The Effaced: Chapter Three

“What?” I asked, then mentally slapped myself. Speaking while you were wrongfully under arrest wasn’t the right thing to do, but it had just slipped out. 

“We’re going to walk you back to the station,” the constable who had cuffed me said, then spun me around and started marching me to the lift. I followed, still numb, and we took the ride down to the city street, where they loaded me into an automobile. The chunky, loud machines weren’t allowed on the sky bridges, but on the city streets they were far and away the best method of transport possible. 

And the most concerning. Automobile cabs could have some serious wards built in, pulling power from the engine. The fact that the city constables were loading me into one meant that they were treating me as a serious threat. 

That was reasonable, given my past, but it meant that a senator really had been killed. 

Who? How? Why? 

And most importantly of all, why did they think I was the one who’d killed him? 

I was loaded into the cabin, and sure enough, I could feel wards further restricting my ability to shape aura. If the cuffs had been a wet blanket thrown over me, the cabin was a set of heavy iron chains. I might have been able to push through the cuffs restrictions with a bit of effort, but I wasn’t going to be able to break through this. Not easily, at least. 

The constables drove past a few carriages pulled by demons, and into the automobile lanes, then escorted me into the station, which was a low, squat building, covered in the shimmering field of wards that had been laid so thick that they were even visible to the naked eye. 

I was pulled out of the cabin and quickly marched inside, where I was marched through the lobby and into a second waiting room. 

“Hands against the wall,” one of the two constables barked as he unlocked the cuffs. I complied.

What else could I do? The wards in here made it impossible to shape aura, and they were even stronger still than the ones in the cabin, like an entire building’s worth of concrete surrounding my aura. 

“Are you wearing anything that could poke, jab, or prod me?” the constable asked, and I hesitated. 

“I still have an iron band attached to my left hand,” I said. “It’s got segments. It shouldn’t pinch you, but it’s not impossible.” 

The constable took off my suit jacket and then pulled the metal band I used to recharge my aura off of me, tossing it to his partner, who was currently in the middle of going through my briefcase of tools. 

“I also have a charm defense and physical defense token in the pockets of my jacket,” I said. “And my keys, too. Otherwise, just my belt.” 

The constable nodded and patted me down, then marched me through a door and up some stairs. Once I was on the second floor, he brought me to a desk, where I rolled my fingers in ink, then pressed them to cards, then we left again to another room, which was completely dark.

“Stand still so the obscura can take your photograph,” the constable said. A moment later, I felt a pinprick of light as my image was captured on the spell-wrought silver.

The constable dragged me out and to another room, this one with a simple aura-measuring device. The network of foci and calculation artifacts resembled a pair of gauntlets clutching a crystal, which in turn was attached to a large needle that reminded me of the sort that was usually on a scale.

Next to the machine was a pair of guards who had their guns and full battle wands out. They were pointed to the floor, not my face, thankfully.

Honestly, though, I understood the paranoia.

The wards were disabled in this room, since I needed to be able to shape my aura in order to use it, and the police needed to gauge how much aura I had, as well as capture a sample to use for their divination spells.

But if a suicidal mage decided that they would rather make an explosive last stand than face trial, this room would be the place that they did it.

“Move nice and slow,” the guard on the left said, her ponytail bobbing. “Hands in the gauntlets, then flow your aura in.”

I crept forwards at a slow but steady pace and did as she said, slipping my hands inside. I immediately felt the machine sucking out every drop of aura that it could reach, leaving me with only the reserves in my first arch-star. It spun the magic through its enchantments, and the needle flopped over…

To four ninety nine.

I frowned.

“That’s not right,” I said. “My auric capacity is five seventeen.”

“Guess you’re weaker than you thought,” the constable who had been leading me around said, sneering. “But it’s no surprise. Someone with your history is going to tend to exaggerate.”

It was the other way around, in my experience. Most of the truly exceptional mages that I’d seen had far more than what their auric capacity was able to show. My mentor had only had a capacity of seventy-two before she died, but she could probably have beat me, even when I was at the peak of my career as Mist.

We left the aura measuring room, and the constable pushed me into a room with a thin metal table and two chairs.

“Someone will be along to ask questions soon,” he said. “Sit and wait.” 

I sat down, and the constable locked the door, leaving me alone in the room with my thoughts.

I tried to start sorting through everything that had happened, and to try and figure out what I could about the murder of a senator, but the room was warm, and there was a thick scent of incense wafting through with a heady, herbal smell.

And I was exhausted. The folding metal chair that I was sitting in was hardly the most comfortable thing in existence, but I had been working for hours. Before I knew it, I had passed out. 

“Tired?” came a voice, and I jolted awake to see an older woman with gray hair and iron eyes entering the room. She wore the uniform of a high ranking constable, though I couldn’t identify the rank, having never joined them myself.

I debated how to answer. Being combative and demanding an answer for something so simple was probably a bad idea, but so was answering that I was tired. They’d probably claim I was tired because I’d stayed up all night killing someone, or something like that. 

