The cell they place Rickkter in was naturally one of the magic dampening ones. His partners in arson, deemed far less dangerous, were given more companionable cells in the dungeons, if any cell could be thought to be companionable. The raccoon didn’t really mind, as long as he would be freed after all. D’Alimonte would be calling for his head, but once the Prime Minister received his message that he’d made the guards swear to bring to her, he felt certain that his release would come swiftly.
And it only took a few hours of resting his head against the rather unpleasant walls - he could swear that something had lodged itself in his head fur, but his probing claws could not quite find it. It was still before dawn when the iron door swung inwards, revealing an irate Malisa, hair still ruffled and eyes weary from little sleep.
“What in all the hells possessed you to burn that garden, Rickkter? Especially now when we need you?” The guards closed the door behind her after she stepped through.
“It is good to see you too, Prime Minister,” Rickkter replied, his irritation at his confinement momentarily abated. Once he heard the footsteps recede a bit down the hallway, he stood up and brushed a bit of hay form his clothes. “I have my reasons, and they are very good ones. I hope that all the flowers were destroyed, roots too.”
Malisa frowned. “Have you gone mad?”
“No, no more than usual. There was some reason I had for doing it, though I cannot recall what right now. The guards confiscated the note I had pinned into my tabard.”
She slipped her hand into a small pouch at her side and withdrew a piece of parchment. “This?”
Rickkter nodded. “Yes, that is it. Have you read it?”
“Yes, and it makes no sense. What is this about a hyacinth?”
“Ah yes!” Rickkter’s smile widened. “That’s what it was. I had forgotten, damned thing that.”
She crossed her arms before her and stared at him with a growing aura of impatience. “I am half tempted to leave you here for a few days, despite our need. Don’t think that because you are a powerful ally that I won’t imprison you where you cannot escape if you begin to treat the laws of Metamor as if they do not apply to you. I assure you, they do.”
Rickkter felt a snarl growing in the back of his throat. “Are you threatening me?”
The calm assured manner in her voice made the hackles rise on the back of his neck. “Do not make the mistake of thinking that I am here as your friend, Rickkter. I am here as the Prime Minister. Until you give me reason to believe that your act was not a matter of mere madness, I will remain as such. And should you choose to test my resolve, you shall find yourself in this room with no windows for a very long time.”
He bit back the reply he wished to deliver in his anger. Rickkter knew that if he so choose, he could break free, fighting his way out of this situation. Even though the cell itself was proofed against magic, and it’s power had drained his own somewhat, he was still more than a match for any of the guards in the dungeon from his physical prowess alone. But that would accomplish nothing. The way out of this cell lay through Malisa.
There was an old adage of the Kankoran that came back to him them. His emotions were a tool, a tool for both himself and his enemies. And right now, anger would only tie him further to the cell that he had no desire to spend any more time in.
“Very well, Prime Minister,” he said at last, his voice tempered by those few moments of thought. “I apologize for treating you lightly, but there is a question I would like you to try and answer; what was it that I destroyed?”
Malisa grimaced then. "Let me repeat, do not test me. We both know very well what it was you destroyed; one of the gardens."
“Yes, but what in the gardens specifically? Nothing more than a single planter. Yet what was in that planter? You cannot answer that question, and I promise neither can D’Alimonte. If you wish you may go and ask him, I would not object to waiting.”
“On the contrary, I do know what you destroyed. I would wager that planter contained hyacinths.”
Rickkter snorted in return. “And I would counter that you are going by my note for that and nothing more. Neither you nor anyone else you choose to ask will be able to recall the presence of hyacinths in that planter. The only reason I knew of it was a piece of information that came to me regarding one of them. It revealed that the hyacinth has a curious magical capability, acting both as a conduit for magical power, and also in making certain things be forgotten by all those in its sphere of influence. Our enemy placed it there in the gardens somehow, and it has been blinding us to a great deal that we need to see. And I suspect it has kept us from being able to remove the spell form you know who.”
Malisa drummed her fingers on her sleeve as she listened. “I have never heard of this power of the hyacinth. Nor do I recall seeing any in the gardens.”
“Nor did I until I came face to face with it yesterday. Part of its magic was to make those who saw it forget that it was there. That is why I had those pins and note inside my tabard. Every time I moved, the pins would stab me, and I’d look to see what caused it. And I’d find the note, which would remind me. I cannot recall how many times I had to reread that note yesterday as I tried to find a way to destroy that flower.”
“And so you decided to burn the whole section of garden that it was in?”
Rickkter nodded. “It was the only way I could burn the flower and make it look like an accident. It’s why I had those two along with me. It had to be convincing, or the enemy who planted it might realize that it was deliberate and strike against me. I killed those flowers to protect myself.”
“This is fanciful to a degree I had never thought you capable of, Rickkter,” Malisa said after a agonizing pause. Her voice was tense, anger still flowed through it. “But it is because this is so uncharacteristic of you, I am willing to lend some credence to what you say. Go on, explain more. How is it that I have never heard of this capability of the hyacinth?”
Rickkter chuckled mirthlessly. “Again, a part of its magic. Those who learn of it, if they do not take action to record that in some way, will soon forget it. It is a pure absinthe in some ways, which both makes the knowledge of it exceedingly rare, but so also the use of it I expect. Then again, perhaps we have read of its power many times in other tomes and simply cannot remember it now, or even moments after we read the pages. The only reason I was able to remember it was because of the way in which one author divulged its secrets.
