the Warden’s office, turning over the events of the day.  

Poor Fergus. He had to have known that the tattoos would destroy him eventually. To lose his soul, simply to look after his family… 

“I’ve received word from the Governor,” said Lefroy as he stepped into the small office, breaking the Bailiff out of his reverie. “He’s still furious that Ashfield escaped, but if there really is an underground mage’s resistance, then he has larger concerns than security at the local lockup in a small port.” 

“Has anyone spoken to Fergus’s grandchildren?”  

“I did,” nodded Lefroy slowly. “They were – well, I think you can imagine. I offered them a job here at the prison, but I don’t think they’ll want to work in the shadow of this.”  

“At least we cleared Ralph’s name,” replied Manning, feeling the fatigue wash over him. I’m getting too old for this… 

“That’s true,” continued Lefroy. “By the way, I thought you’d want to see this. After Fergus’s confession we dug through the burnt remains of Ashfield’s cell.”  

Manning looked down as the twisted, melted object that Lefroy placed on the desk between them. 

“Looks like a modified grenade,” murmured the Bailiff, carefully turning the object over in his hands. “Although I haven’t seen this type before. Perhaps there really is some sort of underground-” 

Manning froze as he spotted a tiny stamp, imprinted at the very base of the device. With shaking fingers, he traced the edges of a few small numbers arranged in a triangle, a marking system he’d only come across recently, in tools manufactured by the Republic.  

The graying figure’s mouth dropped open in shock, and fragments of conversations from the last two days screamed inside his mind.  

“He was a terminal alcoholic. Why was he allowed off the ship at all?”  

“I was here with my staff to pay the fine and get him back – I should have sailed the next morning.” 

“Gave – gave me a smoke bomb. Told me they would get Ashfield out once he was in the courtyard.” 

“Running around, all screaming and yelling at each other, but I couldn’t see a thing.” 

“I’m a trader. Staying at ports until I have something worth selling is what I do.” 

“Oh hell,” whispered Manning, scrambling out of his chair, but knowing he was already far, far too late. 

The familiar roll of the ship brought a smile to Vosper’s lips as he ducked into the hold. The wood-lined space was dark, with only the thin shafts of sunlight streaming in through the hatch to outline the figure chained to the mast.  

Starving and dehydrated, Ashfield seemed more like a cornered animal than a notorious criminal as he looked up at the trader in desperation.  

“What d’you want with me?” the filthy figure rasped.  

Vosper’s smile stretched into a wolfish grin as he leaned down close to the prisoner’s face. 

“Everything, Ashfield – everything. The Republic is going to squeeze you dry of every secret you have. Then when we’re done, and we’re ready to begin our campaign, perhaps then you and I can have a long discussion about what happened to my village during the Demon War. You remember what you did at Stoneburg, don’t you? I certainly do.”     

The necromancer’s chains shook in fear as Vosper’s laughter echoed around the hold.