Page 25 of Kingdom of Locks

The mention of the warden sent Amell’s eyes wandering in search of his father, who was speaking with a uniformed guard a short distance away. Amell urged his horse toward the pair, Tora beside him and Furn following at a respectful distance.

“Ah, Amell,” said King Bern, turning as his son approached. “The warden is on his way.”

Even as he spoke, a short middle aged man with a balding head and an unemotional expression strode swiftly through the entrance to the prison.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing low to King Bern. His eyes traveled to Amell, and he bowed again. “Your Highness. Please join me in my office.”

Amell’s father nodded, taking a step forward before turning back to Tora, whom the warden didn’t seem to have noticed.

“My guards will accompany Amell and me,” he said curtly. “Sir Furnis, you will stay outside to guard Princess Tora.”

Furn visibly paled, clearly dismayed at being denied the right to guard his true charge. But to Amell’s surprise, Tora didn’t look disgruntled at being excluded. On the contrary, she appeared quite satisfied with her situation, her eyes scanning the area with bright interest. Amell narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, but she just threw him an innocent smile. Determining to interrogate her later, he directed an apologetic look at Furn and followed his father into the prison.

He’d expected to pass dank cells full of moaning captives, so it was a bit of a surprise to find himself in a clean, bright corridor, no bars in sight, and pleasant views of the forest through every window. He saw no sign of any prisoners between the entrance and the warden’s study, and realized they must have crossed a part of the prison accessible only to guards.

Almost as soon as the warden had gestured his royal visitors into his own study, a knock at the door announced the arrival of a lean serving man in the strangest uniform Amell had ever seen. He wore gray from head to toe, and it couldn’t be called flattering. The only thing that kept the loose fabric from being completely formless was the bunching at the ankles and wrists that prevented it from flowing over the man’s hands and feet. His hair was also badly cut, as if he’d taken a pair of scissors to it himself. Amell tried not to stare, but it was a strange spectacle. He wasn’t surprised that his father’s guards, stationed at the door of the study, looked at the man askance. Amell couldn’t imagine the formidable housekeeper back in Fernford allowing any of the castle’s numerous servants to present themselves in such a state before a baronet, let alone before the king.

Unobtrusively, the man placed a small plate of biscuits on the warden’s desk before bowing himself out.

The warden had barely begun to repeat the basic summary of the incident when a second knock sounded, and another servant entered, this one a woman. Amell’s eyes followed her in astonishment as she placed a tray on the desk, steam rising idly from the silver teapot at its center. The uniform looked even worse on her, and—perhaps most astonishingly of all—her hair was also shorn in the same way as the man’s had been, unevenly cut just above the ears.

“Thank you, Inmate,” said the warden curtly, as the woman bowed herself out.

“Inmate?” Amell repeated, startled. “Are they prisoners?”

“Certainly, Your Highness,” said the warden, inclining his head. “Prisoners from the low security wing sometimes fill the role of servants in the guards’ quarters.” His eyes passed to Amell’s father. “Naturally only those in whom I have the highest level of confidence were selected to wait on us today, Your Majesty.”

The king nodded, apparently unsurprised by all this, but Amell was fascinated.

“Is each wing a different level of security, then?” he asked. “Do different rules apply across them all?”

The warden nodded. “Precisely, Your Highness. We’re currently in the low security wing, which attaches to the guards’ area. The middle wing is medium security. The wing on the other end of the building is—or was—high security.”

That effectively dampened Amell’s enthusiasm. “So the fugitives are all considered the highest risk?”

“I’m afraid so,” said the warden grimly. “Downright nasty some of them are, too.”

“Have any more been apprehended since yesterday?” King Bern asked, and Amell brightened. He hadn’t even been aware any had been caught.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the warden, sitting up a little straighter. “Two of the enchanters among the guards got lucky when combing the woods early this morning, and sensed a signature of magic. They found two prisoners hiding out in a cave, obviously having been trapped within the perimeter created yesterday by the enchanters you sent from the guild.”

“Good luck indeed,” said the king approvingly. “How many are still at large?”

“Twenty-five,” said the warden. “And we’ve combed the whole area again this morning. I think it’s safe to say that the remaining fugitives made it beyond the ring before the perimeter was set.”

“Where were the eleven found?” Amell asked curiously.

The warden pulled out a map and spread it across his desk, pushing aside the untouched tea tray to do so.

“The two this morning were here,” he said, pointing at two red crosses.

Leaning close, Amell saw the prison marked at the center of the map, and a red ring drawn around the whole area, presumably delineating the magical perimeter set up by the urgent delegation of enchanters the guild had sent the day before.

“And the others, as you can see,” the warden said simply, gesturing at the various other crosses marked on the map.

“No pattern to their locations, is there?” mused the king, frowning.

“Not that we can spot, Your Majesty,” the warden acknowledged. “The whole thing is utterly perplexing if I may say so. Based on the account of those guards who were in the wing in question, and those who’ve apprehended prisoners since, it seems the inmates were taken as much by surprise as we were. If there was a coordinated plan for what to do once the explosion took place, we’ve yet to find any evidence of it.”

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