The light was fuzzy. It wasn't harsh, it wasn't bright, it was just...fuzzy.
Jameson blinked once, his skin warm from a fire and the blankets that covered his chest. He shut them again, relaxing under the unfamiliar weight of a quilt.
When was the last time he'd actually slept under a blanket or on a mattress? Maybe back on the day before his delivery to the Greenwater when the guards had some mercy on his soul. Of course that was the day they had branded his back and his leg was chained to the bedpost. But now, he was warm and covered in blankets and out of the snow and unshackled.
He froze as his hand reached up to touch the blankets, stopping when the back of his palms brushed against his bare skin. His eyes snapped open, blinking furiously as the room came into sharp focus.
"Whoa, calm down." There was a woman's voice now, soft and soothing. When was the las time he'd heard a woman speak—a woman who wasn't a lady of the night or a Sister? There was a hand against his shoulder, another one gently gripped his own.
"Ketil, get Anubis." She released his shoulder, the back of her hand brushing his cheek, voice softened.
A man walked by him, hurrying as he looked back to Jameson. He was tall and fair in the truest aspect of the word, but his eyes showed no hospitality.
"Calm down," the woman said, her hands against his own. "You're safe now."
He sat up, wincing at a pain in his head. He clutched the blanket to his chest, staring into her eyes. "Where am I?" His voice was rough, the pitch shaking as he coughed.
She straightened up slowly, her hands still holding tight to his. "You're safe and that's all that matters. We're not going to harm you."
His back moved quickly with large gasps, one hand reaching to touch his back. Did they know what he was? They had to have seen it. Did they understand what it meant?
The door of the small room opened to reveal a woman in plain black. She wore thin gloves over her fingers and an even thinner smirk across her face. "Mr. Prieto, back from the land of the dead?"
His hands turned into fists. He coughed. How did they know? How did she know his name?
The woman stepped forward, the blond man on her heels. He shut the door as she took a seat at the foot of Jameson's bed. "It is Prieto, isn't it? I wouldn't want to make any presumptions about this kind of thing. There is only one escapee of Greenwater prison, but we can never be too hasty about these things. It was Greenwater prison wasn't it?"
Jameson lowered the blankets, shifting his shoulders. "What do you want? Who are you people?"
"Mr. Prieto, if you would remain silent, I am asking the questions. How did you get there?"
He was silent.
She grabbed his arm, teeth gritted together. "I am a reasonable woman, Mr. Prieto, but I have killed men for less."
He looked to the other woman who sighed and shook her head. She looked to the woman standing above him with a frown. "Anubis, stop, you're scaring him."
Scaring me?
The kind woman turned back to him, brows creased. "You're safe here, we're not turning you into the Inspector."
"Not yet anyways," the blond man said, his words flowing together with a smooth accent. The accent turned the words into ice, gliding over them in a slippery manner. "Dante, you don't even know this man."
He looked back to the young girl. "Your name is Dante?"
She nodded slowly, "yes." A small pause, "you do have a name, right?"
He paused, shoulders slumping. "Jameson." A joyous part of him surged forward at that. He had a name! He had a name that wasn't a number!
She smiled, "see? That's not so bad now." She extended a hand to him and he took it, his large calloused digits against her skin. "Nice to make your acquaintance."
The other woman straightened her posture. "Are you ready to talk Jameson? Or would you rather me call you 26X?"
"I am not a number." Jameson sat up, touching his head for his half-healed scar, but not finding it. He paused, steadying himself. "I uh—I killed a man. Two men actually."
"Happens to the best of us," the man said behind her, running a hand through his curly head of white hair before looking to the lady in black. "Anubis this whole operation is—"
She cut him off with a motion, staring at Jameson. "And they didn't hang you immediately? They sent you to Greenwater? That's out of character for them."
Another deep sigh, his fingers dancing over his face to find the marks and scars from his escape. They were all healed or shallow. It was an odd thing to feel smooth skin where scars had once been. "There were two of them and they were drunk, but they were Inquisitors. They tried to make a few moves, I stabbed one with an awl." He instinctively reached to push a strand of hair away from his face before remembering his head was shaved. He let his hand drop to the bed with a sigh.
"And?" Anubis' dark eyes pierced into his, probing into a depth that he did not want them to dive.
"And so the other one saw what I had done to his friend and ran. In my blindness, I found a rope and strangled him to death. That was the one they sent me to Greenwater for—not to mention, they needed men to dig for the canal. So I was stripped, branded, tortured till I confessed, and then sent out to work." He breathed a single hopeful breath. "But then it's true? You're going to let me go free?"
Dante and the woman exchanged a look. Dante began to open her mouth but the other woman silenced her. "Well Mr. Prieto, it turns out that we aren't such good friends of the Inquisition or Inspectors ourselves. In fact, the Order—that's what we call ourselves—is actually quite opposed to them. Now we did save you from freezing to death. We healed you, we will clothe you, and we will provide for you if you wish."
He furrowed his eyebrows. "There's a catch."
"There's always a price to pay, dear. It's just a matter of how steeply it costs." Her smile widened. "Well...? What will you choose?"
"I don't have an option, do I? But you aren't quite clear in terms." He paused as the man turned his full attention on him, one eyebrow raised. "Who are you people?"
It was Dante's turn to look nervous, but she looked to the main woman who held onto her grin. "Jameson, the Order runs an operation that holds neither the high moral ground nor the impetus to change it."
"You're highwaymen?"
