Five keeps had given the district its name, but only two remained. Skeletons of stone spires still stood, but three towers had been converted to cheap apartments or fallen into ruin and abandoned. The remaining two, Rowan Manor and Harlocke House, did not counter the spiral of decay in Fivekeeps. The district had an empty, haunted feel to it; the buildings were sprawling, old, and often unlit. Its broad stone streets were cracked and buckled in inconvenient spots. Coleburn Avenue had been home to the eponymous Coleburn Estate, back when the family was rich. Now the shutters moaned, creaked, and banged in a haunted chorus. The only permanent inhabitant was Master Krockett and his dogs, but there were a number of visitors on that evening.

    Vandra had a haunted look in her eyes. She entered the manor via the back door (or what was left of it) with her hand firmly on the pommel of a scimitar. Her pale hair and paler skin made her look like a ghost as she quietly glided to the basement. Krockett’s dogs had been trained not to bark when she entered, but Krockett thought they were just scared of the ghostly girl.

    The captives, on the other hand, saw her and began pleading. They were all restrained in haphazard ways, but universally they had been cruelly stuffed into cages normally used for Krockett’s pack of fighting hounds. Men and women alike squirmed in their metal prisons, asking for mercy from the visitor. Here, a tan-skinned man struggled against heavy irons, with his wrists trapped at the top of the cage. There, a woman in a strict hogtie dribbled from a bit-gag as Vandra entered. She gave them a slightly piteous look. The one man she made eye contact with seemed to quiet instantly, as though an icy chill had overtaken him.

    “Just you?” asked Krockett. He ran an oily hand through his receding hairline.

    “No. Ma’am is outside.”

    “Why? She can come here. The slaves aren’t gonna know who she is.”

    One woman, bound with an absolute web of silken ropes and gagged with a fat wad of cloth, made a grunting sound as she rattled in her cage. Vandra stared at her for a moment. “That is why. Ma’am doesn’t want to deal with the merchandise herself. It’s beneath her.”

    Krockett shrugged. He went to take a sip of tea from an old mug, but paused as something about this slave-purchaser crossed his mind. Before he spoke, a knock at the front door interrupted his train of thought. He turned his head. His thought was completely derailed as the door flew off its hinges, slamming into one of his attack-hounds and knocking the teacup to the ground.

    The City Watch’s frontman stepped through the door, his body encased in a lobster-shell of shining metal. He bore a huge mace, the kind normally used for knocking down doors. Behind him stood a woman with dark skin and curly hair in a pompadour. Behind her was another patrol of City Watch - less enthusiastic than the leader, but no less armed.

    A crossbow bolt plinged off of the frontman’s heavy armor, but he was forced back into a sideroom as three dogs leapt at him. His heavy mace dropped to the ground, and Watch officers scrambled to the side to assist him.

    Nalen Kara, the leader of the patrol, had her saber drawn. She shouted the usual litany of guardspeak on autopilot; surrender now, you are under arrest, drop your weapons, and so on. Neither of them took any heed - which was to be expected. Criminals had no respect for the law or offers of amnesty; consequently, Nalen had only the barest respect for criminals. They were to be punished, not pardoned.

    The assault on the old manor rapidly devolved into a melee, and from there into a brawl. Bors, the pointman, crashed through a wall into another room filled with slaves and some of Krockett’s hired thugs. Nalen matched blades with a pale-haired woman in a dark outfit. She had straight, double-edged sword best used for brutal chopping. Nalen’s saber skills were good just as good, if not better.

    A strong kick sent Nalen flying through a dusty doorway and into the overgrown yard of the estate. Her saber dropped to the ground, planting itself in a muddy patch of dirt. Vandra charged at her, blade drawn. Nalen brought her legs up, kicking the ruffian in the legs and sending her tumbling out of her chopping charge. The officer was able to retrieve her saber and bring it to bear before the haunted-looking bandit could chop again. She hit her firmly in the head with the blunted pommel of her sword. The criminal saw stars and dropped her weapon, falling to the ground in a heap.

    One officer took the oily owner of the dogs to task, charging and subduing him. Nalen was about to congratulate her when movement caught her eye - the fluttering of a dress, the sound of someone running. She took to pursuit on instinct.

