Chương 153: Chapter 150. Interrogation

Midnight. The evening guards made their way toward the portal platform in the loose, unhurried formation that characterized the end of a shift. They'd been on duty since sunset, and while nothing particularly exciting had happened, eight hours of standing around in armor still left its mark. A few stretched their shoulders as they walked. Others unbuckled pieces of gear that had been digging into uncomfortable spots all evening. The midnight rotation was already emerging from the portal, looking fresh and alert.

The portal itself hummed with the low, steady vibration that indicated it would remain stable for another few minutes. Long enough for the guard exchange to complete. Gaston Vel, one of the evening guards, spotted a familiar face among the incoming group and raised his hand in greeting.

"Jorik! There you are. How'd your day off treat you?" Jorik Thane looked up, adjusting the strap of his equipment pack. He was average height with brown hair and the kind of unremarkable features that made him blend into crowds without effort.

"Day off? Can't complain. Slept until noon, visited the market, tried not to think about coming back here."

"Living the dream," Gaston said with a grin.

"Hey, weird question, but did you do anything unusual today? Besides the sleeping and market thing." Jorik's expression shifted slightly, becoming more guarded.

"Unusual? Not really. Why?"

"Magus Adom Sylla was asking about you earlier. Asked if you were working today, seemed to be checking on something specific about you." Gaston shrugged.

"Probably just making sure he had the schedules straight, but it was a little odd. He asked about you by name."

"He asked about me specifically?" There was something in Jorik's voice that didn't quite match casual curiosity. A tightness around the edges.

"Yeah.

'Is Jorik Thane working today?' that sort of thing. When I said you were midnight rotation, he seemed satisfied." Gaston adjusted his own pack.

"Like I said, probably just schedule confusion. You know how mages get with details sometimes." Jorik nodded, but his eyes had gone distant.

"Right. Schedule confusion."

"Everything alright?" Gaston asked, noticing the change in his colleague's demeanor.

"You look like someone just told you the mess hall ran out of decent food."

"Fine," Jorik said quickly.

"Just tired from the day off. You know how it is—sometimes doing nothing is more exhausting than working." Gaston laughed.

"Too true. Well, enjoy your shift. Try not to let the ocean breeze put you to sleep."

"Yeah. Thanks." The portal platform was clearing out as the evening guards finished their brief handoff conversations and headed toward the glowing archway. Gaston clapped Jorik on the shoulder before joining the line of guards waiting to step through the portal. The magical gateway cast shifting patterns of blue and silver light across the stone platform, and the air around it carried that peculiar taste that came with concentrated magical energy, like copper pennies and lightning storms.

Jorik watched the evening guards disappear one by one through the portal. His conversation with Gaston had left him unsettled in a way he couldn't quite shake. Why had the magus been asking about him specifically? It could be innocent—schedule checking, routine security verification, the kind of administrative tasks that mages sometimes handled personally. But it could also be something else entirely.

When the last of the evening guards had vanished and the platform was empty except for the midnight shift, Jorik took a step toward the portal himself. Maybe he was overthinking this. Maybe he should just report the conversation to his handlers and let them decide if it was significant. He took another step toward the shimmering archway. And stopped. The portal was still active, still humming with power, but something had changed. A shadow fell across the entrance that hadn't been there a moment before.

Magus Adom stood directly in front of the portal, hands clasped behind his back, looking like he'd been waiting there for quite some time. His robes hung perfectly still despite the magical wind that swirled around active portals, and his expression was calm, patient, and completely unreadable. Jorik blinked, took a half-step backward, and looked around the platform.

The other midnight guards were already moving toward their assigned positions, chatting quietly among themselves as they settled in for the night shift. None of them seemed to have noticed the magus's sudden appearance, or if they had, they didn't find it particularly unusual. When Jorik looked back at the portal, Adom was still there, still watching him with that same patient expression.

"Guards!" The voice belonged to Archmage Gaius, who had emerged from the tower entrance and was approaching the group of newly arrived guards.

"Welcome to another night shift. I trust your evening meals were satisfactory?" The midnight guards straightened slightly as the Archmage approached. Gaius had a way of commanding respect without demanding it—his presence alone was enough to make people want to stand a little taller and speak a little more clearly.

"Yes, Archmage," they replied in unison.

"Excellent. The evening shift reported no incidents of note, so I expect you'll have a peaceful night." Gaius's gaze swept across the assembled guards.

"Remember, the research currently in progress is of the utmost importance to Imperial security. Vigilance remains our watchword, even during quiet periods."

