When I woke up there was a bowl of gruel in my cell. I hadn't heard a single sound during the night, or day, that would have indicated that anyone was entering or leaving the cell. It's dangerous to be this tired, I thought, they could have easily killed me if they wanted to, and I wouldn't have been able to put up a fight. Once again I ruminated on how I now thought of myself as being alive. I wasn't sure when the change had occurred, but whenever I wasn't forcing myself to conform to my previous patterns of thoughts I couldn't help but think of myself in such a way. I guess under certain definitions a machine is alive, I sighed as I picked up the gruel and started eating.

It wasn't tasty, but by the time I had emptied out the bowl I was wishing there was more of it. The first real food I had eaten in at least one, possibly two days filled me with new strength and replenished a surprising amount of my missing nutrition. However, it clearly lacked vitamins of some kind since around ten of the green bars hadn't budged. The sound of footsteps caught my attention, and I looked over down the hall to see the female guard coming down the stairs holding two pairs of shackles. For me? I wondered, surely they don't think something like that could hold me.

“Put 'em on,” the woman commanded, tossing the shackles into my cell. They were of a simple ratcheting variety, meant to only close and not open without a key. I looked at the woman, then back to the cuffs, then chuckled.

“Why?” I asked. My question made the woman's left eye twitch, and she tightened the knuckles on her right hand until they cracked.

“You're being interrogated today,” she said curtly, “put them on or I'll bring down four men who will beat you until you do.” Normally such a threat wouldn't mean anything to me, but in my weakened state I begrudgingly accepted that I would have to do as she said. I secured the first pair of shackles around my ankles, leaving them looser than they needed to be, then did the same for my wrists with the second set. Interesting that there is no joining chain, I thought. The chains between the cuffs were a little over half a meter long, restricting my stride but not completely stopping it.

“Happy?” I asked with an amused grunt.

“Tighten them,” the woman replied, “it's not my first day on the job.” With a shrug I tightened the cuffs so that they were at the smallest size I could get them to, then looked back at the woman. She pulled out a large key and unlocked the door to my cell, which swung open. So stupid, I thought, even like this a person could just jump and dive-tackle her. I did nothing of the sort and waited for a signal before leaving the cell.

Climbing the stairs with my legs kept so close together was difficult, but I managed at a slow speed which annoyed the guard. When I finally reached the top of the stairs, I found myself in another similar hallway to the one between the cells, except with proper doors leading to four rooms and another set of stairs at the end of the hall. The female guard led me into one of the rooms, which was empty save for a table, two chairs, and a lantern, then closed the door behind me. Why would she put herself alone in a room with me like this? I scoffed, completely amateur move, there should always be at least two, preferably three guards on a prisoner for interrogation.

“Sit down,” the guard commanded, and I did. The wooden chair creaked under my weight.

“I still haven't been told what I did,” I said. The woman sat across from me and drew a knife from in her coat, then slammed it blade-first into the table. It stuck in place but didn't go in particularly far. Reasonable arm strength, I evaluated.

“I thought I told you last time we spoke that I was the one who asked the questions,” she snapped, “keep your mouth shut unless you're answering me.”

“Or what?” I challenged. “You'll kill me with that knife? How will I confess to whatever it is you think I did if you do that? I'm sure your superiors would be very disappointed with you.”

“You think wrong,” the woman grinned threateningly, “my superiors don't give one bucket of shit what happens if a slum vagrant like you ends up dying during interrogation. So please, keep running your mouth. I want it to be satisfying when I give you what's coming to you.” So easy to manipulate, I thought, that hot temper is a detriment. Still, I'm interested in what's going on here.

“Isn't this supposed to be an interrogation?” I asked. “Ask your questions.” I'll play along, this could give me useful information, I thought.

“Who are you?” the woman snapped.

“Who are you?” I echoed. The woman snatched the knife out of the table and stabbed my hand with it. I could have avoided it, but I figured it would have been best not to. The familiar sensation of rapid healing prickled across the wound once the blade was withdrawn and stuck back into the table. At least that's working again, I thought.

“I am constable Lihjha Kowvuw,” the woman replied sarcastically, “you will address me as constable, or ma'am. Now, who are you?”

“Yuwniht,” I replied simply, opting for honesty. I need to escape anyway, telling them this much won't hurt, I reasoned. The knife came for my hand again, but I moved it out of the way.

“Family name,” the constable growled.

“Don't have one,” I replied, “I was registered at the Steelheart Company under the family name Lihyveyz, though of course, it is obviously just a placeholder.”

“So it is you,” the constable grunted, “you don't look like what I was told.” Someone has been talking about me? I thought with a hint of anger. I had forgotten that I was still wearing a disguise as well, and given my real name stupidly.

“And who told you about me?” I asked. Once again the knife came for me, this time with a feint first. I managed to avoid getting stabbed.

