#1 (10)

Inquisitor

​The flare of energy died down a bit, but with a bit more heft and force than usual. The Bookkeeper sat absentmindedly, scrolling through pages listing his experiments. With his other hand, he picked up a cigar from a pouch on his belt, pushed it through a breathing slit in his metallic, Owl-like mask, and took out a small, circular shell. He pressed on it with his fingers, and as a defense mechanism the creature inside exuded fire through the holes. He brought it to his cigar—

​“Stop that.” The world king stepped in, posture tense and brow furrowed. “I’ve made the rules clear, Dahl. No smoking inside buildings.”

​Dahl stopped himself, pausing for a few seconds as he breathed slowly through his mask. Then he released the pressure on it, and put it away. “Yes, your majesty.”

​In the background, Dahl noticed the rest of his family—The Queen, the prince, and the daughter—moving behind him, heading in various directions.

​“You usually do this sort of rituals by yourself, my liege. Why the entire royal family this time?” Dahl cocked his head.

​The King’s temperament relaxed slightly now that the cigar was stored away. “One day my children will preform similar rituals throughout their lives. It’s high-time they learned.”

​“Hmm.” Dahl gathered his composure, straightening his back and making himself presentable to the king. “I suppose they will need it for other purposes, seeing how one of the servants can do it for them.”

​“They’ll learn to do it themselves, every year from now on. If a ruler doesn’t take personal attention in their matters, they’ll find themselves slaughtered with their eyes closed.”

​Dahl shifted in that moment, and slowly brought himself up to stand at the King’s level.

​“Do you have an order for me, your majesty?”

​The clouds around the king’s neck grew stormy, the air carrying a bit more moisture in the area. “My daughter wishes for one of the slaves to be her bodyguard, Dahl. One that goes by the name ‘Gale,’ apparently works in the western garden.” He shifted his posture to face Dahl. “I’m assuming that can be done?”

​“Yes, your majesty.” Dahl walked over at the kings’ side and followed him down the hall. “They will obey all orders. They only need to be given a new one, but from you specifically. Your daughter cannot control the positions of slaves because—”

​“Another precaution, I’m aware.” The king said gruffly. He moved to his balcony, staring down at the lavender-filled eastern garden, judging it as a single figure moved around quickly to pat out flames growing on a section of the garden. “I must do this myself?”

​“Your majesty, only the king and queen can command slaves to that specificity. We are prohibited from changing it ourselves as per your orders.” There was a touch of annoyance in Dahl’s voice at the end. The king looked at him sharply and Dahl closed his eyes and bowed, remembering his place.

​“Get to work on grabbing me a list of solutions to command slaves more efficiently, Dahl. I have better things to do.”

​“Of course, sir.” Dahl replied, grapping a small light cover book from his cloth jacket and using an ink and quill to mark down a brief note.

​The then looked up at the king, hesitating, then stepped forward.

​“Your majesty, the slave Gale is a special case.”

​The king didn’t even bother dignifying him with an acknowledging look. “Oh?”

​“Yes.” His eyes stayed locked on the king despite his wish to monitor his subject. ‘You must always look at the king when you are speaking to him at all times, unless he permits you or it prevents you from completing one of your federal duties.’  He recalled from the letter he received when he was first formally given an audience with the royals.

​“The slave Gale has been attempting to work outside of his base duty. He has never been able to directly disobey one of the orders that my science has implanted on to him, but he has been working to push the boundaries. He has chosen to color the western garden lavender as a way to bring peace to the other slaves, and created the field of dandelions—”

​“My daughter has stated that the dandelions were her order.” The king said dismissively.

​ “Sir—”

​NOW the king acknowledged him. Coldly.

“Your majesty, I have been monitoring the subject for a while. He had begun construction on it before meeting the princess.” Dahl said. “The princess permitting him to speak to her gave him a new range of autonomy, your highness. I’m worried that—”

“You said that it was impossible for the slaves to disobey orders.” He king said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “We took precautions on this.”

“I h-have, your majesty.” Dahl took a step back as a reflexively, the monotonous work waiting for him becoming an escape in his minds’ eye. “However, the gardeners are a new experiment. It has not had a complete case study. And switching the roles of a slave leads to further complications.”

