Chapter 1.20

 

Mike was in his cell for two days now. He was not allowed to go anywhere, and no one came to see him. In the evening the guard brought another bun as a meal. In the morning he brought another one. Mike still ate the first one, and he felt no consequences, but he still stayed cautious when he ate the others.

Footsteps were heard outside the door. Then a small peephole on the door opened and a guard peeked through it.

"Lunchtime," he said and then added. "In half an hour to the interrogator."

In half an hour, Mike tried to make himself look more presentable. It probably didn't turn out very well, given the lack of a mirror and at least a comb. His clothes were a little messy, too.

Footsteps were heard outside the door again. This time the noise was stronger, the guard was probably not alone. A peephole on the door opened again.

"Stand up, face the wall," the guard commanded him. Mike slowly rose from the bunk.

"Immediately, face the wall," the guard couldn't wait. Mike hurried over and faced the wall.

There was the sound of a key being inserted and a few turns, then the latch was pulled back and the heavy door was opened.

"Face to me," the guard commanded. Mike obeyed.

"Out."

Mike was finally outside his cell. Outside the door a long stone corridor with many iron doors to the cells awaited him. In the corridor, in addition to the guard, were two other escorts armed with short swords. The guard himself was unarmed, which surprised Mike somewhat.

"Face the wall," the guard commanded Mike. And when Mike complied with his order, the man closed the door to the cell.

"Follow the escort, listen to my commands."

All four of them moved down the corridor. Mike followed the first escort, the guard behind him, followed by another escort. Several times in their path there were grated passageways, with two guards on duty by the door. After a short walk through the corridors and down to the floor below, they finally stopped at the iron door.

"Face the wall," the guard commanded Mike.

 

There were no windows in the room where Mike was taken. The whole small room was lit by a single lamp on the ceiling, and in the middle of it was an iron table.

"Sit on that side," the guard pointed to the other side.

Mike sat down at the table on the far side of the entrance.

"Hands on the table," the guard ordered him.

Mike put his hands on the table. The guard chained the bracelets on Mike's hands to the table with a thick metal brace. The chairs were also made of metal and were chained to the floor along with the table.

The guard then left, and the escorts remained standing in the room, keeping their eyes on Mike.

A few minutes later two uniformed captains of the capital guard entered the room. One was tall and dark-skinned, and the other a little shorter, older, and with a short beard. They sat down at the table opposite Mike. Each of them had a folder of papers. The tall one took out a couple of sheets of forms and writing tools, and the older one took a small crystal ball and a stand from his pocket and put them on the table, then opened his papers and started reading something.

The crystal ball was unfamiliar to Mike, but he guessed its purpose. He was in no hurry to start the conversation first, deciding to observe the interrogators. And they, in turn, were in no hurry to start the interrogation, either. So, a couple of minutes passed in silence.

"Why am I here," Mike decided to start the conversation first after all.

" Is your memory bad?" The tall one asked in response.

"No, my memory's fine," Mike told him.

A couple more minutes of silence passed. The interrogators had clearly decided to play games by provoking him. But such games could be played in pairs.

"Are you going to interrogate me?" Mike asked them again.

"Are you in a hurry to go somewhere?" The old man asked him back.

"No, I'm quite happy here. I'm worried about your time."

Another five minutes passed as they went about their business, and Mike decided to pretend to be asleep. He leaned back a little and closed his eyes.

After a couple of minutes, there was a loud clap on the table. Mike slowly opened one eye. A tall captain slapped his palm on the table.

"No sleep," the man raised his voice. "This isn't a hotel."

"You better be careful, kiddo, or you might hurt your hand like that."

Mike's words made his jaw twitch.

"Are you threatening me?" The tall man raised his voice. "You, backwoods vermin..."

"That's enough," the old man interrupted him. He looked at Mike and decided to start the interrogation after all.

 "I'm Captain Anderson, and this is Captain Miller. We're here to conduct your interrogation," he introduced himself.

"Oh, I see."

"Introduce yourself."

"Major Michael de Graaf…"

"Dogshit," Miller interrupted him. "I haven't heard such blatant lies in a long time. De Graaf he's…"

"That's enough, I said," Anderson stopped him again, then turned to Mike. "Say that again."

"Major Michael de Graaf of the Internal Investigation Department of the Ministry of Foreign Intelligence," Mike said, looking at Miller. Miller's face twisted even more in anger.

"What is your relation to the de Graaf clan?"

"I'm from the clan. It's obvious," Mike wondered.

"Can you confirm that?"

"You have my identification documents."

" You didn't have any identification on you," Anderson answered him.

" I see," Mike wasn't too surprised by this, and glanced in passing at the crystal ball on the table. It showed no visible signs of activity.

"The Magical signature..."

"No way! Not a chance," Miller interrupted him. "No one's taking your collar off."

Mike almost had a rude remark about Miller's mental abilities coming off his lips, but he suppressed the urge at the last moment. Taking a slow, deep breath, he said.

"Well, then: either the Clan or the Ministry can confirm my identity."

"Okay. Your age," Anderson asked, and Mike had an interesting thought.

"Twenty-seven," he said, smiling, and suddenly the crystal ball turned a little red.

"Your age," Anderson repeated the question.

"Ninety-one," Mike answered now correctly.

"He did that on purpose!" Miller couldn't take it anymore. "Even I can get around that thing!"

"Calm down. Control yourself," Anderson told him and then turned back to Mike. "Your residential address," he continued.

"Quiet 53, Abern Capital," Mike replied.

"Family status."

"Single."

"Children."

"No."

"Parents."

"No."

