Chapter 18.3: Christoff's Pail

Almost a hundred miles north of Arterium Haven, Christoff Veritas was trying not to grind his teeth. Against his better judgement, he’d eyed the confines of his cell again, as if hoping to find more than three pails, a simple mattress, and the stool on which he sat.

He grimaced, catching scent of the pail he’d moved to the rear corner of his cell. He’d put the other two at the opposite end, as far from the first as he could. The fact that his food and water were delivered in tin pails was slight enough, but that was nothing beside the insult of having to defecate in an identical pail and keep it until collection rounds at the beginning of every day. Several times he would have liked to kick that pail across the cell, but he was certain the insufferable wench who held him captive would simply leave him with the mess.

The sound of footsteps in the stone hallway drew Veritas’ attention from his thoughts.

“Speak of Dhuum, and he appears,” Christoff muttered, recognizing his captor’s small form emerging from the hall’s shadows. On her heels was her lackey, or more accurately her favorite lackey, though even that identification wasn’t purely correct.

Christoff had noticed that every asura he’d seen in this facility was ready to jump at their diminutive mistress’ beckon. None seemed particularly loyal to her, but each one stayed perfectly inside the lines she drew and then scurried away the moment she’d free them. The only exception was this stoic, dry thing that followed her around, appearing at Christoff’s cell every time Kikka did. Actually it was thanks to this second-in-command that Christoff had discovered his captor’s name, something that she had very clearly added to her long list of reasons to despise both Christoff and her associate.

“Mistress,” her lieutenant said as they approached, “I do not believe it’s necessary—”

“Quiet.” She waved him off as her gaze locked on Veritas.

“Kikka, welcome back,” Christoff called as she crossed the room. He loved how her face contorted every time he spoke her name. “Have you finally come to give me proper lodging? I’ve made the request several—”

“Silence, human,” she demanded, stepping up to the energy barrier that held Veritas in his cell. “I’m not taking any of your insipid lip today.” Christoff grinned subtly.

It had been several days since Remi and the rest of his cell had left for Arterium Haven, leaving him to exchange information with the asura. Of course exchange was a loose term, as his new associates had given him nothing but indignity and a headache in trade for his knowledge of the unseen ones and their constructs. Day and night they came, Kikka and her crony, to pry another piece of history or spellcasting information from him. Amid it he made efforts to keep his own goal in mind: the remnants of that jade construct would be his just as soon as his men returned. That was the only thing that made this insufferable place and its miniature tyrant tolerable. He thought about the day he’d weave his spells to create the first construct in centuries; he planned it, he dreamed about it, and thanks to the wretched creature before him, he’d talked about it incessantly.

Kikka crossed her arms. There were moments she let go her manic rage long enough for the crisp lines of her ankle-length coat to straighten out. She rose to her full height, all three feet of it, and leveled her gaze up at him. “Tell me which spell focuses the construct’s primary magical discharge.”

Veritas raised an eyebrow. “Pardon me? What are we talking about?”

The asura sneered, still maintaining her stiff posture. “The magic driving that large energy projection is highly unstable in any quantity even nearing something useful, and yet that creature that we encountered was able to focus it into a single, concentrated beam. I saw it clearly, so don’t even consider lying to me. Tell me how it’s accomplished, now.”

“I assume you mean the spectral agony.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” she hissed.

Christoff rolled his eyes, crossing a leg over the other as he leaned back slightly on the stool. “As I’ve said so many times, I know the lore and spells of my predecessors. My forebears passed down the knowledge and practice of the unseen ones’ mysteries exactly as they themselves received them. To them it was an art. No unseen one or human has ever approached this knowledge the way you—”

“Cease your senseless jabbering,” the asura squealed. The straight lines in her coat disappeared as she took a step forward forward, clenching her fists. “For the last time, I care nothing for your religion or your history or your Alchemy-cursed lineage. I require an answer for my work, and you will give it. How do you focus the projection?”

He ran a finger up his scar, looking up and down the wall of energy that stretched from floor to ceiling between them. He returned his gaze to the asura on the other side, behind whom stood that nameless flunky still. The second asura tried to look absorbed in the glowing tablet in his hands, but he could never keep his ears from perking at the conversations between Kikka and Veritas.

