Mihi Inimicus

     From the backseat of the Iago Citadel, Commander Dante calmly watched his surroundings. The drop-off center’s rear loading dock doors gaped open, though the dock was completely empty. Lieutenant Musgrove disappeared into the warehouse. A few minutes later, he exited, clothes laden arms topped with two pairs of shoes. When he reached the car, he tapped the backdoor with his foot and nodded. Dante pushed open the door and was nearly buried in the stink wafting off the pile as Musgrove dropped it in the seat.

     “Not sure if I got you the right size, sir. Not a fucking tailor,” Musgrove said.

     Dante grunted. He dug through the offensive pile, holding up various articles before dropping them. “We need a place to hide the car and prep.”

     “Got two options. There’s a bridge with some abandoned buildings west of here. Plenty of privacy, longer walk to Hell Hill. Or, a couple blocks north, there’s a car park, less privacy, shorter walk. Up to you, sir.”

Manus Iniectio

     Spinning around a bit too quickly, Ensign Sebastian Balin wobbled on his feet. His eyes locked onto a hysterical Kent Wheelock and the ridiculous scene in the bed of the old militia truck. Tears rolled down Kent’s right cheek while he unseeingly stared beyond the gathering of onlookers and he absently petted a dead falcon. Hopping around in the truck bed next to Kent was a second falcon that occasionally used its beak to nudge the dead one’s head. Finally, a tuxedo cat with half-closed eyelids, lay sprawled out in the truck bed, watching the falcon’s grief dance. Though his mouth dropped open, Balin’s eyes narrowed. Approaching cautiously, Balin attempted to use his body to block the view of the truck bed. Even over Kent’s laughter, Balin could hear the not-so-soft whispers of the retirees.

     “That boy’s got two birds.”   

     “Reckon he’s a baby Bard?”

Me Miserum

     Plan B, like the Inquisitor’s original Plan A, depended as much upon adequate personnel as it did proper timing. With Gasoleo and Butano out of the equation, the untenable Plan A had been ditched. The Inquisitor and Jougs split up to search the outside of the warehouse, while Vorant took the inside. So far neither of his men had let out the tale-tell whistles meaning they’d located the woman. Glancing at his wrist watch, the Inquisitor cursed the last hour. The pickup crew would arrive on the docks any minute. They expected six shipping crates filled with six dosed and unconscious women. Time for Plan C. The Inquisitor returned to the warehouse front entrance and let out one long shrill whistle. A couple minutes later Jougs and Vorant ran up to meet him.

     “Any luck?” Vorant asked.

     “You hear two long whistles?” the Inquisitor roared.

Suis Moribus

     At the door to Patrick Field’s house, 1^st Lieutenant Santos addressed the two women he’d escorted from the Templus Ministrae, “one moment while I inform Colonel Dagon that you’re here.” Turning the knob and pushing the door, resulted in nothing. He shoved again, then looked over his shoulder and half-heartedly smiled as he knocked.

     When the door opened a crack, Santos declared, “tell Colonel Dagon I’ve returned with the Celatrix and one of her officers.”

Caput Mortuum

     “ARHHH!” Cassie screamed until her throat ached. In a bright green flash she was whisked out of the Heart of the Seven Faeries. She wobbled when she landed in front of Archel who was transforming in Patrick Field’s living room.

     “WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME?” Archel bellowed. Tears streamed down the boy’s feathery cheeks. Blonde fur rose from his pores. Scrawny pubescent muscles filled out, elongated, and bent in abnormal directions. Archel bucked as a python tail ripped out of his lower back. He fell onto four paws, stared at the ground a moment, and then let out a terrifying eagle’s screech.

     The groundskeeper, Patrick Field, stood in the doorway between his living room and kitchen. His bottom jaw hung open, his eyes were wide, and arms had gone limp. Although he had managed to maintain his grip on the two lunch plates he’d been carrying, the sandwiches and granola lay in heaps on the floor beside him. A small part of him wanted to back out of the doorway, to pretend he’d never seen the girl appear and the boy change. The rest of him was frozen in place gawking.

     “A—a—” Patrick stammered, lifted one plated hand and pointed it at Archel, “a griffin.”

Cadit Quaesito

The Bard’s Quarters, located in the west wing of the Templus de Ambros, were the furthest quarters from the kitchens and closest to the Forum Publicos in Ambrosia. During the daytime, the sounds of citizens and street vendors haggling in the Forum echoed off the walls, whereas night brought forth catcalls and drunks from the nearby bars. For Fintan, the noise was a reassurance that all was well in Ambrosia. He hoped that Kent would acclimate, after all, the young man was the next bard and one day these quarters and a couple others spread across the kingdom would belong to him.

     When the two falcons, Fulco and Aeolus, brought Kent through Sentinel Cemetery beyond the Pissing Puppy Statue and into the Forum Publicos, Fintan was ecstatic. That excitement faded the moment Kent saw Fintan and let loose a string of curses that would have shamed the heartiest of sailors. Fintan had kept his temper in check, saying nothing while attempting to remember how he’d felt when his father had forced the bardship upon him. The rest of the night had passed slowly as Kent refused to hear anything Fintan said. The elder bard had hoped that sleeping in and brunch would change Kent’s mind, but that had been wishful thinking. Mid-morning they had walked in silence through the Gryphon Gardens, near but not close to the armed guard pacing in front of the Phoenix Rose, to the kitchens. While the bards were eating breakfast, the two falcons took the opportunity to fly through the gardens.

Expertus Metuit

     For two days Chief Justice Fraunx Adonis had spent his afternoons silently watching The Inquisitor’s team at work. Generally speaking, he wouldn’t give a second thought to physical coercion as a method of obtaining information. However, after what he’d seen in the chamber hidden under the Heart of the Seven Faeries, he seriously contemplated ordering the Regular Militia to abstain from enhanced interrogations until a full study could be conducted regarding the efficiency of the method. It was definitely something he’d have to bring up at the next meeting of the Antigone Courts. Fortunately, The Inquisitor was a gift from his brother, Typhon the Supreme Guru of Poterit Dan, and as such was not subject to Donian law. Of course, if they were caught by Mercury’s Elite Guard, none of it would matter for they’d all pay in blood.