"No?" Surprised Anderson.

"Is that so surprising?" Mike asked him.

"A little," the man replied and continued. "We'll need to take your fingerprints and blood for analysis."

"Yeah, sure," Mike agreed without a second thought.

 Captain Anderson took out a crystal tablet and after a little manipulation, placed the palm of Mike's hand on it. After a couple of seconds, Mike's palm print appeared on the surface of the tablet. After looking at the result, the captain handed the clipboard to Miller.

"Compare the fingerprints," he told him.

Then Captain Anderson took a small vial with a needle out of his pocket. He pricked Mike's finger with the needle and collected a few drops of blood in the vial.

"We're done with that," he finally said and turned to Miller. "So, anything there? Got a match?" He asked him.

"Yeah, we got a match," he replied with a grin. "It's a hundred percent him."

"And the database?"

"There's no match in the capital records."

"That can't be right,'" Mike couldn't take it anymore. "My information must be in your records."

"Shut up!" Miller snapped at him. "You'll talk when we tell you to."

"We'll check your data," Anderson interrupted Miller. "In the meantime, the next question is. Do you possess magic?"

"Yes."

"What element and what rank?"

"It's classified," Mike answered without hesitation. He was tired of playing by their rules.

Anderson looked at him in surprise.

"Answer when asked," Miller barked at Mike.

Mike looked at him and slowly repeated the words.

"It is classified."

"Do you know how to use a cold weapon?"

"Nope. Strange question." He smiled, as the ball turned red again.

"What weapons and how well do you know them?"

"It's classified," Mike repeated.

"Do you are proficient with firearms or any other special weapons?"

"Yes."

"How and how well?"

"It's classified."

"Have you, ever killed?"

"Of course."

"How many times?"

"Many. Thousands. I haven't exactly counted."

Anderson stared in surprise, looked at the crystal ball, and then at Miller. The ball stayed colorless.

"He's obviously lying," Miller said.

Anderson sighed.

"Okay, he's yours," he told him.

Miller nodded in satisfaction and then looked at Mike.

"You were outside the Jolly Oyster Cafe at 6:30 p.m. on the 15th evening?"

"Yes."

"You were wearing the clothes you're wearing now and a gray coat. Right?"

"Yes."

"Great. That agrees with the witness statement."

"What am I accused of?"

"Murder, of course," Miller replied with a smile. "Or do you have memory problems after all?"

"I don't have a memory problem."

"Then let me read you a little list of charges," Miller told him. "Theft, attempted theft, attempted fleeing the scene, insulting a city guard, disobeying a city guard, threatening the life of a city guard, and to top it off, killing a city guard."

Mike was a little surprised to hear his list of charges. It turns out that in addition to his actions he was also charged with the actions of the thief he was then trying to catch.

"So, do you remember the list of what you did that day? Or should I read you a witness statement?"

"I don't confess of anything yet," Mike answered him. "And your list isn't right."

"And what's wrong with it," Miller asked him.

"I didn't steal the red handbag," Mike smiled at them.

 

Catherine de Graaf was sitting in her office doing her current paperwork. Her office was suddenly illuminated by the sun coming out from behind the clouds, a rather rare occurrence in recent days. Distracted, she leaned back in her chair and looked out the window. After a short minute, the fleeting sun hid just as quickly behind the clouds.

Sighing, she pulled the call cord. A few seconds later Colonel Theodor de Graf entered the office.

"You called, ma'am?" He asked.

"Any new information about Mike?" She asked.

"Same as before," Theodor replied. "No change in the last twenty-four hours."

"What are they all doing up there," Catherine slammed her fist on the table angrily. The table creaked angrily and several pens flew to the floor. Theodore walked over and carefully picked them up.

"Is it really that hard to establish, who Mike was with at that cafe and where he went afterward?" Catherine asked him.

"As far as I understand," Theodor replied. "They sort of established who he was with."

"So, and then what? It's been twenty-four hours."

"Tirel should be doing that now," Theodor answered her.

"Tirel... By the way, where is he? He wasn't at the meeting this morning. Get him up here right now."

"He's not in here yet. I checked with Aireen earlier. She said he's been out on business since this morning."

"On business?" Catherine was surprised. "What kind of business?"

"Well, maybe he decided to personally investigate Michael's disappearance."

"Tirel? Personally investigate? Ha ha!" Catherine laughed.

Theodore waited until Catherine had finished laughing.

"You know Tirel as well as I do. He will never do anything without benefiting himself. Especially in person," Catherine told him. "Demon-what goes on in his department. I should have disbanded them a long time ago."

"You can't," Theodor hastened to stop her.

"I certainly can," Catherine assured him firmly.

There was a short pause. Catherine de Graaf considered her next steps. Theodor de Graf stood silent, awaiting further orders. Finally, Catherine looked Theodor straight in the eyes. A chill ran down his spine with premonition.

"Get me, Anastasia, here," she told him, smiling predatorily.

"Madam," Theodor pleaded. "You only just sent her to the Northern Prairie to clean up after Michael."

"I know," she replied. "Knowing her, I think she's already done the main part of the job."

"She won't be happy. And she doesn't get along well with Tirel, after all. I don't think she'll be thrilled to meet him."

"That's a good thing. The more angry Anastasia is, the better she will do the assigned job," grinned Catherine.

Theodore sighed.

"Madam, you have the amulet of calling."

"I know," Catherine replied. "I'll give it to you now," she said and removed a small round amulet from her neck on a gold chain and handed it to Theodor.

"Why me?" He inquired. "You can summon her yourself."

"Then I will have to listen to her swearing alone," smiled Catherine.