Pepper / INK /

14 days

"Hey, you, you need to get away from the prisoner." Officer John Langston put a hand on his gun, he could see the figure in a cloak, hood up, one of the magic users, what the other cops might call a freak. "The prisoner isn’t supposed to have visitors."

There was something strange about the magic user. John could feel it. It didn’t quite feel like the stranger he had helped decades ago, but it didn’t not feel like him either. He couldn’t explain.

"The prisoner isn’t supposed to be here." The scratchy voice replied. The voice, worse than nails on slate was laced with despair, and hid the groan of a thousand souls behind it.

The creature, for no human could have a voice like that, didn’t touch the prisoner, and it wasn’t clear if the prisoner even saw him--it. But from his place on his bunk, eyes closed, apparently asleep, Mar’quan screamed. He hadn’t stopped since they had brought him in.

The creature reached out to touch him and for a little bit the screaming ceased. In the silence that followed, they heard the voice of the death-creature speak again. "The pain he feels will only cease forever when he is returned to Merkezi Şehi to face what he has done."

The prisoner was still curled in his cell, For a large man he seemed broken and afraid. The only noise now was whimpering that was worse than the screaming had been.

Death seemed sad, or at least to pity him. "Every day you delay, things will be worse for you, for I have judged you and found you honorable men." The figure turned, the staff in his hand was a scythe. The figure under the hood was all bone, and the hand that reached for the scythe was a bony hand. "You deserve better than a place that will murder you for the truth." The bone twisted and the skull smiled. "Go to Merkezi Şehi, the City of the Moon, and find the Taskforce. Tell them that death knows your name. Tell them that death has judged you worthy men."

"W-what are you?" John knew about the Inkwalker, but this-- this he didn’t understand.

"I am justice given form. Blood, and water and Ink, and power. All of these, and none of these. And you, Officer Karilyn Morgan," He turned to the other officer. "You must go with him, for the police here are corrupt and would kill you for who and what you are, honorable men of honest means. But every day he remains you will know the horror that he knows. You will dream what he dreams and feel what he feels and this judgement will last until he passes into The City of the Moon, or death, whichever comes first, though if it is the latter, it will be much worse for you."

In the years since they had each met the Inkwalker, they had forgotten most things of magic. They lived in Cold Iron, a city so overrun by the workers of blood that magic of any sort was forbidden. And yet, somehow, magic worked, whatever age-old protection there had once been was gone allowing the workers of blood, the Necromancers to rule the city.

But what the creature had said was true, if they reported it, the powers that be would have them killed by the Necromancers. That was what happened to those who dared go against the power of the Necromancers, those who dared to believe that there were better things than this.

"Find the Inkwalker, and speak with him." And with a flutter of fabric the form was gone.

#

The tattoo on the prisoner’s shoulder read 14, it had been a week since they had picked him up, and it seemed like even longer since Death had come to them. But Death had known what he was talking about, and if their nightmares were any indication, the man was having a bad time of it.

They had finally made a decision, they would take the prisoner over, rendition really more than extradition, and they would claim asylum, because they knew what death said was true, as soon as the cops in Cold Iron knew why he was being turned over they would kill both of them.

The drive to the city was long. There were no checkpoints, or people looking into their business, but it wasn’t until they felt the odd tingle that told them they had crossed the six mile boundary that they spoke aloud. For the spells used against them had only a limited range. The prisoner was still in the back, and until that moment he had been screaming, writhing and moaning as the pain he had inflicted on others had rebounded on him. Driving through the outer rings of the cog the officers marveled.

Their city must have looked like this once, sun and moon and happiness, but now there wasn’t really anything but dark and fog. A malaise that engulfed the city and had since after the Emmett homestead had been destroyed. Daniel didn’t know that he had destroyed some of the protections of the city.

They had been told the Taskforce was not available and someone, they didn’t catch his name, but he dressed like a Necromancer tried to take their prisoner, but they held their ground, the prisoner had information for the Taskforce, and was under onus to only speak with Max or Jessie.

The officers stood, their prisoner sitting quietly head in his hands as the officers of Megapolis walked by without seeming to notice. Once the Services officer had left, it was as if the whole world around them had changed and they had ceased to exist. It wasn’t until a young woman dressed as a solar wandered in and pulled them aside into the Taskforce office. She spoke a word they didn’t catch and they could feel the magic cascade around them.

"Sorry about that, but you don’t seem to belong here." She said.

"Are you Jessie?"

Claire shook her head. She pointed to Jessie.

"What can I do for you?" The officer asked leaning on the desk. "We don’t get officers from Cold Iron around often." She nodded to the chain links embossed on their cog-badges.  A sign of the ancient haven City of Cold Iron.

"Even as practitioners, as I see you are, you may not believe us, But that is ok. My name is John, this is Kari, and yes, we are officers from Cold Iron, but we have no reason or intent to return there. For we have met death and he told us to bring the prisoner here, but if we told them that death talked to us they would kill us, for certainly he is powerful magic."

"You mean the skeleton with the scythe?" Max asked.

"That would be him."

"His name is Azrail. He’s the angel of death. The guardian of the Inkwalker." Max frowned. "What did he have to say?" it was worrying for him to be there.

"He said that we had to find you. And that we had to tell you that the same blight that has struck Cold Iron is the blight that has struck you, and that if you need it,-- rather when you need, there are lots of loyal officers stuck in Cold Iron." He smiled. "Starting with us."  All this and more he told them.  Not when they met, but when he came to them in their dreams urging them to go to the City of the Moon.

"He also told us that we need to talk to the Inkwalker. That if we are not careful the plague that stole the magic from Cold Iron will steal the magic here too."

"We’ll get to that in a bit, we’ve had a bit of an issue lately, there are two Inkwalkers, and we think one is rogue." Max said. "Until we can get him ousted, we can’t bring you to the Inkwalker. But I’m sure Death will understand. Probably had the crow, Bran with him."

The young man nodded. "The poor man hadn’t stopped screaming since."

"That makes sense. Magic rebounding off the protection is painful. I should know, I was an officer of the cog in Cold Iron myself, I got sent here when a Necromancer tried to kill me a second time."

John nodded. "We used to know magic, but things got worse there."  He frowned.  "And it became too dangerous to hold a circle.  Holding a circle made you fair game for the workers of blood."

"Things will be returned to the way they should be, they have to."  Kari said.  "Anything has to be better than this.  Better than running for our lives because we are Righteous men." 

Max paused and looked at the other Taskforce members, "Is that what he called you?"  Max didn’t see the light dawning on the others.  "Those exact words?"

"Yeah, why?" John asked.

"You both have a lily on the back of your shoulder."  It was a statement.

"How do you know?"

"Righetous men, those who have been judged by the Ink and found righteous.  Those who will protect, or have protected the Ink and its Walker."

Max smiled.  "Welcome to the club.  We are all friends of the Inkwalker too.  The real one.  The one that tried to take your prisoner, the services officer?  He’s a necromancer.  We don’t think he keeps his ink by being righteous.  But we have no way to prove him as our Necromancer without proof, and he’s used enough magic to confound half the cog-bound, and the damn fever is taking the rest."

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Next Chapter: What Robert Found