    The way was barred by a crowd of residents, their heads down and hands firmly on charms close to their breasts. The quarry tumbled through them, knocking them down and slowing Nalen considerably as she stepped over their soft bodies with a bit more care than usual. The loud clop clop of fleeing person’s feet on wooden scaffolds echoed as she turned a corner.

    Nalen saw a crimson dress, running across the remnants of a renovation that would never complete. She joined it in flight, catching a glimpse of short brown hair. The darkness meant that only moonlight lit the way forward, and the young officer was cautious.

    Her quarry clambered up a ladder and kicked it down. Nalen was close now. She grabbed the short wooden beams before they fell, hoisted her light frame up and over them like a gymnast. Her boots hit the wood hard. The person running gasped in surprise.

    Too clever by half. She plunged one leg through the moldering skeleton of a structure. In front of her, Nalen saw her quarry holding a hand against her face with great surprise before turning to sprint away. Fair skin, short hair, a red dress. Nalen’s mind interpreted the most important information first - a look of surprise on a fellow human followed by the pain around her ankle and then leg as the scaffold gave way. She fell into a heap, hitting her chest against the remnants of a crane’s fulcrum-weight. The wind left her lungs as she fell. She had time to see the woman use the remaining catwalks to hop over the a wall, into the noble district.

            A younger constable helped dig her from the wooden ruin in short order. Nalen was especially eager to visit her brief humiliation on the two arrestees. She looked them over - a pair of despicable bandits. Whether old man or young ruffian, she’d give them all the justice she could muster. Each of them was kneeling with their hands tied behind their backs.

            “Constable Noémi, what do we know about these two?”

            Noémi saluted smartly. “Ma’am. Slavers, through and through. Mister Krockett here has quite a few warrants out for his arrest. Tremaine was right to send us after him - hitting him when his hideout was full. We’ve combed every inch and freed the lot of his “product.” Neither of these two slavers is being cooperative, though.  They’re not saying a word.”

    Nalen placed her black boot on the small of Vandra’s back. She yelped in punctuation to the Lieutenant’s pressure.

    “And the liberated goods?”

    “They were a bit more talkative once ungagged,” said Noémi. The barest hint of a smile crept up the side of her mouth. She stepped aside, and a dozen thankful citizens - slaves no more - approached her. Nalen held out a firm hand. She didn’t want their gratitude.

    “Did any of you ever see anyone else visiting? Any other slavers? Accomplices?”

    They shook their heads no. They hadn’t really been in a position - since they were usually heavily bound, hobbled, or hooded.

    A woman with copper-colored skin held up her hand. It had clearly been trapped in heavy irons for days. “I heard someone upstairs. I think she was going to a party.”

    Nalen tilted her head. “Explain.”

    “I’m not sure. I could hardly hear them. They said that she was going to be very popular. ‘The Belle of the Ball,’ I think

    “Not belle,” she said. “Bel.”

    

     

    Lieutenant Nalen Kara had spent a lifetime training for a role in the Imperial administration. Her noble family had afforded her education and afforded instruction over hidebound tradition. She pushed her body and mind to the limit, engaging in self-guided instruction at the end of each day of training. Circumstances led the daughter of a noble family to enlist in the city guard. Even the most profligate noble would enter military service to pad their career, but Nalen excelled.

    By the time she was twenty-five, she was a Lieutenant in the guard and a terror to criminals. She had been promoted to serve under Warden Franceska Tremaine of the city prison, but a thirst for justice in the notoriously dangerous capital led her to take an active role in meting out justice.

    The solar of the Alysa City Prison had a tall roof to keep cool in the summer but massive windows to bring light in year-round. Deers’ antlers hung from the ceiling. A stuffed lion lay across the floor near the metal-barred windows. Mirrors extended the size further. Shelves completely filled one wall, stuffed with books and bottles. Several bundles of papers swung from leather straps beneath shelves.

    Nalen busied herself by staring at an ornamental silver plate. She’d seen it a dozen times before. The prison wadern, Franceska Tremaine, flipped through an unbound journal.

    “Looking at the plate from the Imperial Court again?” asked Tremaine. “Imagining your name on there as well? I know you’re not gussying yourself up.”

