We enter the main compound of the garrison, and several patrols of men follow behind the small convoy. Dozens of marines, workers, and maintenance personnel move around, preparing for mass court hearings scheduled for the next day.
Anyone caught breaking the lockdown and arrested was held in cells below, near the military piers facing the sea. I didn't know what they looked like, nor where they were, because I didn't get dragged with Morgan. Instead, they kept me in place, sitting on a crate next to a marine.
It wasn't like I was planning to run anyway. My body is too tired for that, and my legs wouldn't carry me far enough without one of the guards catching up. It wouldn't be much of a challenge.
As the carts and marines dispersed, leaving men with a single marine, it didn't take long for a young man, who seemed a few years older than I am, to approach us to take me to the Inquisitor.
"Excuse me, Sargent, I will relieve you of the boy. You may go," the young man says. The Sergeant simply nods and leaves. He speaks with a soft, slight accent; I can't tell what kind, but I know it's somewhere south. We've seen plenty of customs from the southern duchies come to Bruis, into Ewe's Sanctuary.
The young man had a shaved head and wore similar attire to the Inquisitor, but lacked any tattoos or pins.
"What's your name?" I ask.
The young man looks at me with a gracious smile. "Thank you for asking, Mr. Sear. I am Arthur Lyn. Please, follow me to the main building."
Arthur extends his hand, allowing me to walk in front of him. My legs are heavy, but I push forward.
We move through the yard, weaving through crowds made busy by the lockdown.
Arthur's smile is ear-to-ear as he carves a path through the busy bodies easily. I notice the marines and workers surrounding us, sharing an unusual glance towards Arthur. "Arthur, why are they looking at you like that?"
"Why? It's because I am the one who posted the rebel bodies outside their barracks," he says so casually. He points toward the common barracks, and seven bodies hang upon tall lamps, a noose tied around their necks, eyes pierced with iron prods, dozens of needles stick into their arms, forced to hold up a sign etched with the word 'REBEL'. All of their bodies were covered with dried blood and masked with hemp bags.
Some of them were men, both young and old, some women, and a boy not younger than Arthur.
My eyes couldn't believe what I was seeing. Their bodies were mutilated. Any showing skin had tiny lacerations, and blood bled through their clothes.
"Why'd you do that? What was the point of doing such torture to those people? One of them is not much younger than you!"
Arthur stops in himself, his gaze facing mine, coking his head slightly, showing a puzzled expression. "Why? For being traitorous rebels, of course. They broke the law that was set by the Inquisitor of Bruis, and reserved their judgment."
"Is that your reason for this butchery?"
Arthur shrugs his shoulders. "Perhaps. All I know is they'll serve a warning. Other than these seven, no one else has spoken against the Saints like they did. When they were caught breaking the lockdown, they merely gave up. Those people will get a lighter sentence, only a few years of labor for the city. Even many of the loyal officers to the old commander stopped barking. But if you're worried about my methods, perhaps you can make your comments to the Inquisitor when you speak to him."
Arthur continues walking toward the main building. But I stand there stunned by his actions. But my surprise slowly goes away.
Humans have always been cruel to one another. It's only been two days since I left the brothel, and those two days have made me forget that humans are another version of demons.
Arthur takes another glance, seeing my expression. "Oh, Mr. Sear, don't worry, their souls aren't damned or anything ridiculous. Their bodies are punished, but the Saints will take their souls through the Veil. I understand what I did is absurd, yet it is logically sound. If the people fear the consequences, there doesn't need to be any more bloodshed, and so far, there hasn't been any."
My thoughts shift to Morgan. "What about the prisoners near the piers? What sort of justice will they receive? Hangings? Firing line? Lashes?"
Arthur sighs, shaking his head. "You believe your pirate friend will suffer like those who're hanging. No, he'll receive a lighter, yet firm sentence. The Saints are fair and just. I am not. But if you wish to know what'll happen to the other prisoners, well, Seine has needs of workmen, and they'll go toward Merovre, and be given duties. After a certain number of years, they'll pay off their crimes and be free."
My worry for Morgan settles after hearing Arthur. Yet, toward Merovre, the capital of the Duchy of Seine, isn't a short journey. Moreover, how do I know a workman isn't another name for a slave?
I look towards the hanging bodies once more and shake my head. "You're cruel," I tell Arthur.
He simply grins. "I know."
Arthur sighs before extending his hand again, gesturing for me to follow him. "Come, come. The Inquisitor of Bruis is expecting us, inspecting you."
I follow, my eyes gazing toward the looming building. It was large, but not grand. The garrison is a smaller fort than someone would find inland. I only saw a few when I was younger, traveling with my mother.
The building in front isn't grand or anything on a large scale, crafted from the local woods and stones Bruis gained from trade. The walls surrounding Bruis made the fort's walls unimpressive, might as well be none. The fort's walls are short with moss crawling all over, and pebbles fall off the stone from Bruis's harsh weather. Even the headquarters, situated in the middle of the fort, where Arthur is taking me, is crafted out of planks and some stone, mostly of its foundation. The tall windows are mostly cracked and seem too thin to look out of.
The doors are made with heavy oak, slightly decorated with naval symbols. Arthur opens the door, allowing me to enter first.
"In we go, Mr. Sear," Arthur says.
I take one step into the building and halt. I turn to Arthur, who enters after me, shutting the door behind him. Inside feels more insulated, warmer. It reduced the numbness and pain somewhat. Yet, the air is heavy. It's as if a weight was dropped on my shoulders.
Before we went any further, I spoke: "Since you're taking me to the Inquisitor, I have to ask, who are you?"
"I'm no one special, only a lowly acolyte under the Inquisitor's tutelage. Now, we must go. The Inquisitor has set a nice warm meal just for your meeting with him. I do hope you are ready."