He looked over the room again, wondering if it was all an illusion. Visions of himself chained in some dark, dank cell as The Syndicate probed his mind with magic filled his mind’s eye.

  No. He saw no signs of magic. His mind was clear. Certainly, clear enough to question what was going on around him. No… this was real. He was sure of it.

  He looked over the lock to his cell, despite having nothing to pick it with.

  It was definitely magical, but he was confident he could pick it with the right tools and enough time. Only, the robed man’s earlier words gave him pause.

  ‘It would take more than any of that to break out of this cell…’ the robed man had said. Surely, Vadik had told him that Connor could pick magical locks?

  There was the scrape of a key and the clack of the door to the room unlocking. Connor faced it as it opened. Catching a glimpse of a lantern-lit hallway beyond as two burly men entered.

  Connor studied the men intensely, wringing every drop of information he could out of even the smallest of details.

  One of the men could’ve passed for a Lestrian, though his skin was heavily tanned from intense sun. No doubt from somewhere abroad or endless days of working in the sun on deck.

  The other had darker skin and facial features reminiscent of one of the eastern kingdoms. He wondered if that meant the Syndicate’s reach extended even there. Sailors had a tendency to come from all manner of places so he supposed he ought not to read too much into it.

  Still… it wouldn’t surprise him.

  Both men wore a black uniform with a phoenix made of red fire emblazoned upon their chests and carried rods sheathed at their hips. No doubt akin to the paralyzing runed rod he’d encountered and even taken one of before. The hilt looked similar at least.

  The lighter skinned man carried a bundle of neatly folded clothes with shoes atop them. The other held keys in one hand, his other hand lightly resting on the hilt of his weapon.

  As they entered the room, their hawk eyes snapped to Connor and then to one another.

  They didn’t expect me to be standing, Connor thought.

  Not that it mattered. Connor saw the keys on the ring in the one man’s hand. None of them would fit his cell.

  Connor kept his face neutral, but inside his mind chewed over the information.

  The man at the door. The man holding the clothes. The way each carried themselves. That sharp, dangerous, alert look in their eyes. The myriad scars on their skin.

  These aren’t just sailors. These are soldiers. They look highly trained… and the Syndicate won’t give even them a key to my cell? Interesting… and they look at me as though I were a caged dragon. What have they been told? Connor thought.

  The one with the keys stayed back, far from Connor’s cell as the other approached and slid the clothes through a small gap at the bottom of the cell door. The shoes, he slipped through the bars. Both men rippled with tension.

  Though Connor still felt shaky, he was sure he could reach the man giving him the clothes. Wrench his arms through the bars. Snap his neck. Or hold him there as a hostage. Was that why the Syndicate had decided not to allow them a key to his cell? It certainly made trying that utterly pointless.

  Connor couldn’t see the Syndicate rolling over and giving into his demands over the lives of either of the men.

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  No… this wasn’t the time for such a move. But, perhaps, a time to set up for potential future events. The men said nothing and the way they pressed their lips into a firm line told Connor they had no intention of doing so. That they were trying very hard not to, in fact.

  They were on edge. Alert. Wary of him. But even the strongest caution could be eroded away…

  “Thank you,” Connor said as the man deposited the clothes into his cell, “I don’t suppose you could tell me the time?”

  The men tensed slightly, though Connor kept his voice soothing. Again, he wondered what they’d been told about him.

  Connor waited a moment then said, “Just the time. That’s not too unreasonable, is it?” Once again, he kept his voice soothing. Calm. Relaxing.

  “Early morning. Almost dawn,” said the man closest to his cell.

  “Greyson!” hissed the further man.

  “What?” snapped Greyson, “not like it matters if he knows.”

  “I don’t care. Orders are orders,” said the other. His accent confirmed Connor’s earlier suspicions.

  “Surely, they don’t expect you to act like mutes?” Connor asked, his voice the very essence of sincere sympathy.

  The further man glared at him and then beckoned Greyson away with a wave of his hand. The two walked out and slammed the door shut, plunging Connor into almost complete silence yet again.

  Even with nobody to see him, Connor kept his face impassive. But internally, he smiled. Their silence had cracked faster than he’d expected. Both had spoken. One had even given him a name and now there was already a small wedge between them.

  A fruitful first effort. Connor thought.

  He padded over to the pile of clothing. The lingering magic made even that a painful and clumsy experience. But he managed.

  The shirt, pants, belt, and boots were all of exceptional quality. Mostly white with black and gold highlights. Perhaps among the best made clothing he’d ever seen, he realized.

  He put them on and found they fit exactly. Not just close. Utterly perfectly. As though someone had spent hours measuring down to the smallest adjustments. And the gold looked an awful lot like actual gold.

  That’s not at all concerning…

  As he dressed, his mind worked.

  There was no telling if the guards would be useful later, but there was little else for him to do with his cell so barren of tools to work with. He couldn’t feel much motion of the ship and was sure they’d yet to leave port.

  Now would be the best time to escape. The easiest to reach land. But nothing in the cell looked suited for use as a lockpick and without his potion of magic sight, picking a magical lock would be time consuming and tricky.

  That, and the crew would be incredibly active. If he tried to fight his way through them, he’d be buried in them and dragged back to this cell. He’d have to slip away somehow… perhaps while they were all distracted with last minute preparations.

  But, still, he saw no way out of his cell. Not yet at least.

  Yelling for help would also be pointless. He could barely hear the crew despite how noisy they should be. They sounded muffled as though far away and buried beneath layers of cotton.

  The Syndicate seemed fond of their sound suppression enchantments wherever he went. The only ones liable to hear him would be those already on board. And only those nearby at that.

  He wondered if more of the ship had those enchantments than just the cells. And if so… just how loud had that creature from earlier truly been?

  Once dressed in the rest of the clothes, Connor found himself left with a white and gold cloak. Again, of exquisite quality. The cell was warm enough, so he set it down on the bed and stood with his arms folded behind his back as he scanned the room yet again.

  Everything in it looked carefully chosen to deprive him of weapons. Though he thought perhaps he could break the legs of the chair and use it something like a club. Still, it didn’t seem likely to be all that effective.

  The careful choice of what to include in his cell surprised him somewhat given that the robed man had seemed to hesitate about depriving him of the gear he’d been wearing.

  That too had been strange. Even a fool knew to at least search prisoners and nobody would ever be stupid enough not to care whether a prisoner had the weapons that’d been on Connor’s person.

  The Syndicate were many things, but they weren’t fools.

  And, Vadik feared that robed man. Connor was sure of it. It made Connor wonder what the robed man had been thinking.

  What if he doesn’t care? And, is it confidence or arrogance if he doesn’t? He certainly sounded sure of himself… yet he listened to Vadik’s advice. He seemed unconcerned about knives, lockpicks, or even my bottomless bag…

  Arrogance or confidence… the question repeated itself in his mind.

  He thought of Vadik’s fear. Of the way the guards had been deprived of a key to Connor’s cell. Given only what they needed to carry out their duties. The way his clothes fit him so perfectly.

  No… the man was no fool. Everything was far too efficient. Too well thought out and perfect for that. That man had strong reasons not to fear what Connor could do even with his equipment. An unsettling realization.

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