Tales from the Triverse

Expeditions & interrogations: part 9

Bruglia.
3201. Verdant.

The route from the prison to the portal station would be long, winding and full of awkward choke points. Princess Daryla had organised an escort and had even shown up herself. Clarke was impressed: he hadn't been expecting the support. Working in the SDC was more an exercise in barely managed frustration, understaffed, under-resourced and generally under-siege from every bureaucrat and cost-cutter in the Met.

He stood outside the prison, its towering red and black walls high above. The skies were a vibrant blue, dotted intermittently on the horizon by fluffy clouds. It was hot, even in the shade, and the ground was caked with a layer of compacted, coppery dust. Clarke could feel the granules on his skin, in his shoes, under his nails.

"It is a shame you'll be leaving so soon," Daryla said, as they waited for Styles to emerge from the cell block with the prisoner. "You are more than welcome to stay for as long as you like."

Clarke smiled, then cleared his throat. "Thanks. I'm not one for being away from home for long. And one of us needs to make sure Mr Goldspeth gets where he's going in one piece." He looked back towards the doorway. "Besides, this is Styles' thing. You know she studies Palinor? Always has? Being here is a big moment for her."

"She mostly hides it well."

"Well, she's a professional. She'll wrap up a few other things while she's here, stay for a few more days. Your assistance and hospitality is appreciated, princess." Clarke meant it, which surprised him. The word 'princess' still stuck in his mouth, like a piece of food wedged between teeth and just out of reach of his tongue. It felt awkward and silly, as if it belonged in a book, rather than in a conversation with a real person. Then again, it was Palinor. The place made even the strangest corners of London seem positively mundane.

"My pleasure," Daryla said. "Now, for this transfer. Are you expecting difficulties?"

"If it were just me, I'd say no. But Goldspeth is convinced he's being targeted, and we've not been able to track down the rest of his team yet. Seems like none of them returned home after the expedition., best we can tell. So maybe he's full of shit - pardon me - but maybe, just maybe, something is going on."

"Better safe than dead."

"Yeah, something like that."

The gates to the prison scraped open. "We'll take the fastest route we can, though not the shortest. There are some streets best avoided, under the circumstances."

Clarke nodded. "There's no need for you to accompany us."

"Why ever not?" She glowered at him. "Did you already forget that I can handle myself?"

"It's more that I can't imagine a politician from Earth wanting to be seen escorting a prisoner exchange."

"I'm not a politician, detective," she said, "I'm a princess. There is a difference." Then, quieter: "Although perhaps not as much as one would like."

Styles emerged with Goldspeth in tow, arms bound at the wrist. Two prison guards saw them clear of the gates, then withdrew and clanged them shut again. She smiled at them. "All good?"

"Ready to go," Clarke said. He turned to Goldspeth. "You up for this?"

"Detective Clarke, I have never been more 'up' for something. Please do get me out of this cursed realm with maximum haste."

With a sigh, Clarke turned back to Daryla and shrugged apologetically. "We'll follow your lead."

Putting two fingers to her mouth, Daryla uttered a piercing and unexpected whistle, causing Clarke to wince involuntarily. Having acquired their attention, she gave orders to the accompanying guards, of which there were four, and they began the long walk to the portal.