“The point is?” The king said bitterly. The Bookkeeper would have to make this quick for his own sake.

“This slave must be given a new set of orders from you directly, and this must be carefully monitored to prevent a possibility of a potential hazard. It’s to protect your daughters’life, your majesty.”

The king seemed to calm at the end. “Granted. You may monitor the slave Gale.”

Dahl froze. It needs to be done. He thought, bracing himself. “Sir, it is my duty to make sure that the royal family is completely safe. I have concerns that your daughter’s interaction with him could lead to garnering dangerous ideas—”

The kings’ brow furrowed, gritting his teeth. The message was clear. ‘Careful, Bookkeeper.’

“—from the slave. As such I would like to request permission to monitor your daughter.” The words felt foreign as he left his tongue. At least, Dahl wished they were. If it was, he wouldn’t be the one who would have to face the King’s wrath.

“Mind your place, Bookkeeper.” The king sneered, moving his gaze back to the land. “My daughter is my responsibility and mine alone.”

Dahl stepped forward. “But sir—”

“Mind. Your. Place.” The king spat. “The royals outrank you. We are permitted to view our own information how we see fit, experience our lives without any higher authority deciding what is fair or not. Controlling us is outside your jurisdiction.”

Dahl’s blood ran cold. “Sir, that’s not what I—”

“Your majesty.”  The king’s postured seized up, tense. “Now, I believe since it’s your solemn duty to protect our family, I suggest that you go back to your real work.”

Dahl’s voice grew quiet. “Yes, your majesty.”

The king smiled. “You are dismissed.”

…

Dahl stepped outside in the open air. The scent of dead flowers mixed with burnt ash he absorbed through his mask, and he salivated for what he needed. He thought back to what the king said. How the king had talked down to him. HIM! The same person who had toiled for him for hours. Who made sure that the entire estate ran smoothly.

He couldn’t even dignify me by looking me in the eyes.

Dahl’s hand curled up into a fist, held tightly. He thought about the king—His power, how he could order his death without a thought. He trembled then, but not from his anger.

He reached into his pouch, pulled out his cigar, and lit it with the shell. He took a slow breath, eyes tracing the land once again. He felt a surge of dopamine. He exhaled, coughing again.

His eyes found the slave Gale. Soon enough, the princess flew down to him with her hip wings, and they begun speaking to each other. Dahl’s head hurt, and his throat grew raspy as he watched. Dahl studied them—Examined the mannerisms between them, their body posture. But he found his eyes flicking back to the princess.

He shut his eyes tightly. His head felt a surge of pain and slowness. Grabbing his cigar, he inhaled the smoke, the hit of nicotine flooding his brain and giving him temporary relief once again.

He could not return to his work. Instead, he ended up walking down the grounds, surrounded by his slaves. He walked with confidence, but his mind was racked with worry, the kings grimace flashing in his mind.

He didn’t stop smoking that night until his body gave way and eventually he fell asleep.

…

Gales hands trembled as he pushed the lavender aside. At least, what was once lavender. The dandelions had spread the fire throughout his garden. He had tried his best to stop the flames, but only a few sections of the garden remained.

Most of it was ash.

He fell down to his knees, grabbing one of the flowers. He traced his fingers along the stem, ash spreading on to his fingers. He worked his way up the petals, only to discover that they’ve all been burnt. All that’s left was the center, the yellow barely peeking through the layer of soot.

He stood there for a few minutes, looking out the field.

WOOSH! Something landed on a nearby statue. The flap of wings shifted.

“Gale!” Puffrel exclaimed excitedly, her feet sat cross-legged, raising her body straight. “I spoke to my father! He approved it! You will be my bodyguard!”

Silence. Gales gaze still on the garden.

“Gale?” She asked, a touch of annoyance coloring her voice.

“That’s great, Puff.” He muttered, locked in position.

She scratched her head, her leaf-like hear shifting. “My father also let me and my brother to join the ritual for the harvest. He said we had done well! He said he would teach us even more magic in the future!”