    The humor had a distance to it. Nalen didn’t entirely smile. “I was merely admiring your commendations. Order of the Iron Star, Star of Dominion, and a holiday in your honor.”

    Franceska waited several seconds as she finished reading a document. “Only one day. Not every year.”

    Nalen went quiet and sat in the chair opposite Warden Tremaine’s desk. She had insisted that the Warden take her time - that Nalen was in no rush. She didn’t mean it. Now she was signalling it. Franceska rested the papers on the desk and folded her hands.

    “You might well get your name on a plate for that raid,” said Tremaine. Opposite her, Nalen’s chin raised slightly as she looked up.

    “It’s not the recognition, Warden.”

    Franceska smiled back. “Oh? Then what is it? Tell me again.”

    “It’s the knowledge that we’ve done good. Society needs order. A city needs to see justice done. Criminals can’t be allowed on the streets; innocents can’t be kept as slaves. A name on a plaque is a reminder of the good that one’s done, not the favor that you’ve curried.”

    The Warden nodded her head. “You sound like me.”

    “I learn from the best.”

    The young Kara had a genuine respect for the Warden. Franceska Tremaine was professional, but there were things that needed… improvement. In some way, Nalen was lecturing her superior; reminding her of her moral obligations. It probably wouldn’t do much for her career. Tremaine had always treated the exemplary (if bullheaded) lieutenant with admiration, but not closeness. Her fraternization with other guards, bureaucrats and officials never extended outside a closely-knit circle.

    “I’m not the best. But you might be. If you know how to curry favor.” Tremaine turned her chair around and she thumbed through books on a shelf as though she were searching for something. She wasn’t.

    “Ma’am?”

    “The warrant for Mitre D. Bel had a few errors. I’ll have to deny it.”

    There was stunned silence for several beats. Tremaine continued to thumb through her books to kill time, hoping that Nalen would take the hint.

    “What errors?”

    Franceska didn’t respond.

    “Ma’am, I saw her with my own eyes. The hair, the body type, the dress. They’re a perfect match to what she was wearing yesterday evening.”

    “Circumstantial,” mumbled Franceska.

    “I already had a guard collect alibis. She was out at Five Keeps yesterday.”

    “It proves nothing.”

    Nalen took the sheaf of papers and thumbed through them. “Did you read my reasoning? Her family has been involved with human trafficking before. They owned the old Coleburn estate.” The officer removed her glove and thumbed through her handwriting. “Right here. Look. Mitre is a wastrel, a scoundrel; she’s an heiress with too much time and too little oversight. If the psychological profile is insufficient, I’m sure I could drag in more witnesses. What else do you want?”

    “A favor,” said Franceska. “That’s what I was getting at. I need you to drop this.”

    Nalen folded the papers. “I filed the request for arrest this morning. I was denied this afternoon. I assume that was your doing.”

    Tremaine turned to meet the constable’s gaze. “Miss Bel is a noble in very good standing with the court, as well as a personal friend. She is not to be touched in any way. Justice will be served.”

    “Justice isn’t blind.” She lowered her head. “Friendships and society can’t get in the way of due process.”

    The Warden raised her hands, showing Nalen her palms. “As I said. Justice will be served. This is just how things work. If things were different, if maybe you had some more political capital, I could let this g-”

    “I am registering a formal complaint with your office. Expect it by the end of the week. I will drop the request for the arrest warrant.”

    The abrupt end to the conversation left Franceska spinning as Nalen spun on her boot-heel and marched out of the office. Nalen had tried to lecture her earlier; Tremaine had returned the favor.

    Waiting outside the door were two of Tremaine’s inner circle. They entered without prompting. Bors was massive and wide; Brilliana was tall. Together they looked like the number ten.

    “I need you to educate our young Lieutenant on how favor works.”

     

 

     

    Noémi’s townhouse was on a quiet street. She’d picked it specifically for its neighbors, who kept to themselves and didn’t go out after dark. It was comfortable, and not far from the bar that she and Nalen frequented. Lanterns and a dim moon provided enough light to walk. Cobbled stones flowed through a valley of tall, terraced townhomes.

    After bidding her subordinate goodnight, Nalen had plenty of time to think to herself. The bustle of Alysa City during the day was muted. The exceedingly narrow street was so quiet that she could hear her steps echo as she walked.