"Understood, sir," the guards responded.

"Very good. Carry on." Gaius nodded approvingly and began to move away from the group, heading back toward the tower. As he did, Adom stepped away from the portal entrance and approached the guards with an easy, casual stride. His expression had shifted into something that might have been a friendly smile.

"Jorik Thane?" Adom said, stopping a few feet away from the guard who had been speaking with Marcus. Up close, he was younger than Jorik had expected. Taller, too. And fit—fit enough that he might have been a knight.

"Yes, sir." Jorik's response was immediate and properly respectful, but there was a tension in his posture that hadn't been there during the conversation with his evening shift colleague.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Magus Adom." The smile remained in place, warm and apparently genuine.

"I've been working in the tower for several years now, but I realize I've never taken the time to speak with the guards individually. An oversight on my part."

"An honor to meet you, sir."

"The honor is mine. You and your colleagues have been keeping us safe while we focus on our research." Adom glanced around the platform, noting the positions of the other guards as they began to spread out to their assigned posts. The night air was cool and carried the familiar scent of salt from the ocean surrounding the island.

"I was wondering if you might walk with me for a moment. There are a few security matters I'd like to discuss." Jorik's eyes flicked toward the tower, then back to Adom. The request was perfectly reasonable—guards were regularly pulled aside for individual briefings, equipment checks, or clarification of procedures. It happened often enough that none of the other midnight shift guards would pay any particular attention to the interaction. But something about the timing felt off.

The specific question about his schedule earlier, followed immediately by this personal introduction and request for a private conversation. It could be coincidence, but Jorik had been trained to be suspicious of coincidences.

"Of course, sir," he said after what felt like a long pause but was probably only a second or two.

"Is there a particular concern I should be aware of?"

"Nothing urgent," Adom replied, his tone remaining conversational and unthreatening.

"Just some routine matters that are better discussed away from the main guard posts. Standard security protocols."

"Certainly, Magus. Lead the way."

"Excellent." Adom gestured toward a path that led away from the central platform, toward the more secluded area near the island's eastern shore where the sound of waves would provide natural cover for conversation.

"Shall we?" They began walking together across the stone pathways that connected the various sections of the research facility. Adom kept his pace leisurely, his hands clasped behind his back, looking for all the world like someone taking a pleasant evening stroll after a long day of scholarly work. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and seaweed, and the distant sound of waves against the rocky coastline provided a peaceful backdrop to their movement.

"How long have you been stationed here, Jorik?"

"About six weeks, sir."

"And how are you finding the work? I imagine it's quite different from other guard assignments."

"It's... quiet," Jorik said carefully, choosing his words carefully.

"Which is good for maintaining focus on security protocols."

"Indeed. Quiet is exactly what we need for this type of research." Adom glanced sideways at his companion, studying his profile in the dim light cast by the magical illumination scattered throughout the facility.

"Tell me, what do you think of the tower itself? Impressive architecture, isn't it?" Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

"Very impressive, sir."

"Have you ever been inside?" The question was casual, almost offhand, but Jorik's step faltered slightly before he caught himself.

"Inside? No, sir. That's not part of our standard patrol route."

"Of course not. Security protocols exist for good reasons. Very important to maintain proper boundaries between research areas and security zones." Adom nodded thoughtfully.

"I was just curious about your perspective. Sometimes guards notice things that researchers miss—unusual sounds, changes in the building's magical resonance, variations in normal patterns. An outside observer's viewpoint can be quite valuable."

"I haven't noticed anything unusual, sir."

"Good, good. That's exactly what we like to hear." They continued walking, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone pathways. The island wasn't particularly large, but it had been designed with enough twisting paths and elevated platforms to give the illusion of greater size and complexity.

Garden areas had been carefully cultivated between the more utilitarian structures, creating pockets of green that softened the otherwise martial appearance of the research facility and provided pleasant spaces for the staff to take breaks from their intensive work.

"Beautiful night," Adom observed, looking up at the star-filled sky that stretched endlessly above them.

"Clear air, gentle breeze, excellent visibility. Nights like this make me grateful for outdoor assignments rather than being stuck in some underground laboratory."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have family back in the capital, Jorik?" The question seemed to come from nowhere, and Jorik found himself caught off-guard by the sudden shift in topic.

"Family?"

"Brothers, sisters, parents. People who worry about you when you're assigned to remote locations like this." Adom's tone remained conversational, but there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before, a sharpness that suggested this wasn't idle small talk.

