The head office didn’t have any sort of jail, to Arthur’s relief.
He did his best to keep pace with the two guards, eyeing up the building as he passed. They moved through a series of hallways, each leading to private offices and storage rooms. Through the few open doors, he could see dragons dressed in business clothes, chatting, filing, and working hard.
Even with those few glimpses, Arthur could see something was wrong. Everyone moved slightly too quickly. Their chatter sounded strained, and no one appeared happy. The entire scene had a similar look to the one Derrick had the one time a regional manager claimed to be coming in.
A mad, desperate energy to look as though they had a clue what was going on. The regional manager never showed up, and he remembered Derrick complaining for days.
Neither of his guards spoke until they reached a series of small offices. They looked more like refurbished closets to Arthur. Not that he spoke the thought out loud. There's no point in upsetting anyone. When one guard opened the door, he could see a rickety chair and a table that reminded him of high school.
"Sit. Don’t move." The guard’s tone was gruff as he gestured at Arthur.
He took a step forward but paused in the doorway, turning to face his captors. "When can I talk to Gastho?"
In response, he got a shrug. "How should I know? Whenever he turns up after we message him. Our boss might turn up first though; it depends. Now sit down and shut up. Don’t cause trouble."
The door slamming shut caused Arthur to wince, and he moved over to the chair. Now that he was finally alone, his aching body made itself known. His back and sides throbbed, and his hands felt like he’d punched a wall. A part of him wanted to close his eyes and drift off, but with his track record of moving when he slept, he didn’t want to risk it.
It would be his luck for him to get teleported back home or something, and have Epyrth lose her mind that he escaped. No, sleep would have to wait. As he eyed his briefcase, however, he smiled. Sleep may be off the table, but it wasn’t his only option for pain relief.
When he placed the briefcase on the desk, Richard Greenwines’ name glowed in the soft overhead light. The golden letters were small but still caused him to grimace.
"I need to get rid of that," he thought as he flicked open the locks and reached inside to grab his prize—a tube of ointment.
Dr. Spike was the one network that he firmly believed everyone should get. With a wince, he took off his suit jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. The cold cream caused him to shiver as he applied it to his skin, but he fought through the sensation. While it wouldn’t magically fix his problems like the box, it remained his best option now.
His shirt remained off, and a hand pressed against his back as the door burst open. Gastho stood there, his angry expression turning to one of sheer confusion. His breathing showed he’d been running, despite no physical signs.
With a nod to the dragon, Arthur started to re-button his shirt as he tried to gesture to the ointment still sitting on the table.
"Hi, Gastho. Sorry. Wilth body slammed me through a door."
"What?" Gastho stared at him before he shook his head. "No. Wait. Why are you here? Explain! We don’t have a lot of time."
Arthur noted the sheer concern in his voice, along with the way his eyes shifted around as though looking for something.
"Spies?" He thought as he finished buttoning his shirt. "That might actually be beneficial if they’re Epyrth’s. They could skip right over Wilth, no problem."
"Well, it’s a long story. But," Arthur said as he put the ointment away and placed his hand on the briefcase. "It all started when..."
He spoke slowly, and clearly as he explained the story, starting all the way back to his conversation with Pydes. When he talked about what he expected Rathnil to be up to and his suspicions about his predecessor, he looked around the room himself.
While he saw no one present, that didn’t mean there wasn’t another way of listening. Rathnil’s demons taught him that lesson.
Gastho’s grin showed all his teeth as Arthur finished describing his fight and the subsequent hallway chase.
"You punched him in the back of the head?"
"Yes." He held up his bruised hands as proof, getting a whistle of approval. "What do we do?"
"I have no idea." Gastho shrugged, his wings shifting with the action.
A bead of rage invaded Arthur at the flippant response, and he didn’t bother to hide the incredulity in his voice as he uttered his next simple word. "What?"
The dragon blinked at him. "What? Did you think this happens every day? You’re like the fourth or something non-dragon to even get here. None of whom, might I add, did it the way you claimed to? So, yeah, I don’t have a handbook on this."
"Then what am I meant to do?" Arthur asked, resisting the urge to throw up a hand. "I need to get to Epyrth and get home. I can’t leave the store unattended. Not to mention my meeting with Dr. Kunibert."
That was one meeting he didn’t want to miss. He somehow doubted the brain in a jar would take kindly to being ignored, not with all the issues their relationship already had.
"Relax. We can get you home pretty easily. It’s how long they’ll want to keep you here that might be the problem," Gastho said.
Arthur rolled his eyes and returned to his seat. "Oh well, if that’s all."
"Don’t be a smartarse."
A knock on the door made Gastho turn and Arthur sit up straight. They shared a glance, and Gastho stepped back as an unfamiliar figure entered the room. This dragon was old; what hair he had left was gray, with a trim beard growing on his violet-scaled chin.
He didn’t appear to have any difficulty moving, though, and his eyes were steady as he looked toward Arthur.
"Young man, I don’t believe you're meant to be here. You said your name was Arthur, correct?"
"Yes, sir," Arthur said, knowing immediately that this was not someone to sass.
The dragon had a presence about him. One that made him listen even while cowering. It was strange. There was little physically imposing about them. Still, the way they’d walked into the room with such casual ease put Arthur’s hackles up. They had the feel of an undercover cop.
With a slow, measured nod, the new arrival moved towards the desk. When he got there, he waved at Gastho with one hand.
"As his liaison, you get to hear what we talk about if you wish. Do you choose to say?" The words sounded rehearsed, though that could have been the dry delivery.
