Gaslight Trials | The Wattys2023 Shortlister ✔️

14 | A Master of the Game

The iron bars in the Brig keep one's soul under the lock and key. The tiny windowless rooms, the lack of actual light, the doors without handles. An inmate can only dream of sunny days; picture wide open spaces, fresh air, and a blue sky. But this is all in their head — the sturdy prison walls aren't crumbling any century soon.

The cell takes yer mother, yer land; it takes yer freedom. Rotten people such as the Puncher deserve it. But not my father. Never Pa.

Something snaps in me when I imagine his ashen face behind those bars, envision him coughing and trembling on a stone bench.

I did my part of the bargain. What do I care about Grand Duke's plans and machinations? Of his attack on the Imperial City? I just need my family intact, and now I'm determined to take the Lighthaven leader at his word.

Get Pa out of there.

I stride towards the dungeons, rushing past the gaping constables. Waving a Duke's pardon, I hit the shiny brass button that leads to the cells. The doors slide open and I hobble further downwards.

My neck hurts like hell. I don't know how much damage that squeeze of Puncher's did, but it sure wrecked something deep and irreparable within me.

Never mind. I won. We are stinking rich now. I can jus' pay the best apothecary in Lighthaven to fix me right up.

Yes.

I've won. I've done it! I thought I never stood a ghost of a chance against the Demolisher when I entered that darned Pit for what I'd thought would be my last time.

A jump onna social class ladder. To fame. To wealth. To my own mansion in Lighthaven and my own aero craft.

So what if I had to renounce the name of Volta? 'Tis how things werk. Ye play by the rules of big guns, ye get yer favor. It's called bein' smart. And I'm nothing but.

My Pa and Mar will be safe and live in the mansion, right there with me. No more fear of hunger. Of disease. Of coughin' blood.

Home! Soon we'll have a hard earned new home.

I still hear the constables yelling at me, but I pay them no mind. Oh, what does it matter? What can they do to me, even? Imma Gaslight Trials winner.

I keep flying down the hallway and towards Pa, until I find his cell, and fling myself onto the bars. Then I sob, shedding the bottled up feelings, ranging from desperation to relief.

"Is it over? Did ye show 'em, my sweet pea? Hush now, don't you cry." He whispers, and comes closer to hold my hands in his.

"I sure did," I say. "Mastered their game, jus' like ye taught me."

"You won?" A question lingers on his lips.

"I did. I won for you, Pa. Won for both of us, ye hear me?"

"Huzzah!" He does a hop, but then clutches at his chest.

"Pa?" I stare at him in alarm.

"I am fine, sweet pea, just excited. You know, after they banished me to Fumedge, I thought my time has passed. My best friend, the Grand Duke, was living his happily ever after, winning accolades, getting rich. His life was going swimmingly. Mine was in shambles." He sits back on the stone bench and smiles at me.

"The Grand Duke didn't have it all either — the Grand Duchess had died during childbirth." I clench the official paper in my fist and turn towards the nearest constable.

"This is the Duke's pardon for Otto Igglesden. Open the cell, this instant."

The man narrows his eyes, scrutinizing the curvy penmanship and a vermillion sun-shaped seal. He unlocks Pa's door with a stiff nod.