Christoff leaned forward. “How many times must we have this needless conflict? You already know that I do not have an answer to your questions. The constructs are semi-sentient beings capable of independent action but bound to the will of their masters. There is no spell designated to accomplish what you’re after. As a whole, the complete set of spells bring a construct to life. How it obeys, moves, or governs its faculties is not the spellcaster’s concern, so long as it does those things. I cannot tell you how or what—”

“Enough,” she rasped, waving him off as she turned. He hoped it was to leave, but she turned back, jabbing a finger in his direction. “It should come as no surprise to me how quickly you’ve become a superfluous and outdated tome. In only days, I’ve managed to plumb the depths of your knowledge on this subject.” She waved him off. “If it weren’t for your group still in the field—”

“Oh, but it is for my group still in the field,” Christoff rebutted, his hand falling from the scar as he stood from the stool, hunching over beneath the low ceiling. “That is why you still need me, you inscrutable, little imp.”

The small, silent figure behind her looked up from the glow of his tablet and stepped forward. “Mistress Kikka, you have no reason to continue taking this—”

Kikka’s hand shot out to stop him. “But I do,” she said, biting off the words. “He’s an oversized, brainless fool, but he’s also correct, and I’m tired of having to tell you that.” She rounded on her assistant. They were of a similar height, though she was slightly the shorter. “Our purposes require more of that creature’s raw material.”

“But Mistress,” the other continued, “with enough time, Hikk and Bamme have already said they can track and remap us to the geographic location from which we first called the creature. We could have all the—”

“I said no, Comakk,” she screeched. “A thousand times, no! If those miniscule ears of yours aren’t large enough to receive my verbal instructions, then I suggest you either use an amplifier or remove yourself far from my presence. I do not have the time to entertain yours or Hikk’s or Bamme’s delusions of grandeur. You did quite enough when your ineptitude resulted in the release of that construct in the beginning of all this; I will not have you inhibiting our objectives any further.”

“Yes, Mistress. Again I apologize, but we do still have the operative from Divinity’s Reach. If he can—”

It took only a look from Kikka to silence him. “That imbecile can’t be trusted. His partner keeps putting me off, as though I’m unaware of their obvious stalling. Either Skixx is the most incompetent excuse for a thief the Inquest has ever stooped to employ or the two of them are prioritizing other tasks above mine. Either way, I’m not holding my breath for that buffoon to come through any longer. These humans are our means.”

“Mistress, I doubt the trustworthiness of these—”

“I don’t care what you doubt,” she growled, leaning into him. “I don’t care what you think, and I don’t care what you want. I oversee this research outpost, Comakk, not you.” She paused, shifting her jaw and seeming to collect herself. “Have I been unclear in our objective? The extent of our research has been limited by Inquest command far too many times. They claim to encourage experimentation without the fear of half-witted moral hangups, but then they stop short of true discovery to maintain their imaginary power in Rata Sum. Idiocy!”

Christoff had heard some of this rant before, but still he listened. In part he hoped to learn more about the other side of this unsteady partnership, but at the same time he had to admit it was entertaining to watch the little creature squabble with her underlings.

Comakk, throwing a glance in Christoff’s direction, raised a hand, but Kikka continued her rant. “The trustworthiness of these simpletons is of no consequence. They are a means to our ends, and our ends are true scientific freedom for—”

“Mistress?” Comakk interrupted.

The little female reddened, nearly shaking. “How dare you!” she cried, clearly intending to continue her tirade when Comakk pointed around her at Christoff, who no longer made any effort to pretend he wasn’t taking in their every word. Kikka turned, quickly eating her words. The corner of her mouth twitched. “That’s it,” she grunted. “We’re done here.” Turning on her heel, she stormed off down the short hallway that led out of the cell block. “Comakk!” she called back at him. He followed.

“Farewell,” Veritas said under his breath. “See you in an hour.”

Again he was left in the space by himself until his guards returned to monitor him. They were nearly as obnoxious as Kikka: less aggressive perhaps, but equally arrogant. For the moment, Veritas put them out of his mind, attending instead to his growing comprehension of Kikka.

It was not surprising that the asura saw him as a means to an end; she and her horde of little grunts were precisely that to him. But every time he heard that heinous, little woman rant about her objectives, it became increasingly clear how little anything else mattered to her. She apparently had machinations in mind for her entire organization, the ones bankrolling and directing her endeavors, or so they thought. For her there was clearly no love or loyalty lost there. If she was able to undermine them without the subtlest hint of a qualm, what would she be willing to do to him?

Christoff looked around the cell again at his dehumanizing furnishings. What would she be willing to do indeed.