"Dougal…" said Killeen.
"By 'one of us,' you mean me or the sylvari, don't you?" spat Clagg.
"If you want, I will go first," said Dougal, looking down on the asura, his own anger rising. They had been through too much to end it with a stupid argument.
"Dougal…" repeated Killeen.
"So you can fast-talk your way past your human friends and leave us here to be caught?" snarled Clagg.
"We can't go out together!" said Dougal hotly. "They will get all of us!"
"Dougal Keane!" said Killeen firmly.
"What?" snapped Dougal, turning toward her again. This time she didn't shrink back.
"We have company," said Killeen.
Dougal turned back and looked down the drawn blade of a Seraph lieutenant. Two other Seraph stood behind her, their blades drawn as well.
"Dougal Keane-I believe she called you that," said the lieutenant. "You and your friends are under arrest, Dougal Keane. Come along now."
The manacles, Dougal felt, were an unnecessary insult. His cell was carved out of living rock, without mortar or purchase. The bars that bisected the room were old and stout and as thick as his thumb. The only light was from a thin chimney far overhead, also barred. The door to his partitioned cell was secured by a heavy padlock, which Dougal could pick with the proper tools, but those tools were now denied him. Beyond the barred partition was a small hall leading to an ironbound door to the rest of the jail. If Dougal had a norn, he could get past that as well, but that luxury was also denied him.
Given the security, the heavy iron leggings and wrist cuffs-all held together by a single loop of chain and set into a ring in the center of the room-were simply overkill.
It had been four days since his arrest, and except for a bored, grunting servant who brought porridge in the morning and stew in the evening, he had not had any visitors. That changed on the afternoon of the fourth day.
The outer door opened and a heavyset, mustached Seraph guard entered, followed by a young clerk carrying a writing desk. The heavyset guard stared at Dougal through the bars while the clerk positioned the small desk, then left the room. The clerk returned with a stool, set it before the writing desk, uncorked a small vial of ink, set it in the appropriate hole in the desk, opened the desk, selected a quill, sharpened it, removed a small sheaf of paper, peeled off the topmost sheet, sat down on the stool, dipped the quill in the vial, and waited for the guard to speak.
"Dougal Keane-" began the officer.
"Present," said Dougal, interrupting him.
The officer scowled, then started again. "Dougal Keane, you are accused of grave-robbing in the crypts beneath Divinity's Reach. How do you plead?"
"Did you find any grave goods on myself or my companions?" asked Dougal.
"No," said the officer, who seemed unbothered by the admission.
"And did you find much in the way of weapons on the three of us?"
"No," repeated the officer.
"Then," said Dougal, "If we are tomb robbers, we are extremely ineffective ones."
"Your effectiveness is not the issue," said the officer. "Your intent is."
"Then I will go with 'Innocent' as a response," said Dougal to the clerk, who dutifully noted it.
"You were found at the Skull Gate, injured and coated with bone dust. You lack the proper exploration permissions. Your answers have been less than satisfactory." Here the guard smiled. "And one of your compatriots has already confessed that you were seeking the Tomb of Blimm and the Golem's Eye."
Clagg, thought Dougal, and all the air went out of him for the moment. "So, why are we having this discussion?" he said.
"Formality," said the officer, his teeth showing white beneath his mustache. He walked over to the writing desk and motioned to the clerk, who opened it and produced another sheaf of paper. The Seraph guard read the form.
"Dougal Keane," he said.
"Still present," said Dougal, his heart sinking.
"Born in Divinity's Reach, but emigrated to Ebonhawke as a child. Served in the Ebon Vanguard. You are listed as missing, presumed dead. Deserter?" His teeth flashed.
"We were caught behind charr lines on an extended patrol," said Dougal, choosing his words carefully.
"You disappeared five years ago," said the officer.
"It was an extremely extended patrol," said Dougal, hoping he sounded more authoritative than he felt. He felt compelled to add, "There were a lot of charr between us and Ebonhawke at the time."
"You never went back," said the officer, smacking his lips in disdain. Then he added, "The queen strongly supports Ebonhawke. We could send you back to rejoin your unit."
"I'm sure those who are still alive would welcome me back," bluffed Dougal.
The officer shrugged and returned to his list. "Wanted in regards to numerous petty crimes in Lion's Arch."
"Does the queen strongly support Lion's Arch as well?" said Dougal, raising his eyebrows in mock disbelief.
"A crime is a crime," said the officer. "Even in Lion's Arch."
"Lion's Arch was founded by pirates, corsairs, and wreckers," said Dougal, and for the first time the Seraph nodded in agreement. Even the clerk smiled.
The officer returned to his paper. "You worked for the Durmand Priory, apparently."
"Briefly. We parted company after a disagreement about their book-lending policy," said Dougal.
"I was unaware that the Durmand Priory lent out its precious books," said the Seraph.
"My point exactly," said Dougal. This time the clerk smiled and nodded, but the Seraph only shrugged.
"Your name turned up in an incident involving the sunken Temple of the Ages."
"Never been there," Dougal lied.
"Several landlords are looking for you about rent owed," continued the Seraph officer.
"A series of simple misunderstandings," said Dougal.
"You've been to Ascalon City," said the officer. "And came out alive."
The accusation was sudden and unexpected, and left him breathless. It hung in the air a moment, and even the clerk looked up. Dougal just nodded.
"Yes," he said at last. "That part is true."
The Seraph shook his head. "With all your… apparent abilities, I am surprised you have not made more of yourself."
Dougal struggled for a moment, then said, "Such is the nature of our lives in these dragon-haunted times. Perhaps I have a problem with my work ethic."
"Very well," said the heavyset man. "I think we can provide you with a little work ethic. You'll be joining a work crew on Lake Doric."
"Don't I get a trial?" asked Dougal.
"You get a hearing," said the officer. "This was it. In the name of Queen Jennah, the city of Divinity's Reach, the nation of Kryta, you are found guilty. Tomorrow morning you'll be escorted to a work gang north of the city."
Dougal started to protest, when the door opened and another Seraph entered the room.
If his original interrogator was ill-made to wear the uniform, this one seemed to have been born in the armor. Tall, with dark brown hair parted in the center, the long locks framing a stern face with noble, chiseled features.
Dougal inhaled sharply: this was Logan Thackeray, captain of the Seraph in Divinity's Reach, champion of Her Majesty Queen Jennah, protector of Kryta. The man had been legendary even before he had joined the Seraph: he was a member of one of the most famous guilds in recent history, Destiny's Edge. Although that guild was no more, Logan Thackeray's legend had continued to grow.
The interrogating officer immediately stiffened and saluted, while the clerk laid down his pen and bowed in respect. Even Dougal felt his spine stiffen and stood up straight in the captain's presence.
"Lieutenant Groban," said Logan sharply.
"Sir," said Groban, dropping his salute with a snap. "I was about to assign the prisoner to a work gang."
"Dougal Keane?" said Logan.
"Yes, sir!" said Groban, pleased that the captain was following his caseload. For his part, Dougal felt a little sick: when someone in power knew your name, it never boded well.