There was none of Gastho’s anger or smugness in his reply. In fact, his tone sounded awed as he looked at the dragon in front of him. He all but saluted as he said his answer.
"Yes sir. Indigo sir."
At the mention of the name, Indigo snorted and shook his head. "Pease. I’m internal security, not one of my mother’s spooks anymore. Call me Thrack. Now. Arthur. My boys tell me you had a run-in with Wilth."
Arthur nodded. "Yes, sir. He—"
"Had you brought it over and dropped it off in the restricted area? Yes. I know." Thrack nodded as he spoke. "You got any proof aside from a collection of bruises?"
"His glasses. They got broken; there should be fragments there. Plus, plenty of dust covered the floor of the room. There should be footprints from both of us."
Another nod, this time accompanied by a smile that reminded him of a proud grandfather looking at a drawing their child had made. As he took in that smile, Arthur had the distinct impression that he’d passed some sort of test.
We've got all that, too. So, Arthur. How would you like to go somewhere more comfortable for this chat?"
As pleasant as the words sounded, he knew better than to even think about saying no.
***
The office they moved to, while bigger, had about the same amount of decoration.
Bare walls surrounded them, filled only by the three chairs, a roughly cut wooden desk, and a series of filing cabinets filled to the brim. Thrack didn’t seem concerned about his surroundings as he took a seat behind the desk. He gestured for them to take the other two seats.
Arthur sat, surprised at how comfortable the basic-looking chair turned out to be. Gastho sat after he did, wings tucked up behind him. He looked almost shy. Thrack saw it too and snorted before turning his full attention to Arthur.
"Aright. Story time. I bet you’re wondering how all of this relates to your right, Arthur."
"Wrong place, wrong time?" Arthur guessed.
"Bingo. See, I’ve known Wilth has been dirty for a while. Pompous prick took the position more for prestige than duty. Not that he doesn’t do the job. Oh no, he makes sure no one can oust him easily. Part of why my mother keeps him around. Still, he got the position after a dragon by the name of Kulthuck made the mistake of getting into the mother’s business. Powerful people like her always have things they want to keep quiet."
Arthur nodded. "Makes sense. Do you know what he was trying to research?"
"Not that I’m going to tell you, kid." Thrack grinned; this one was far less friendly. "Not your business either."
"Fair, fair." Arthur held up his hands.
"Smart. Now, as I was saying, she has secrets. Kulthuck pried into them. Got banished. That should have been the end of it. However, word is that Wilth got involved in the case. Never was sure what he did. Next thing I know, you’re here getting into a fistfight with him and talking to your liaison about some guy called Rathnil. My old instincts kick in and decide two and two make four."
"You're thinking Wilth is after the same thing as Rathnil, or is it Kulthuck? Whichever, is?"
"Undoubtedly," Thrack agreed. "And of course, she’s out of office right now and will be for a while. Worst possible time."
Arthur didn’t bother resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Derrick, his old boss, had done the same thing by being ‘at lunch’ whenever a problem arose. He hoped he wasn’t doing the same thing.
Gastho shifted in his seat. "So, what? We’re sending him home and arresting Wilth?"
"Yes, and no. We can’t simply arrest him. Yeah, he was in an area he shouldn’t be, but it wouldn’t be hard to concoct an excuse. Say he was there to stop Arthur from stealing or maybe breaking into the labs. No, he’s still pretty untouchable. Though bruised, if the sounds my guys heard were any sign."
A snort of laughter escaped Arthur before he could stop himself. That earned him a grin from both the dragons in the room. When their mirth subsided, Indigo moved on to his next question.
"Why did he bring you back there, anyway? I assume privacy, but for what? If all he wanted to do was interrogate you, other locations would have sufficed."
Arthur looked towards Gastho, trying his best to communicate a simple question as subtly as he could. "Can we trust him?"
The younger dragon nodded and gestured for him to continue.
"He wanted me to give him this. He said he’d give it to the goddess and wouldn’t mention my involvement. Didn’t take kindly to me saying no." As he spoke, he opened his briefcase and pulled out the scale. "This is one of Rathnil’s or Kulthuck’s? Whichever. I found it next to it, next to one of his counterfeit coins, in the office Wilth had me in."
Thrack held out a hand. "May I?"
Arthur shrugged before he handed it over. He didn’t see the point in refusing this time. While Wilth may not have been able to beat it out of him, Thrack could do worse. To his relief, the dragon simply flipped it over a few times before handing it back.
"Yup, I recognize it. You keep a hold on this. It's easier for him to steal it from me than you, I bet. Now, I have a plan if you're interested."
"Go on?" Arthur asked, trying not to sound too unsure as he put the scale away again.
Thrack grinned. A dangerous smile that made Arthur feel like prey. "You have access to Kulthuck, from what I understand. I want you to get our banished dragon to squeal, or, barring that, bring his head back on a platter. Real, hardcore proof he’s where you say he is. No one can ignore that."
"You want me to kill him?" Arthur wasn’t even sure he could.
"I mean, the confession works, but I doubt you’ll manage that. Think of it as a side objective, really. No pressure."
"And if I got it, how would I even get the information back to you?"
Thrack paused before pulling out a business card. It stated the name Sparkle Paints, and he recognized the portrait of the proprietor as the red-haired robot who sold him Nyssa’s paint supplies.
"Make a trade network with them, and I’ll get any messages you send. Ask for indigo in your requests. With that done, I think it’s time for you to go. There's not much else I need from you, and keeping you here might complicate matters."
"But—" Arthur started before his world faded into darkness.173Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwt7WljQmk1