    No. Not echoes.

    Nalen turned just in time to roll out of the way of a weighted net. Two masked individuals - one massive man, and one tall woman - were charging her. Nalen placed a hand on her saber, but the huge man reached the scabbard before Nalen could unsnap the safety catch. He pulled - hard - and wrestled the scabbard saber, and broken belt away from the constable.

    The woman lunged in a tackle towards Nalen. She sidestepped, hands still on her sword, trying to wrestle it back from the massive assailant. The metal pommel hovered in the air, with the heroine trying to unsheathe it and the man trying to keep it in. Nalen squinted her eyes and pushed. The chape of the sheathe hit him square in the forehead, dazing him and sending him stumbling back. She did it again, and again, and a fourth time. She turned around, letting go of her weapon entirely as the female attacker brought a blackjack club through the air where Nalen’s head had just been. It swooped through her tall hair and impacted the man’s chest. He coughed and flailed off-balance before tumbling to the ground unconscious.

    The officer and the aggressor faced off. Her sword was too far to dive for, and the woman certainly had the range advantage. She approached Nalen, intimidating her by slapping the club against the palm of her hand.

            “You’re pawing around where you shouldn’t be,” she said. “Have to teach you a lesson. Let me see that delicate hand of yours.”

            Nalen put up her fists. “Attacking an officer of the watch, and now threatening her. The list of charges is growing by the second.” She put on a brave face, but these two miscreants were just about a match for a sleep-deprived and partially inebriated Nalen Kara. The tall woman stepped forward, intimidating words muffled by a bandit’s mask and bandana. Every step forced Nalen closer to a shuttered door; she was being cornered. Every step menacingly echoed across the quiet street.

            No. Not echoes.

            Noémi launched the net first, followed by a pair of swift kicks. The attacker fell to the ground, tangled and dazed.

            “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” started Noémi, “I think you forgot these in my home.” The cadet threw a bundle of ropes at Nalen. They grinned.

 

            Bors was muscular, strong, but also not much of a talker. Nalen had a certain soft spot for him.

            Thus, she had to be hard with the law-breaker. She refused to show favoritism. Professionalism, in his case, was having him bound as tight as possible and confined lest he manage any breakout.

            He knelt on his calves with his arms behind his back. He was a bit too bulky for anything more elaborate than a boxtie, which suited Nalen just fine. That meant that she began with his arms, wrapping them in a thick layer of sticky bandages, balling up his hands, and then wrapping them again.

            Over that went the long stretches of hemp rope that had been so kindly provided by Noémi. Conveniently, her townhouse had a basement where he could be stored while they interrogated Brilliana in the parlor. Inconveniently, he was just a bit too big to fix anywhere convenient.

            Hence, Nalen put pressure on his back, forcing him to kneel and squishing him in tight before binding him all with heavy rope and chains. It was a messy job, criss-crossing and covering his mummified arms, but it was worth it. He wasn’t going anywhere; the rope bit tightly against biceps and legs, packing and restraining him down until he was a more agreeable size.

            With Noémi’s help, Nalen made sure he was gagged and blindfolded. The handkerchief over his mouth was the only thing he was wearing aside from his underwear. Finally satisfied that their man of few words would be a man of moans and groans, they heaved him into a small, padded shipping crate. He wiggled left and right like a grub as Noémi closed the lid.

            The two had sent word to a friend in another watch command to come by in the morning. Nalen couldn’t trust anyone at the prison. That meant the two of them had until morning to interrogate Brilliana. Neither of them knew Brill very well, only aware that she’d been in Franceska Tremaine’s inner social circle. With Brill, then, she could afford to be lenient.

            Noémi held Brill’s arms up against the sides of her head. Nalen taped wide, long, generous strips of sticky bandages along Brill’s mouth and biceps. One or two layers might have done the trick, but this was to be an interrogation, so she wound it more than a few times for good measure.

            Another strip of bandages went along the corrupt cop’s armpits; one around her waist, messily crisscrossing down to her thighs. Nalen taped her ankles, too, and once over her feet before going back and encasing her knees in snug and shrinking white cloth.