"It can be difficult, being separated from the people who matter to you." Jorik was quiet for a long moment, his mind racing as he tried to figure out how to respond safely. When he spoke, his voice was softer than before.

"Yes, sir. It can be."

"I imagine it would be especially difficult if you weren't sure when you'd see them again. Or if you were worried about their safety."

"Sir?"

"Just thinking aloud." Adom's smile returned. The warmth had been replaced by something cooler, more calculating.

"Sometimes circumstances arise that make it impossible to follow normal procedures. Family emergencies, unexpected obligations, situations where people feel compelled to take... creative approaches to solving their problems." They had reached a section of the path that overlooked the eastern shore. The ocean stretched out before them, dark and vast under the starlight, its surface broken by the occasional whitecap that caught the moon's reflection.

The sound of waves was louder here, providing natural acoustic cover for any conversation they might have. Adom stopped walking and turned to face Jorik directly.

"Now then," he said, his smile fading completely as he met the guard's eyes with an unwavering stare.

"Why don't you tell me about your brother?"

Jorik took a step backward. It wasn't a big movement, just a shift of weight that carried him maybe six inches further away, but Adom caught it immediately. The guard's face went through a series of micro-expressions. His eyebrows pulled together first, confusion flickering across his features. Then his eyes focused more sharply on Adom's face, and the confusion transformed into something harder to read. The ocean breeze picked up slightly, carrying the salt smell stronger between them.

Jorik's hand moved unconsciously toward his sword hilt, then stopped halfway there. His breathing had changed too, becoming more controlled, more deliberate. Adom watched all of this like someone analyzing a puzzle. Fear was starting to creep into Jorik's expression now, tightening the corners of his eyes and making his jaw clench.

"I've got Keth-sil," Adom said. Jorik's eyes went wide. The color drained out of his face so fast that Adom thought for a second the man might actually faint. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again without making any sound. Hmm. That probably hadn't been the best way to phrase it.

"He's safe," Adom said quickly, raising one hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture.

"Completely safe. We mean no harm to him or to any of your siblings. I want to be very clear about that." Jorik was breathing hard now, his chest rising and falling like he'd just run up a flight of stairs. His hands had curled into fists at his sides, and Adom could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Look," Adom continued, keeping his voice level and reasonable, "I'd like to cut to the chase here. We both know what happened. We both know why we're having this conversation right now instead of you being on your normal patrol route. So let's skip the part where you pretend you don't know what I'm talking about." He paused, giving Jorik a moment to process that.

"Tell me where you hid the artifacts and research materials. And tell me if you gave the papers to anyone." Jorik stared at him for what felt like a very long time. T Finally, his shoulders sagged slightly.

"I didn't give the papers to anyone. I swear I didn't. I can give them back. All of them." Relief washed through Adom. He hadn't realized how tense he'd been until that tension started to drain away. If the research had already changed hands, if it was floating around in intelligence networks or being copied by people who understood what they were looking at, the consequences would have been catastrophic.

"Good," he said, and meant it.

"That's very good." Jorik seemed to be calming down a little now that it was clear Adom wasn't going to immediately arrest him or worse. His breathing was returning to normal, and some of the rigid fear was leaving his posture.

"Then where are the artifacts?" Jorik hesitated. He looked out at the ocean, then back at Adom, then down at his feet. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and uncertain.

"I gave them to an auction."

"... To a what now?"

"An auction." Jorik's words came faster now, like he wanted to get the explanation out before he lost his nerve.

"I was hoping to get a good price for them. Get enough money to hire someone powerful enough to free our brother. Or buy something that would give us leverage against the people holding him." Adom felt his stomach drop. An auction meant multiple buyers, multiple people who might walk away with pieces of his research tonight. It meant artifacts scattered to the winds before he even knew they were gone.

"Is it a black market auction?"

"Yes." Jorik looked miserable.

"We tried the Aurium auction house first. They're legitimate, they pay well, but they refused to take anything without proper documentation. Provenance records, ownership certificates, all that. They wouldn't even look at the artifacts without paperwork proving where we got them." Of course they wouldn't. The Aurium house dealt in expensive magical items for wealthy collectors. They had a reputation to maintain.

"So I had no choice," Jorik continued.

"The black market dealers don't ask questions as long as the items are genuine."

"When is the auction?" Jorik's face went pale again.

"Tonight. Right now. They were supposed to sell the artifacts and I'd go collect the money later tomorrow. That was the arrangement." Panic shot through Adom like lightning. Right now. The artifacts were being sold right now.

"Lead the way."