“That’s great, Puff.” He said automatically.

She was irritated now. She was entitled to his attention. She huffed. “I order you to turn around and face me.”

His legs moved automatically, stiffly. The legs moved in perfect posture, but his upper body appeared to slouch. His head contorted oddly as it moved up to face Puffrel.

A single slowly dripped down his cheek.

She blinked. “Gale…”

She shifted in her position, fiddling with her fingers. She almost reached out to him, but hesitated. She opened her mouth to speak but found no words. Her brain searched for answers erratically, the only results being a wave of confusion.

Gale looked at her, tired. “May I return to sleep?”

She sighed, averting her eyes. “You may. Release.”

Control returned to Gale’s body. Slowly, he stepped forth, trudging to the shed. When he arrived, he found his brothers all bunched together, barely having an inch of space to call their own. He found an area where he could squeeze into, and drifted into sleep.

…

​Puffrel glided down onto the shed. She rested her face in her hands, looking through a slight hole in the ceiling. She watched the slaves, bunched together, physically incapable to snore as per her family’s orders. Several of them were bruised, hands calloused from work, a few of them carrying bloodstains on their skin and tunics having cleansed wolves bordering the estate. Those slaves seemed to toss and turn more than the other, shaking every now and then. But not from the cold.

​She stared down softly. They didn’t have beds, or books, or blankets. The windows lacked any glass, the cold air flowing in and wind pushing against them. Their only heat at all was their proximity to each other, which made them sweat in places without really relieving the body from the cold.

​Her eyes traced around the room, eventually finding Gale. His mouth seemed bolted shut, breathing through his nostrils as he faced the wall, his body curled up.

​“It’s a necessary product of peace.” She whispered, the words failing to provide comfort. It had been generations since the war, the slaves carrying no memory of it. But still, it was necessary.

​She looked up at the stars, which was virtually the only good part about having to sleep out here. It was a full moon tonight.

​“I’m sorry, Gale.” She said, her mind noticing constellations absentmindedly. “My father had done this for years without disturbing the gardens… it must’ve been my fault. Or Maratoss’s…”

​She looked down at Gale. Maybe there’s something I can do…

​With a gust she landed on the ground, walking through the slim archway into the shed. Eventually, she found Gale, and taking care to not dirty her sandals amongst all the dust and grime, she found him. And sat down.

​“Maybe I was too excited and that carried over into the ritual…” She said, quietly. She looked down at him, the line of clean skin that the tear must’ve made obvious to her.

​“Regardless, it doesn’t matter.” She said softly. “Your garden was still destroyed…” She looked down, sad as well.

​She extended out her hand, palm facing the ceiling and focused. A single flower began to grow out, from the stem to the bud then the petals. It was grown now, missing only it’s coloration.

​She looked down at him, smiling just a bit. She focused again.

​The petals turned lavender.

​“I’m sorry Gale.” She said, tucking it behind his ear. She retracted her hands, her face falling onto her arms, resting on her knees.

​“I should’ve…” She stopped. What’s done is done. “I’ll try to be more careful in the future.”

​She looked down at Gale. He was still her slave, but she wasn’t looking down at him this time.

​“Goodnight.” She said, dusting herself off and beginning to walk out the exit.

​Gale felt his hand drift to his ear as he slept. He felt something, small and cylindrical. His subconsciousness recognized it as stem.

​He almost smiled, his body releasing tension and sleeping a bit more soundly.

DISCLAIMER:

​This series is a continuation of Airlock Bound by Studio High Sea as the series is in hiatus. If you wish to read the original novel, a link is given to it in the description with the first 9 chapters. You may read it at your discretion. Regardless, I—the writer—am trying to write this as its own thing while presenting the previous chapters as backstory, so it isn’t required to read the original.

The original comic was posted under Public Domain, and this is also public domain as well.

​The creator had specified that the series itself was made to prove the possibility of a world without copyright. In honor of that, this series is posted under public domain as well. In both this and the original webcomic/novel, you are not only permitted but encouraged to repost or alter this series. In fact, you can copy all the text and remove the credits—I dare you.

​Thank you for reading.

-AnonymousWriterAB