“In this one book, the name of which now escapes me, though I am sure that I will find it sequestered in my quarters, there is a chapter in which a poem interjects in the text. It is very singular in this regard, it bursts onto the page in the middle of a sentence, and after it is done, the sentence continues as if nothing had actually been there. And in fact, after reading that chapter, you will not recall the poem at all.
“It was only in reading the chapter several times, and each time being surprised by the poem, that I was able to deduce the importance of the poem. And once done, finding the hyacinth was not terribly difficult. There was only one in Metamor, and it stood out clearly, though even D’Alimonte did not remember it when asked.” For some reason, Rickkter could not recall asking D’Alimonte about it, despite being sure about the result.
“So now that you have destroyed the hyacinth,” Malisa said slowly, “you ought to be able to remember things about it now, is that correct?”
“Yes, although I think it will take some time before the fog it created in our minds completely dissipates. I remember what I did to the hyacinth. I can even remember the way it wilted and turned to ash. But the further back I try to remember, the fuzzier and more incomplete it becomes. I suspect because the flower was still being active, it could more easily scatter our memories. Now that it has been destroyed, or at least, if the roots have been burned to ash too, we should be able to remember everything we see from here onwards.”
Malisa frowned unhappily. It was clear that everything he said was bothering her. “Do you know who planted the hyacinth in the gardens? Or has it always been there and our enemy just began to take advantage of its unique properties?”
Rickkter shrugged his shoulders, tail flitting back and forth. “I honestly do not know. In fact, until yesterday, I couldn’t remember that there was even a hyacinth in the garden.”
“I do not remember it either,” Malisa admitted. “But with that section of the Gardens reduced to ash, how will I ever know? I merely have your word to take.”
Rickkter offered her a sympathetic grin. “Quite a conundrum, I know, but that is how it stands.”
“And so the only thing that I can do to verify your story is have your quarters searched for this book,” Malisa said at last. “A book whose name you cannot remember.”
Rickkter frowned then, tension filling his body. “I advise strongly against entering my chambers. Very, very strongly.”
“Rickkter, I believe you when you say you did this to destroy a tool of one of our enemies. But unless I have some proof of this, I cannot simply let you free.”
“And why not? Is my word and explanation insufficient?”
“In this matter yes. Simply allow me to peruse that book, find the poem of which you speak, and I shall let you out of this prison.”
Rickkter frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Allow me to show you the book, and I will do so.” He narrowed his eyes so that only the green of them showed. “I will not tell you how to open my doors. There are things in my quarters I wish no other to see. And it may take you some time to find the tome.”
Malisa nodded. “Very well, but you will be bound for the journey. And if you cannot produce the tome, you will be brought back here.”
“Fair enough,” Rickkter said, forcing a smile past his muzzle, which would rather break into a snarl.
It was an hour later before they finally entered Rickkter’s quarters. At his behest, the guards from the Watch stood at the entranceway while Malisa came into the living quarters with him. The room was neatly apportioned, a tapestry hung above the door that led to the bedroom, while on either side of it weapons were mounted to the walls, an axe and broadsword. One wall was a large bookcase filled with various tomes, some of them clearly recent, others so old that the backs were moulding and the pages yellowed.
On the opposite side from the lab, a large desk faced against the wall, covered with scraps of paper, curios, and a few writing implements. But displayed prominently in a cleared section near the middle rested a single book with a recent binding. The text was in the Southern tongues as well. “I believe this is the book I spoke of,” Rickkter said, nodding to it. His paws were bound behind his back with a magical lock that he had promised he wouldn’t undo, though he ached to do so.
Malisa nodded and began to flip through the pages. “It’s all in a Southern tongue,” she groused, brushing back one lock of hair. “I cannot read this.”
“I can translate for you. Or, if I’m still untrustworthy in your eyes, Cutter should be able to do it. But most importantly, if you can find the poem in the middle of a sentence, you will know I spoke the truth.”
Still frowning, Malisa began to flip through the pages. About halfway through the tome, she came across the poem, and stopped. “Is this the one?” At the racoon’s nod, she ran her fingers over the text, studying the lines before and after the poem. “It does appear in the middle of a sentence, that much is true. But I do not understand the language, so I cannot read it.”
“If you allow me,” Rickkter leaned forward and recited the poem in the Northern tongue.
Malisa listened intently, and then finally, after her moue deepened, she nodded and spoke a single word. The shackles around his wrists finally came free, and he flexed his arms, rubbing at his wrists. “I believe you, Rickkter. Now if you would, transcribe that poem for me. Make two copies. One in the original language, and one of your translation. Do so now if you would. We will need them for further study in this.”
Rickkter nodded and obligingly brought out a quill and ink. It took him but moments to copy down the poem and his own translation on a piece of parchment. Malisa took them when finished and blew the ink dry. “Now, get some sleep. We will be meeting again in the morning. If you are right, our attempts will go more smoothly today.” She turned about and walked back towards the entrance to his chambers. “And I surely hope that you are right, Rickkter. Good Night.”
With that, Rickkter was left alone in his quarters, the Watch closing the door after the Prime Minister had left. Sighing, the raccoon slumped down in the chair, and felt a sense of relief. And annoyance. Hadn’t there been somebody who’d tasked him with this? He couldn’t quite remember. But when he did, he knew he’d have to have a long talk with whoever it was. Unable even to get up from his seat at his desk, he fell asleep there, arms folded on the table, muzzle resting in their crook.
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