The black market auction system in Arkhos had evolved into something surprisingly sophisticated over the years. It wasn't the back-alley, whispered-deal operation that most people imagined when they heard "black market." Instead, it functioned more like a parallel economy with its own rules, standards, and surprisingly reliable infrastructure.

The basic concept was simple: sellers brought items they couldn't or wouldn't sell through official channels, buyers came looking for things they couldn't or wouldn't buy through official channels, and auctioneers facilitated the exchange for a percentage of the final price. What made it work was that everyone involved had a vested interest in maintaining the system's integrity. Sellers needed to trust that they'd actually get paid. Buyers needed to trust that the items were genuine.

Auctioneers needed both groups to keep coming back. Even legitimate guilds participated, though they'd never admit it publicly. Sometimes a guild would acquire items through perfectly legal means but couldn't sell them officially due to bureaucratic complications, political sensitivities, or simple timing issues. Sometimes they needed to acquire items that were technically available through legal channels but would take months of paperwork and approvals to obtain. The black market solved both problems efficiently.

The authorities tolerated it because it served several useful functions. It kept genuinely dangerous illegal trade contained within a system they could monitor and occasionally raid when necessary. It provided a release valve for the inevitable friction created by overly complex regulations. And perhaps most importantly, it generated a surprising amount of tax revenue through creative accounting methods that everyone pretended not to understand. Getting into a black market auction required connections.

You couldn't just show up and expect to be allowed inside. You needed someone already established in the network to vouch for you, preferably someone with enough influence to guarantee your legitimacy as either a serious buyer or a reliable seller. Fortunately for Adom, he owned one of the most influential merchant guilds in the city.

Wangara had risen to become the fourth-ranked guild in the Merchant Guild Association through a combination of aggressive expansion, strategic partnerships, and Adom's tendency to invest in unconventional opportunities that other guild masters considered too risky. Being a regressor had to come with certain perks, after all. One of them was knowing where to invest early. That ranking came with certain privileges, including the standing to ask for a conversation with people who normally didn't take meetings.

Because that was the other thing about the black market: for all its lawlessness, it ran on reputation, and a reputation could be leaned on. The artifacts were stolen — Adom's stolen property, genuine and verifiably his — and any auction house that knowingly sold goods a top-five guild had publicly claimed would find its standing with that guild, and everyone who traded alongside it, evaporating overnight. The system worked because everyone trusted everyone to honor a clean claim.

A clean claim from Wangara was not something its operators would want to be seen ignoring. So Adom decided to come to take it back the civilized way: by sitting down with whoever ran the place and explaining, plainly, that several of tonight's lots belonged to him and needed to come off the block before they sold. Cass had received his message through the guild's emergency network and arranged the meeting within the hour.

She'd handled the parts Adom had no patience for: which intermediary to approach, what the request was worth, the etiquette of asking a black-market auctioneer to give back money he'd been expecting to make. Smoothing it over was, as she'd pointed out, what he paid her for. The venue was a converted warehouse in the merchant district, unremarkable from the outside. During the day it genuinely functioned as one, storing legitimate goods for legitimate businesses. After midnight it became something else.

Adom and Jorik arrived a little before the meeting was set. Adom had pulled his hood up out of habit and discretion — a Magus turning up at an event like this was a complication nobody needed, least of all him, given everything currently balanced between the Magisterium and the palace — but he wasn't hiding, exactly. He just had no interest in being recognized tonight.

The changeling beside him had been quiet the whole way from the island, still working through the fact that his careful plan had come apart this completely. Cass was waiting at the side entrance, leaning against the wall. Her cloak was better cut than theirs, expensive in a way designed not to look it.

"You're cutting it close," she said as he approached.

"Bidding started about twenty minutes ago. I've had them hold the lots that match your descriptions, told them the owner was on his way to discuss it. They weren't thrilled, but they held."

"Thank you, Cass. Really. On short notice, too."

"That's what you pay me for." She glanced at Jorik with mild curiosity and asked nothing. She'd learned early in her tenure as Wangara's head that Adom's business tended to involve complications better left unexplored.

"The man you want is called Verrin. He runs this house. He's reasonable, for what he is, and he'd rather give the items back and keep Wangara happy than sell them and make an enemy he can't afford. But he'll want to hear it from you, and he'll want it to feel like a courtesy he's doing, not a retreat. So let him have that."

"I can do gracious."

"I know. It's the patient part I worry about." She pushed off the wall.

"Come on. He's waiting upstairs, away from the floor. You won't even have to look at the auction."