“I had a twenty hour long shift fixing an airship,” I said. The woman nodded and took a seat across from me. 

“No wonder, then,” she said. “Do you want some water? Coffee?”

“No thank you,” I said, licking my chapped lips. I very much could have gone for some coffee or water, or both, right about now, but there was every chance that they’d use that to slip a potion into me, and I wasn’t willing to take that risk. I hadn’t done anything. Truth potions were one thing, and they had known and expected counters.

But if I was being framed, it might alter my perception, or force me to admit to a crime I didn’t do.

She inclined her head and leaned forward. 

“Mister Font, my name is Captain Hunt. I won’t beat around the bush – you’re likely one of the only people in the entire nation who could have killed Senator Ermonte. Why did you do it?” 

“I didn’t,” I said. “And I’d like my attorney.” 

I tried to remember what I could about Senator Ermonte, but the name barely rang a bell. I thought he might be a member of the Ligature Party, or maybe the Workmanship Party? 

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, giving me a smile that honestly looked almost kind and weary. “If you fight it, things will be worse for you. If you’re compliant, we can put in a good word for you with the judge.”

“It is necessary,” I said, and as I spoke, I rolled my shoulders back, and stopped slouching. 

I thought that I had allowed the persona of Mist to die a long time ago, but I slipped back into the dominating power easily enough. Without Odril’s words whispering in my ear, it wasn’t quite the same, but I allowed power, pride, and defiance to fill my voice.

Captain Hunt wasn’t cowed, but I saw a flicker of something in her eyes. 

“I see,” she said. “Do you have an attorney lined up already?” 

I didn’t. It wasn’t like I had been expecting this, after all.

But I wasn't about to show weakness. 

“Just get me a telephone,” I said. She frowned, but stood and clicked her fingers.

“Follow me.” 

I rose, she cuffed me, and then walked me to a telephone. I pulled the condenser off the wall, as well as the speaker, then spun the disc to zero. 

“Hello, operator?” I said, leaning into the condenser. A moment later, I heard a cheerful young man on the other end of the line. 

“Hello, thank you for using our services. Who are you calling?” 

“I need a criminal defense attorney,” I said. “The best one I can get.” 

“Hmm, give me a moment to look through the books,” the man said, and I heard the rustling of papers, then the snapping, crackling sound of the line connecting elsewhere. 

“Darvin and Pine law services,” a young woman receptionist said. I gave her a brief run through of the situation, and she told me to stay put and not tell them anything. I agreed and hung up, stepping out of the booth.

Captain Hunt looked me up and down and sighed. 

“Since you’re going to be difficult, I’ll take you to your cell. Dinner will be served soon.” 

I followed her wordlessly to a small cell with two cots, steel toilet, and washing sink. She opened it, and I stepped in and laid down on one of the cots, just glad to not have a cellmate yet.

It had really been all the way to dinner? I’d slept longer than I anticipated… Come to think of it, that meant they’d had me sitting in that chair for hours, just to, what, soften me up? 

The joke was on them. It had let me catch up on sleep. 

I sat in my cot, unable to even practice aura exercises with the suppression in the building. If it had just been the cuffs, I might have been able to push through and practice, and in some ways, it even would have been good training, but the wards were far too intense. 

So instead I just… sat there with my thoughts. 

Dinner was eventually served. I was wary – I’d heard that food was awful in prison. This was jail, not prison, but I figured that it would probably be about the same. 

It was… Not horrible. Just a sandwich, an apple, and a carton of milk. It almost reminded me of being a teenager, at least before I’d awoken my aura and become Mist. 

I finished it and threw it away. I was still worried about them using it to slip me something, but I had to eat, and more importantly, I had to drink. Dehydration was a real problem – I’d seen people die of it in the Saxom desserts.

When the lights overhead dimmed, I wondered if the attorney I’d called was having trouble, or if it was normally this difficult for them to show up. 

The following morning was some rubbery, overcooked eggs, the blandest sausage I’d ever eaten, and more of the cartons of milk. That was much more disgusting than the dinner the night before, but I ate anyways. 

When what had felt like hours had ticked by without me seeing anyone but the occasional constable walking by, I rose. 

If I was going to be playing the part of Mist in order to get respect, I probably should start acting like Mist again. I wasn’t out of shape – I still walked plenty, and I kept an eye on what I ate – but I wasn’t in nearly as good shape as I’d been in my late teens and early twenties, when I’d played at being Mist. 

It had been a long time since I’d thought of the workout routine I used then. I didn’t have any weights, but I started with squats, since I remembered those being important. I worked in a couple of sit ups, and a few push ups. 

By the end of my short routine, I was sweating and gasping, and very embarrassed that I’d allowed my fitness to slip so far. 

Ah, well. I leaned back against the wall, not wanting to get on the cot until I was dry, and closed my eyes, trying to get some rest until my attorney arrived.