Chapter 3: Muck to the Shins

Renfield had opened the door in a fugue state. His thoughts remained disjointed and muddy as he shuffled to the voice. He unlatched the bolt with a bloody glove, and stared blankly at the pale face that greeted him with a scowl. The man spoke, but the words seemed distant, or like they were spoken in a foreign tongue. After a moment, Renfield had cleared the moss from his brain and managed to produce a sound resembling language.

“Huh?”

The man shook his head and pushed into the room, carefully dipping his shoulder past the cripple to not knock him off balance.

Aesop stood stunned for a moment. His face betrayed his true feelings, but Aesop allowed it. Bishop would be equally staggered by the horrors that the door had hidden from discovery.

An opened corpse lay on the floor, a glistening pool of blood spread beneath it's throat. It was Abe's corpse, and Abe's blood. Some of it was streaked with footprints. Aesop looked back at the man standing at the doorway, his boots were stained with gore. His right glove appeared as though it had been ceremoniously dipped in a sacrificial manner in the red. His left remained a bleached white. But all the bleach couldn’t help but betray a disturbance in hue of the material, evidence of struggle washed away.

Aesop regained a minutia of composure and spoke again, this time his words were heard. He ignored other two people in the room, and in doing so he did his best attempt at pushing aside his failure for a moment. It remained, stubbornly persistent, like a needle in his throat.

“Why is this man dead?”

Renfield paused. The man’s eyes burned with a fury, but there was something else there. Fury was a shallow pond; the look was deep and wide.

“Who are you again?”

Bishop gave an exaggerated eyeroll.

“ I’m on business from the mayor. Aide Bishop Prescott, and I’d like some answers.”

From Aesop’s left he heard a low sigh, Finn.

“He killed him. Please, help us.”

The crumbled foundation of hope could be felt in those words. It drove the needle further into Aesop’s throat. Bishop vaguely acknowledged the voice visibly, darting a glance in her direction before responding dismissively.

“I can see that. But ‘why’ was my question. “

Renfield shrugged, defeated and helpless.

“He wasn’t going to talk. I thought at least this way maybe one of the others would have something to say.”

“And? Have they?”

It was Renfield’s turn to be angry.

“I wouldn’t know. Before I could get any further, I was interrupted. Twice tonight I’ve been abated in my efforts. I put the fault at chance and miscommunication that this man is dead.”

Bishop paced around the room and looked at the second prisoner. Stauch looked like he was puzzling over his next move; he was looking Bishop stern to bow and trying to decide if his rage should be spread towards the new figure. Aesop suspected he did, in fact, deserve the scorn. But as of now Aesop represented the best chance he had at finishing the night by looking up at the stars, rather than here bleeding on the concrete.

Aesop felt a trickle in his mind, and knew that the tank would explode soon. The halls would flood and they would have the added confusion on their side.

“What have you learned then?”

Renfield licked his lips under the cowl. This wasn’t right, but simultaneously he couldn’t help but feel relieved. Bishop Prescott was not who he said he was. He looked the part, and acted the part, even said all the right things. His threading was impeccable, he moved and edified like a man with false authority-which was also right. Still, the lie sat in the room. He could use it to his advantage.

“I was told to report it to the mayor only, but I suppose he sent you for a reason.”

“Yes, he didn’t want the capture and interrogation to go unsupervised. I can see why. Your order has proved less than effective as of late.”

Renfield couldn’t agree more. Incompetence was rampant in the ranks- however, he made a face of derision. His voice was flecked with indignation.

“You would do best to respect the High Guardians of Ripple, they keep the city safe for people like you.”

Bishop arched an eyebrow at this.

“I have a feeling that has more to do with the stone walls and those who built them, than the riff raff you keep for company. But I digress; you have not answered my question. I grow weary of this.”

Renfield was contemplating giving misinformation, any knowledge he had could be quite valuable for his future. And since this man wasn’t with the mayor, he wasn’t sure what channels his voice would carry through, or where they would lead. He opened his mouth to speak.

But was distracted into silence. He felt something wet against his boot and looked down to see water seeping through the doorway. Slowly, it spread through the room. It swirled with Abe’s blood as it progressed into the center. Finn and Stauch sat in their chairs weerily confused.

Renfield took a step out of the room and into the hallway. Down the cooridor he could see a swell of water, ankle deep, making its way towards him.

Bishop had his hand on his hilt, and took a step forward. Renfield noticed the movement and turned to keep the corner of his eye on the character. He was still a few strides away, out of reach and in the room still. Renfield continued peering down the cooridor, moving away slightly. His attention remained truly transfixed on Bishop.

From below was a great popping sound. Faint from here, it had to have been a loud bang on the other side of the stone floor.

“Curious.”

Bishop kicked at the water, and laughed a condescending laugh.

“What’s this then? More incompetence, no doubt.”

Renfield performed in turn, this time more anger mixed with confusion.

“No. Well, maybe. I’m not sure but it does no good to cast dispersions. I’ll go see, don’t move. Lock the door.”

Renfield suspected the figure in black knew exactly what the cause of this third interruption was, but played it off by being offended. He hoped it was purchased as such, or at the very least that it could be a lie that served both of them equally if discovered. The moment hung like a traitor from the rafters.

Aesop’s finger twitched on Cadenza’s hilt. He wanted so badly to run the man through right here, but didn’t have time to deal with the consequences. Moving with prisoners would be easier without blood on his hands, it made the authority of him transporting the prisoners more credible.

He nodded instead, and Renfield began to hobble away.

“Wait, aren’t you forgetting something?”

Aesop held out the cane to the Torturer. He smiled an empty smile. It was returned.

“Thank you, Bishop.”

“Of course, Specialist. Do return quickly.”

“I shall.”

He grabbed the cane, and both men accepted the truth- that the other was spinning lies. And that the truth, it mattered none for now.