The Last Philosopher

Escape discovered

Five months after Herschel's escape, the warden of Zig-Zig was in his office. Fuming, literally, as well as figuratively. His neck-high robe wasn't made for this desert heat. Not even the winter season saved him from the pitiless sunshine streaming in from behind. Even so, the windows were the rooms' only light source, and gave visitors a nice ominous silhouette to stare into.

His practised calm hid most of his discomfort. Behind his enormous desk, only a bulging vein in his forehead betrayed his mood. He hadn't been angry like this since before Zig-Zig prison was built. Fortunately for Weetie, the captain of the guard, his need for control held him back.

"So, you're telling me you have no idea how long Herschel's been missing," he said in a soft that voice was somehow worse than yelling. It was like a cover of downy snow, but beneath it was black ice. Hard, cold, and treacherous.

"Ssir, yess Ssir!" The three ridges on Weetie's head hadn't moved as she lisped out her replies.

"You don't even know how he got out?"

"Ssir, no Ssir!"

Weetie stood at attention, exactly in the middle of the practically unfurnished room. She'd never fallen for the demeaning, low benches at the back. They were the only seats besides the warden's chair, and were only there to make others feel small. Her dead stare was fixed out the windows behind him. Staring into the sun was preferable to the abyss of his gaze.

The warden's gloved hands rubbed at his temples. The captain had taken on an immaculate blame-acceptance stance, making no excuses and answering every question with a strict yes or no. In so doing, she gave him no rope to hang her with. Even her leather armour was in perfect condition, every pouch and strap screamed military precision. Still, without her shield and spear at least the lizard-woman looked a bit dressed down.

He look past Weetie at the two sergeants on the back benches. They seemed ready to wet their armours, not an irrational look considering the consequence of solitary patrols. The Akri were all good soldiers, but the warden was great, and putting good soldiers into early graves was what great soldiers had always done best.

"Find out everything about the escape, and make sure you keep a close eye on the prisoners."

"Ssir, yess Ssir!"

"Weetie, look at me." He smiled forcing the lizard to meet his stare. "If escaping becomes a trend, I guarantee the trend of your head being attached to your body will come to a painful end."

"Yess ssir! Thank you, Ssir!"

"Dismissed!"

She saluted, made a sharp about-face turn, and marched through the room that occupied half the second floor of Zig-Zig's library. Her claws made a clickety-clackety noise on the hardwood floors. She was due for a trim, the Akri only let their feet-claws grow out for certain ritualistic duels. He hoped they'd become ingrown.

With the guards out of the room, the warden reclined putting his feet up on the stone desk. Pulling up his robe, he admired the pattern of green scales on his legs before indulging in some frantic scratching. The seams always itched, but more so when he was annoyed, which was most of the time.

Zig-Zig had been built on the remote ear of the tiger-headed peninsula called Zenon, because from here there was no place to escape to. Besides the empty waters of Stega ocean, there was nothing but sandstone desert in every direction. Before this frustrating setback, his plan had almost been complete. But Herschel would be found. Soon, every creature in the west would be looking for their little runaway. Because they all feared the Akri, and their dedication to the nest. That same thing that ironically made them so susceptible to a little divinity.

Once the lizard-queen had accepted him as a scaled demi-god — an Afreet of the Akri — they never questioned why he wanted a prison in Zenon. In fact, the Dragon herself had intimidated the Trolls into giving him this stretch of land.

When he asked them to build Zig-Zig, according to frankly insane instructions. They set about forcing the Trolls to give up their sacred rocks. Once built, winged lizard-scouts had flown all across Sojurut. Rooting his prisoners out of whatever thinky-hole they were hiding in.

"It's a strange thing that half the continent lives in fear of the Shis nation. Where Weetie is considered a strong warrior's name, but I suppose the names of killers have never really mattered to the killed," he scoffed leaving his office and slamming the door behind him.

Updated: 16.10.2023