She tossed her head with a laugh. "Highwaymen? You insult the intelligence and abilities of my team. My name is Anubis, you've met Dante, and this is Ketil. We are a special group of people—if you will. Murderers? Yes. Thieves? Yes. Scum of society? Also yes. But more than that, we are highly gifted. How much do you know about riesun, Mr. Prieto?"
"Riesun?" Jameson paused, remembering the one time a woman was convicted of harboring them. She was burned alive for everyone in the town to see. His mother made him watch so he could see what the action of just dealing with them was. Then there were always the games and roleplay as Inquisitors and riesun. Jameson had once met shared a cell with one, but the Inquisition cut out his tongue and gouged out his eyes. He didn't even try to fight them when they came for him, he just sat there, head bowed and palms turned upward. It was a terrible thing to see a man die like that.
"They're dead." He finally answered. "Dead or in hiding. I have never known one."
Anubis extended a gloved hand and he took it carefully. "Now you have."
Jameson recoiled, "you are one of them?"
Ketil groaned, cursing in another language—Polarian maybe?. "Anubis, this is ridiculous. Why did you believe this would work?"
"We're all riesun, that's what makes us great thieves." Anubis dropped her hand. "Well, here's the deal, prisoner. You come with us and act as our very human stand-in and we will supply you with your needs and wants. We will make sure that Inspectors don't lay a finger on you. You won't have to go back to Greenwater and you won't have to face Inspector Boucher or the gallows. As far as the world is concerned, you have no past and are released of your crimes. Refuse this offer and we cut out your tongue and send you back to prison. Really, it's your choice to make."
Jameson nodded.
Anubis nodded back, satisfied. "Can you write?"
"I can read some."
"Dante will work with you on that. I won't have a petty uneducated prisoner as my stand-in." She craned her head at him, eye squinted. "Perhaps you will do the job. You seem strong enough. Perhaps you will live. Ketil, outfit him with clothing for the journey. I will notify the others and gather up the necessary supplies."
She took Jameson's hand, pressing something into the palm. "Mr. Prieto, I take good care of those who take care of me and my business."
She stood as Jameson opened his hand to see a single gold kip. A day's wage.
"If you like those, you won't be disappointed. Dante, come with me." Anubis disappeared from the door, moving more like a phantom than a flesh-and-bone woman.
Dante stood, looking to the other man—Ketil. "You better not do anything stupid, Østberg."
"I don't do stupid things," he said, eyes narrowed. "Go on, run along with Anubis. Leave me to handle the prisoner."
Dante looked back to Jameson, "don't let him bully you." She adjusted her scarf around her face and walked away, shutting the door a little bit harder than necessary.
"She has a lot of nerve." Ketil said, walking back to the fire. He picked up a pair of trousers, tossing them at Jameson. "Put these on."
He stared at the man, eyebrows furrowed. "Polarian?"
"Excuse me?"
"You're Polarian, aren't you?" Jameson took the pants, uncovering his body. "If you're Polarian, why are you here? Aren't Polarian riesun supposed to be sacred?"
Ketil laughed, stirring up the fire a little. He stared at the floor, shoulders drooping. "You would think that, wouldn't you?"
"Well?" Jameson stood shakily, holding his breath for the pain of old scars. There was no pain, even as he put on the new wool trousers, tightening the belt to the last hole. He pressed his hands against his ribs, eyebrows furrowed. The bruises...scars... all the evidence of his imprisonment were gone. A few trickier marks remained on his chest but... the bruising and new scars were gone.
"Ah yes, you can thank Raziel for that." Ketil tossed a branch into the fire. "I suppose you should thank Dante more though—she's the one who saw you in the snow and decided to save your life." He looked back at him, staring at his ribs. "If it was up to the majority of us, you'd still be there. Another mouth to feed is the last thing we need."
"I'll make sure to thank her." His fingers quickly touched his back, shoulders sagging in disappointment. The brand was still there, still marking him as a convict.
"Raziel can't heal deep scars, trust me I've tried. You're lucky too, he didn't want to heal you. Anubis almost had to kill you and then reanimate you."
"What?"
"She can kill you with a touch or bring you back from the dead—to a point. You want to know why I'm not in Polaria? I died. Anubis brought me back, so I'm here now." His hand pressed against his chest, eyebrows knitted in thought.
"She can reanimate, Raziel can heal—what about you and the others? Anything I should know about you?"
"That's not a thing you just come out and say, it's considered poor etiquette." Ketil smiled a little. "But you will find out in time."
"What does that mean?"
Ketil tossed him a wool shirt, laying a coat out on the bed. "You will find out."
Jameson dressed, taking socks and shoes from the man. "I suppose I will."
The man crossed his arms, sizing him up as he struggled to pull boots onto his feet. He shook his head, curls bouncing with the movement.
"What?"
"I don't know how you aren't dead. Look at yourself. You're a skeleton and you were forced to do labor. You're essentially a lusccan yourself."
"A what?"
"Polarian, a dead man walking. I supposed that's one thing we have in common. Until you get some rest and food in your system. It's not easy being truly dead."
"Strange thing. I have no idea what world I have entered."
"Perhaps it's better that way."
A dark skinned man burst into the room, his face flushed and duo-toned eyes widened with shock. His shoulders heaved with breath.
"What is it? Raziel," Ketil grabbed him by the shoulders, steadying him. "Speak!"
"The Inquisition!" He looked to Jameson and then back to Ketil. "They have Dante."
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