TANSTAV part 16

Chapter 5 part 2

This time, thankfully, I was able to keep the contents of my stomach down, though not without effort. Not only did I do it because the food had been made by Xen, but also because it would not be practical or sensible to allow the only nourishment I'd had all day to come up again. This was no time to disregard my health. I feel through the mirror to the ground, and lay curled in a ball, arms wrapped around my stomach, in paroxysms of agony until the convulsions finally ceased. It seemed like an eternity to me, but was probably only two minutes, give or take. My stomach gave one last lurch, trying to dislodge the food, and finally gave up. I pulled myself up, swallowed with difficulty, and wiped the sweat from my clammy forehead. I felt like I'd been giving a thrashing by a pair of hired goons with heavy sticks (I know what that feels like from a personal experience, which I would prefer not to go into right now, if it's all the same to you). Figuratively speaking, I pulled myself together. A couple of months ago, I actually had to see that happen. Bjorn, one of the trolls I work with often, came through one of the teleport mirrors wrong, or else it malfunctioned, because his arms and legs came through first, and the rest showed up afterwards. It was singularly icky, if you must know. We thought he was going to die, but Harper spit him back together, and soon he was good as new. However, we all gained an intense, irreparable mistrust of that particular mirror, and since then have avoided it like the plague.

I was at the very foot of Chernabog Prison. It was set on a giant, black rock, way out on the water, shrouded in spells of concealment and repellency to humans. To me, they looked like thick black clouds, with flashes of aura belonging to different mages who had worked to construct the spells. The castle itself looked every bit as forbidding and creepy as the mirror image had been. Undaunted, I stepped up to the iron, magically enhanced gate, lifted the knocker (which was shaped like an imp’s face) and banged twice. A slit above the knocker-way above the knocker-opened, and a pair of suspicious dark eyes peered out.

"Can I come in?" I asked.

"PASSWORD?" a voice rumbled.

Since when is there a password? I wondered. Then I realized what he (I guessed it was a he) meant. Reaching into my pocket, I withdrew the wallet Morty had given me, extracted a crisp 100-dollar bill, and held it up to the slot. A pair of meaty fingers the color of curdled milk (tipped with blood red nails) somehow reached through, plucked the bill from my claws, and then retreated inside. The slit slammed shut. I stood there for a moment, unsure how to respond. Then, creaking ominously, the prison door opened, revealing the guard to be an enormous ogre. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, slightly grimy, with a nametag that said "Flavius" on it. At his belt he carried a club, one of those enchanted kinds that would electrocute whoever it was pointed at; very useful for subduing unruly inmates. Flavius waved the bill at me, and made a slightly mocking bow.

"ENTER, AND OF YOUR OWN FREE WILL."

I stepped through the doorway, and felt a chill run through my body. That had to be the air spirit that checked for concealed weapons. I held still until it stopped. The ogre looked pleased by my cooperation. When a disembodied voice whispered, "All clear," he gestured for me to follow him. I did. We were in the opening hallway, which was lined on either side with rows upon rows of statues and suits of armor, all armed to the teeth. I conjectured that they were designed to come to life and attack, in the case of an invasion or a prison breakout. Very cliché, but usually effective. The ceiling seemed to stretch all the way into the heavens. Even with my night vision, I was barely able to make it out. It looked very blank and cheerless, just like the rest of this place. Everything was made out of either stone or metal. Cold, lifeless objects. The place had a general air of wickedness and corruption, with overlying confinement and neglect. I wanted out, and as soon as conveniently possible.

We finally made it to the front desk, where there sat an imp woman with short, curly hair pulled into an untidy bun. Imps come mostly in black, but her skin was a sickly green. At most she had to be 4 feet tall, with beady red eyes, and she wore horn-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her crooked nose. Her fingers were covered with warts, and her right hand was missing the pinky. Looked to me as if it had been bitten off some time in the past, though what did it could be any number of creatures; it had probably been something small, judging by the size of the scar, with very sharp, pointy teeth.

"What is your business?" she demanded in a high, yet businesslike tone.

"My name is Tristan Wormwood. I'm a detective. I want to visit a prisoner," I replied.

"Did you obtain and fill out the appropriate paperwork? You need the blue form, the green form, the red form, the-"

I pulled out another 100-dollar bill, and laid it on the desk. The imp looked down her nose at me, with some difficulty, since she had to look up in order to do so.

"Do you think, Mr. Wormwood, that I am susceptible to bribery?"

I added two more bills. Instantly she became more compliant.

"Which prisoner is it that you want to visit?" She gave me what I supposed was an ingratiating smile, exposing a fine set of tiny fangs; I wondered for a moment if she had been the one to bite off her finger.  But I decided that was silly.

"Desmond Jessup. If it's quite convenient."

Both imp and ogre gasped. They gave each other nervous, darting glances, before looking back at me.

"Why him?" asked the receptionist in a strangled tone. I gave both her and Flavius another bill.

"He is still here, isn't he?" I probed.

"Of course he is!" The imp's indignation looked genuine. "He's just more...dangerous than the rest. He needs to be restrained first, and if you wish to speak with him privately, in his cell, it will cost you extra."

"Oh, I don't mind." Understanding why Morty had given me this wallet, and wondering how I would ever be able to pay him back, I handed her two more bills. The receptionist produced a ring of keys, and selected one. It had the number 10642 on it. She handed it over, and nodded to the ogre.

"Flavius will bring you there, and wait outside until you have finished. Have a nice day."

"Thanks."

With that, Flavius and I went to a nearby service elevator, and Flavius, with some difficulty (they weren't custom-made for fingers his size), pressed the button for the 10th floor.