"What folly; magic, in this day and age?" Alzack scoffed against the tip of his quill after signing his approval on the fiftieth resignation application of the day.
His soldiers were running away via legal means and he could do nothing about it but be crass in their face.
"I mean, make some sense, would you? This is the modern age of the world-island! We can fire cannons to conquer waters for Merlin's sake! And here are my men scrambling away like sewer rats on a sunny day just because they had a brush with death. If you're alive, shouldn't you make it count?!" He smacked a fist against the wooden desk, grinding his teeth in restraint.
The small cabin was huddled with too many a men in white shirts and dark breeches, having given up on their uniforms, pressed too close against eachother's comfort zones and drawing shallow breaths out of claustrophobia, sweat and fear.
The Royal Inspector's clam grey eyes were swirling a storm inside, partially owning to his loss at the festival against that eccentric man and partially to the muteness of his men.
"A word? Or would it be too much a burden to your departing souls?" He inquired in a pressed tone, as he flicked the quill out of his grip. The crowd stayed mum as the last person, whose resignation Alzack had signed, stepped forward to get his documents.
Everyone around him took a step back.
"Ah, Grust, good work. Elaborate," Alzack ordered with a make-haste tap over his desk.
The man in question looked around, baffled to find himself the object of sacrifice. Nothing like dying twice in less than twenty four hours.
Grust folded his hands behind his back and sucked in a breath, with his eyes concentrated on the hardwood floor, he relived his past through his words.
"You did not experience it, my sire, maybe because you were passed out, but I felt myself— I was awake, it- burn, I felt myself burn, and I screamed as my, I, I felt the feelings leave me from my toes. My sire, I felt dying. Life escaping me while I screamed because I was dying but also peaceful because it all felt like it was ending soon. It was miserable, I was, because there was so much I had to do. I wanted to earn money so I became a soldier because fighting was easier than learning lines and passing exams. I worked hard to support my sick mother, then I worked hard to give a better life to my wife, then I worked hard to let my kids flourish— but, my sire, when I was dying, no one was with me. I felt myself disappear without a trace of having done anything that I liked. I felt so regretful — if only I had taken a day off to see the festival instead. If only I had eaten the oyster curry my wife made that morning. If only I wore my lucky underwear...The If onlys— they were endless and my life was too limiting. I grieved my regrets while I died so abruptly and I realised that I never want to feel that way again. Not when I was given this second chance."
"And that is why one mustn't lead a mundane life," Alzack grumbled as he got up from his desk and made his way out of the congested office room. The men parted a way for him as he stepped out into the cool fresh air of yet another festival evening wasted in the face of cases.
The case of Lord Emir magically reincarnating into a child after being allegedly impaled to death.
The case of Royal Inspector Alzack waking up unscathed from what he remembered to be a very scathing duel.
The case of Lady Cordelia being tried for witchcraft at sundown for interrupting the festival with smoke which made people pass out, burn the soldiers in pursuit of an escape and reincarnating a dead man.
The case of the stolen tea set and the missing dueller in its pursuit. Huh, this one seemed the most normal when this was the one that instigated the rest.
One too many priorities insisted Alzack to light a match and commandeer a cigar. He stared into the horizon whilst letting the warm puffs enrich his haphazard thoughts into a calm and compact settlement. With each swig, a puff of smoke was exhaled into the atmosphere.
Smoke.
"Ready my horse!" Alzack ordered as he muffled the cigar into a cylindrical box and threw it at an incoming servant for disposal.
The servant caught it with much ease, "I recommend using the East exit, my sire, the nobels are hoarding the North and West gates," he informed, pocketing the cigar for personal reusing.
"Demanding what?" Asked Alzack as he paced back and forth, "Ah!"
"Justice, my sire. They're grieving the women they lost," the servant replied with pressed lips.
"As if; they want compensation from the Empire," Alzack scoffed as another servant boy walked into view with a horse following in tow. The servant boy handed the animal's reins to Alzack with a curt bow.
"Be safe, my sire, g'day!"
Alzack climbed the horse in one swift motion and commandeered it out of the castle grounds.