“You killed a man in the headquarters of the Hatchet Crew,” the constable said, “tell me about it.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I replied, “I've never associated with the Hatchet Crew in my life.” The constable slammed the table with her fist and glared at me.

“Don't you lie to me,” she said slowly through gritted teeth, “I hate dealing with sehpeylay like you, all you people ever do is lie and waste time because you think we can't do anything to you. I don't know what country you came from, but in Uwriy and especially on Awsriyah you have no rights when you're in chains.”

“How can you be so sure that I killed someone?” I asked. “Do you have someone embedded with the Hatchet Crew?” The constable didn't need to say anything, her body language confirmed my suspicion for me. Interesting, I thought, it can't be the leader, and it's probably not that woman I spoke to. Must have been someone in the crowd.

“A man named Jhihroyjh,” the constable said slowly, “very well known around here for being a robbing ngaazmayjh who liked to use his family members as punching bags, happened to vanish a few days ago. Right before he did, several people said that he bumped into a tall, dark-skinned, baby-faced man who gave him a taste of his own medicine.”

“Baby-faced?” I scoffed. “Is that supposed to be accurate? A child's face would look nothing like mine.”

“Shut up,” the constable snapped. I smiled back at her, angering her even further. It's like she's a balloon being inflated every time I press a button, I mused, it's a wonder she managed to attain her current position, acting like this.

“And even if that was me, Jhihroyjh walked away from that encounter alive, did he not?” I continued. “Besides, you just told me that your superiors don't give a 'bucket of shit' about the lives of 'slum vagrants'.”

“Jhihroyjh owned a home,” the constable interjected, “but you're correct. They don't care that he's dead. What they do care about is the fact that Yaavtey Tawl allegedly acquired the services of his murderer, who reportedly beat him brutally, then somehow used magic to kill him instantly once he got bored. My superiors care about the zaeternaaf who's been hired to kill a number of high-profile individuals in actually important parts of this city.” Ah, so that's it, I thought, they think I actually intended to kill the targets, and this is a reaction to that.

“Yet, you picked me up unconscious in an alley, dressed in rags and covered in blood,” I replied. “Why would you think that I am the person you're looking for?”

“Because you're the only Gwahlaob man anyone has ever seen who's taller than a Luwahriy,” the constable replied simply. I suppose that's a fair point, I sighed, at least from their point of view.

“I'm sorry to tell you, but you have the wrong person,” I lied. “I've done some work for the Steelheart Company, but I've never associated with the Hatchet Crew. The closest I've ever been to them was during an arson incident, when I chased the culprit but failed to catch him.”

“If you were a guard, why are you dressed in rags and what were you doing in that alley?” the constable asked. Her tone had gotten less angry, so I decided to amuse myself.

“I lost all my money in a game, and the Steelheart Company kicked me out for failing to capture the arson culprit,” I continued to lie with a smile. “They had the same idea you did actually, they thought I was with their enemies because I looked different and spoke strangely.” It took effort to suppress a smirk when I saw the constable's blood pressure rising in her forehead veins. “I'm really just trying to get to the mainland,” I continued, “I don't even want to be here. This place is too violent for me.”

“You expect me to believe that shit?” the constable spat. Spittle flew from her lips across the table, landing in front of me. “I have you dead to rights you stupid npoyt, I could kill you right here and get a pat on the back for my good work. If you don't start talking I might just go through with it.”

“That's twice now you've threatened that,” I observed, “I suppose on the third you'll do it? You people seem to like the number three for some reason.” The constable's hand went to her sword, and I held my own hand up to stop her. “I'm still very hungry,” I continued, “that bowl of food you gave me was good, but I've been starving for days now. If you could get me something to eat and drink, I would consider being more talkative.” The constable's hand left her sword and slapped down onto the table.

“You'll get nothing until you give me something,” she shouted. Which implies that I can get food if I do give her something, I smiled. Over the days that I was in Vehrehr, I had observed many criminal actions that I thought might have interested the guards if they were around to see them. Most of that information was useless now, however, since it was time-sensitive. If I give her information on someone else, will it count? I wondered, if I can recover a bit more of my strength I can probably break out of here, or maybe if I co-operate I could get released.

“What kind of things would you like to know?” I asked. The constable's face registered surprise, and it took her a moment to formulate a reply.

“Who was the third target that the Hatchet Crew wanted dead?” she asked. “We know about the merchants, but there was another.”

“I don't know,” I shrugged. Just as the constable was getting upset again, I spoke up. “Considering that they burned down a Steelheart office though, wouldn't it be logical to think it might be one of their administrators? Thaajh only avoided having a building fall on him because my partner and I were there.” For a moment it looked like the constable would shout again, but she paused mid-breath and narrowed her eyes at me.

“Wait here,” she said, “this conversation isn't over yet.”