            Still, this wasn’t the interrogative pose she was looking for. Brill sweated and groaned the whole while as the two of them used dense rope to stretch her into a hogtie. Her back arched, hands flailed, and the nearly-nude ne’er-do-well looked like she was having a tantrum. Through gagged lips she groaned and moaned. Blushing, breathing heavily, and squirming, the two officers stared down at her and enjoyed a late-night meal.

            Lieutenant Kara eventually snipped off the gag, tugging her captive by the hair.

            “Monongah!”

            “Earlier, you said you had a lesson you wanted to teach me. I hope it was worth it.”

 

 

            The two reprobates had been left in public as a message. Nalen didn’t have the clout to have them arrested - not yet, at least - but she was hoping that after tonight, that would all change.

            Until then, she had to settle for humiliation. Both man and woman had been bound together against a gaslight just outside Noémi’s townhome, nude save their undergarments and very strictly lashed against the pole, chest-to-chest. Both had their knees folded back, and layer after layer of thick rope keeping them from getting any wriggling done. They heaved and huffed, with their poor, compressed bodies vulnerable for the public to see when the morning came.

            By then, though, she hoped that she’d be done with this. Tremaine had clearly sent the two thugs to dissuade her from examining the Bel estate. That told her that she had hit a nerve. Franceska had warned her away from certain examinations but had never threatened violence. If the Warden had indeed resorted to something as unsubtle as throwing goons after her… she shuddered to think how deep the corruption went.

            It was past twilight now. Noémi and Nalen were a half-hour’s ride outside the limits of the city, staring at the Bel House. She passed the Lieutenant a spyglass.

            “The southeast wall, facing directly at us.” The two women were camped on a hill overlooking the estate. The last rays of sun had faded, and the full moon gave a ghostly color to the manor.

            “I see the guards,” said Nalen. “They’re hired help. They’ll be no problem compared to a trained officer of the Watch.” She closed the spyglass to punctuate her statement.

    Nalen certainly looked the part; clad in a sleek black outfit of tight-fitting cloth. Webbing of straps around her waist and chest was black-dyed leather. The outfit kept everything but her face clad in a matte black. At the bottom, it was tucked into her boots. At the top, it left only her face uncovered - though a small shock of her hair poked through the front. She wore her saber around her back, rather than at her side.

    “Ma’am,” said Noémi, “last time, you couldn’t even take on two thugs. I don’t like the idea of standing watch up here.”

    “I just needed a nap and some stress relief. Your home and our two guests provided that. And really, Mitre and her family are probably more interested in than the look of a few thugs than anyone competent.” She sighed. “Listen, regardless… things are about to start to move fast. Assuming I find what I’m looking for, then we’ll have to move quick. I hope you can keep up. I’ll be back by morning.”

    Nalen smirked. Her plan wasn’t terribly intricate. She was going to infiltrate the manor, avoid the guards, and locate some evidence to expose the noble Bel family’s illicit dealings. The first step was to get over the wall, and the second was to traverse the rooftops, cut through the public rooms (which should hopefully be empty by now) and make her way to the study on the second floor. If there was nothing, she’d exit and head further down to the basement.

    The two exchanged words and Nalen departed, never even thinking there was a chance she wouldn’t be back by sunrise.

     

     

    The guards looked tougher than they were - just as Nalen had predicted. A tall, wide green-skinned orc had been too busy filing her nails to notice the infiltrator behind her until it was too late. A quick hit to the back of the head with a sap sent her to the floor with a crash.

    Nalen swiftly moved to bind her with a fat knot of rope in her tusked jaw and matching cords around her wrists. She was dragged into the small writing room adjacent to the study on the second floor and neatly tucked underneath the writing-desk.

    Mitre and her ilk were too smart to just leave any incriminating evidence on the table, but they were also too paranoid over betrayal to throw such a thing away. Nalen popped the bench-sized strongbox with the base of her saber and ruffled through a series of papers and scrolls.

    One letter was fresh amongst the yellowed parchments, tucked in a familiar-looking piece of stationary. She took a deep breath and unfolded it. Nalen shook her head. It was as bad as she expected. Maybe worse.

     

                The prison does not have an infinite supply, but it has more than enough to meet your needs.

