always and forever is forever young
your shadow on the pavement, the dark side of the sun
“You are remarkably calm,” Zed observed. Mallos shrugged.

“I was kidnapped a few times when I was his age,” he replied, taking the manuscript Zed had offered him and glancing at it with a frown. It was in English. “They always brought me back too.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Zed grinned. “There’s nothing much new in the file – it pretty much just backs up everything he’s already told us. One thing he did neglect to mention was the fact that he’s a Gwythrian.”

The little overview was more than useful, it was also tactful. In the absence of magic, Mallos couldn’t read English any more than Zed could interpret Spanish. The Brazilian deity had obviously taken the time to read the file and acquaint himself with the case so that he could summarise it for his friend without Mallos having to experience the embarrassment of asking for a translation.

“Hardly a crucial detail,” the Spaniard answered as he made for the door.

Zed shrugged. “Explains why he didn’t want to talk to you. And I’m not sure the other inhabitants of this building would necessarily agree with you.”

They parted ways in the corridor outside Mallos’ quarters, in which Zed had popped in to drop the file off. It had taken several days for Khasekhemwy to retrieve the file from the archives on Earth, and in that time the now-notorious Jacopo Agani had already been thoroughly interrogated by the castle. Evidently he had been honest as well as cooperative. Always a good combination, although not particularly lucrative to a criminal’s career.

Other than to diplomatically support the crown, the council weren’t involved. Khasekhemwy had retrieved the file when Mallos requested it (although he’d neglected to deliver it in person – Zed’s intervention was further evidence of the latter’s tactful nature) and the services of a deity interrogator had been offered, but declined. Agani had offered full cooperation but had refused to speak to Mallos (for reasons which were now clear), so Tsi had offered Lorraine, no doubt with the expectation that the offer would be turned down. Mallos and Lorraine were the only well-trained and talented interrogators on the council, so there had been little else Tsi could do but repeat his sympathies and promise to present any support which may be later requested. A second interrogation by a council member was, in all honesty, probably a pointless exercise. The crown had been thorough. The only reason Arthur had agreed to proceed with it was the sensible reasoning that someone better acquainted with present-day Earth may pick up on a fact which had seemed insignificant to a questioner born in Shaman. Everyone was convinced that Agani was no longer a threat, but the existence of other organisations with a professed interest in the prince necessitated action of some kind. Action made in haste, without the full range of facts to inform it, was ill-advised.

Agani had been told, forcibly, that he would have to submit to questioning by Mallos. He had accepted this. A guilty conscience was a powerful thing.

Additional guards had been posted to the dungeons to keep away the morbidly curious, but they had been told to admit the prince’s grandfather. They stepped neatly aside as he approached, and for once he didn’t pause to exchange witty remarks with them. The guilty man was in the most robust of all the cells, away from the common, petty thieves and pirates. No other adjective could describe him better; the guilt hung in the air around him like a dark cloud. A hint of anger flared in the man’s eyes, but it was quickly suppressed. Mallos didn’t need Zed to tell him that Agani was a Gwythrian – that one look would have been enough.

“Ordine lode,” Mallos began, using one of the typical greetings of Italian Gwythrians. Praise order. Agani reacted with sharp surprise – his jaw slackened, his eyes widened and his eyebrows disappeared under his hairline – which gave Mallos a twinge of satisfaction. Men caught off guard were usually more honest men. “What do you know about the organisation you worked for?”

Not much, it transpired. After a brief hesitation, Agani reeled off the same facts he had given the crown in a low, gruff voice. The criminal organisation had never named itself, and usually communicated through the pager. Longer instructions were delivered verbally by anonymous and unremarkable individuals, or left at pre-designated drop points. They were never handwritten. At Mallos’ request, Agani reproduced the same description of the man who had visited him in Italy which he had given to the crown. It was a remarkably detailed description, considering Agani admitted to only seeing the man on that one occasion, and the conversation had not lasted longer than ten minutes.

“What did he say about the client?”

“That they were prepared to pay big,” Agani grumbled. “But he never said how much. He said they were a powerful religious organisation, and implied it wasn’t the Mallosian Church.”

Mallos was inclined to believe that. He kept his church in check.

“What about communication since?”

“Pager only, both ways.”

This was getting nowhere. The expression on Agani’s face clearly showed how pointless he thought this was; he’d already told the crown everything he knew. It was Mallos’ job to work out what he didn’t know. He checked his frustration and tried a different route.

“What about the job description? Did you get a picture of the prince?”

“No, the file was text only, and brief. I assume the client didn’t really know what the prince looked like.”

What did that prove, other than perhaps that the client had never been to Shaman? “Can you relay the information in the file?” Mallos asked, rubbing his temples in an uncharacteristic display of weariness.

“Boy, about thirteen or fourteen… early teens, anyway. Brown hair. Might’ve had the eye colour. And the name, of course.”

Hmm. “Precisely which name did it give?” Mallos pressed, noting the vagueness of that description with a touch of unease. “Did it say Prince Tristan? Was a title given?”

“No, it was one word.” Agani admitted. He hesitated. “Actually, it was just one word beginning with ‘T’. When I got here I assumed it was the prince. Who else could it have been?”

There was a period of silence while Mallos added this information to the connection which had made him uneasy a moment before.

“Who else could it have been?” Agani repeated, a little forcefully – there was a hint of apprehension in his brown eyes.

“That description could refer to two boys who live in the palace.”

“But only one of them could attract the interests of a powerful religious organisation,” the prisoner protested, his voice uncertain. “Right?”

“Right,” Mallos agreed, standing. “And it’s not the prince.”



To be continued.

i can feel you in the silence saying, “let forever be,
love, and only love, will set you free.”