The lanky servant boy jogged away, down the gravel path and behind the Royal Inspector's cramped office to stop in front of a well, hidden behind the lush overgrowth of thorny vines. He looked around for any signs of humans in his vicinity before picking up a stick to push away the vines and uncover the wooden lid that covered the well.
He took off his uniform jacket and used it as a cover to pull up the lid. He slid it just enough to let his body slither through the gap and step on one of the the horizontal metal bars built in to act like a ladder. As soon as he gained a good footing, he slid the the lid back in place and in the well lit up in a faint glow of blue.
Radium stones were slotted in between two bricks at random intervals, illuminating a path to the end of the well which extended into a tunnel leading all the way another door.
The servant boy opened it to face his frowning master.
"Really, Wilbur?" His bright haired master deadpanned, pointing a finger at the door directly behind, "What would it take for you to walk in like a normal human being and not some sneaking rat!"
The servant boy, Wilbur, broke into a wide grin as he made himself comfortable over a cushioned chair and pulled out the cylindrical cigar box. "It is a short cut, I believe, I enjoy it," Wilbur reaffirmed as he pulled out the cigar and gently blew over its head.
"Ha! Shortcut indeed! What if you get injured?! Do I not pay you enough to blend in? Where am I supposed to find another lackey if anything were to happen to you?" Master exhaled exasperated words as he paced back and forth in front of Wilbur's desk.
"You're the best employer, I wouldn't part with you even in death, I promise my Lord," Wilbur looked up at his master's face and smiled. After pushing out all possible bitterness from the cigar, he reignited it and offered it to his master.
"Indeed, we know no one can do better than me," his master breathed out a sigh of confidence as he plucked the cigar out of his servant's hand and fell onto a bejewelled couch. "Any word of the materials I asked for?" He questioned in between long swigs and coughs, "I genuinely do not like smoking. This is the worst part of villainy," he gasped.
Wilbur ran with a handfan to stand beside his master and agressively waved the smoke out of his face, "You can do it! The Royal Inspector smokes just fine. He's pretty big and buff—"
"Your infatuation with the Royal Inspector runs deep," Master scoffed with a quick eye roll and Wilbur's brown eyes gleamed. The odd thought tethering in the back of master's mind lunged forward to his tongue, "Is this another one of his used cigars?" He questioned, exasperated, as he pulled it away from his lips and gagged.
"Where else am I supposed to find stuff so quick? The emperor's chambers?" Wilbur scoffed, only to earn a smack on the head from his master.
"I've kissed that man more than I have seen him, all thanks to you," Master gagged, flicking the cigar into its graveyard called an ashtray.
Wilbur gently patted his master's back as the man gagged and prodded the inside of his mouth, "Oh, talking of the Royal Inspector, word on the street is Reincarnation," he ended with a wispy tone.
Master stilled with his head lowered, mid gag, and his bright blonde locks fell onto his bright eyes, covering them. Wilbur continued with his pats.
"Lord Emir from the South was allegedly impaled by one of the soldiers but then something magical happened for when they went to capture the Cordelia heiress, there laid a babe in her arms, in Lord Emir's clothes. They say that the soldiers felt death, died, and were immediately brought back to life."
"Excuse me?" Master shot up from his seat and began his pacing, "H-how is that, no no, I did see it. She is one of the manifestations, I felt her power. It was immense— but reincarnation? That isn't possible, there are no possible records— what sort of manifestation are we dealing with? I firmly believed it was fire, useless really if you don't want to use her as a weapon, but— this— where is she?"
"In the royal prison for now, she will be tried at sundown," Wilbur answered his master's ramble. He'd rarely ever seen his master lose his gentle and confident composure when he wasn't acting a part to play.
"Ah, ha, they wouldn't kill her. This is- this is immense! They'll proposition it, I know, this time I'll make sure to stay and witness it, yes."
Those blue eyes rarely ever widened to their full extent, no matter what ingenious idea hit his master. Though, they did today, and in all honesty, the unspoken words glazing his eyes fascinated Wilbur.
"How do you know they wouldn't kill her? It is a trial for witchcraft," Wilbur asked as he took a seat on his master's couch and followed the pacing blob with his eyes.
"Why kill when you can use it?"