     

                Cell Block B is due to be renovated next week. While the inmates are removed, we can “miscount” them, siphon off a few dozen, and return the rest. Nobody ought to notice, and if they do, it will be a simple fix to rearrange the numbers.

     

                Per your other request, several women have had their sentences “extended” due to insubordination. They’ll be transferred to the isolation cells, where they will promptly disappear from the records.

     

                Your people will need to be active in this endeavor. The isolation cells all feature a secret passage down to the waterway, where your servants will be waiting. My next letter will contain a map of the canals and tunnels. You should be able to use them to move the prisoners to middlemen; attached is the contact info of one Mr. Krockett, who should be able to find buyers and move them out of the city.

     

                -FT

     

    It was much worse. To think that the Warden of the prison was selling prisoners made Nalen shake. Bad enough to allow escapes; worse to allow an illegal parole. But to sell them to an indignant fate? Nalen promised herself that she’d never let such a cruelty as trafficking to befall any prisoner under her command. Not even the Warden, who, she was sure, would soon enough be sitting in a cell and awaiting trial.

    She slipped the letter close against her skin and held the envelope in her off-hand as she opened the door to exit. Just a crack, at first, then wider.

    The main study was lined with desks, bookcases, and portraits. It also contained a half-dozen guards, each armed with a halberd and pointing it at the doorway to the writing room. At the center of it all was the stunningly-dressed Mitre D. Bel.

    She looked like she’d had a restful day since Nalen had seen her fleeing into the noble district. The long red dress was wide at the bottom and tight at the top. Her short brown hair was brushed back, and she wore the kind of cruel smile that only the nobility could afford.

    “Bless your heart - you nearly made it out!” Mitre had a distinctive accent. It bit at Nalen like a snapping dog. She felt a bead of sweat forming on her forehead.

    “I’m about to leave,” said Nalen. “If you try to stop me, you’re impeding with a top-level investigation. I’d hate to see your family name besmirched. I’d definitely hate to see what your punishment would be.”

    Mitre shook her head. “Naw, easy mistake. Dearie, you didn’t think I’d have just one guard up here, did you? Shuumi was downstairs gettin’ reinforcements when you were busy neutralizing miss Karyn Strongblood. And I do hope she’s all right. I assume you’ve got her bound and snug inside my writing room?” She walked forward, putting herself between Nalen and the closest window.

    Nalen’s hand lowered towards her saber. “She’ll be fine. I cannot ensure your safety if you impede my progress.”

    The woman in the red dress gave a hearty and haughty laugh. It sounded forced. “Oh dearie, I appreciate it, but I’m not worried.” She reached into the folds of her dress and produced a blade-and-whip; a single long rope with a knife at one end and a weight at the other. Mitre began twirling the knife above her head as she stepped forward.

    Nalen drew her saber, hopped on top of a desk, and brought it down overhand at Mitre and her weapon. It clanged against the knife; the noble opponent swinging the whip upwards to meet her blow. Nalen stumbled backwards, nearly falling from one of the many tableaus in the room.

    Mitre launched the bladed edge through the air at Nalen like a throwing knife - but with the speed of the whip’s twirling momentum. She parried it and fell to the floor, the knife-edge impaling the forehead of a painting on the wall.

    “Ugh! That was dear Uncle Gelen!” she exclaimed as she retracted the edge.

    Nalen was having trouble getting close enough to attack her. She got to her feet, crouching low and using a desk for cover. Her eyes widened and she ducked as the scion launched another knife at her.

    This one implanted itself on a painting of the Elder Bel, Mitre’s mother. Mitre shrugged. “Eh.”

    Nalen lunged, bringing her saber down on the rope before Mitre could retract it all the way. Her sharpened sword cut into, but not through it, pinning it against a desk. She’d attacked with such force that the sword was quite deeply implanted into the table!

    She struggled, trying to pry it free before Mitre could retrieve her weapon. She succeeded, holding her sword aloft just in time for the villain to throw the weighted end at the officer. It wrapped around Nalen’s shoulders and neck before the weight impacted her forehead, knocking her to the ground.

    Stars swirled before the lieutenant’s eyes. Her ears were ringing. Then, darkness engulfed her sight, and muffled grunts filled her ears.