Machinist of Mana

I awoke in pain, radiating outwards from my gut. The room was unfamiliar, the bed, the walls, and all around me there were curtains and people talking. As the fog cleared it was clear that I was in some kind of hospital ward, though I didn't know quite where. With a groan I tried to rise and look around more, though found it rather difficult.

Quickly a matronly woman poked her head through the curtain, looking down at me.

“Lay back down this instant young man,” she demanded.

“I'm alive and have clearly been seen by a healer, I'm sure I'll survive, more importantly where are my companions?” My comment drew a guffaw and made her come in herself.

From this woman's attire it was clear she was associated with a temple, probably The Shield, but not a main priest. Rather she appeared to be a helper of some kind, in this case a nurse for the hospital. The temples ran all the hospitals, primarily because they monopolized the priests to an insane extend, there were laws about it and everything.

“Statements like that are why foolish young blowhards end up spending far longer in recovery.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

Her face softened, if only for a second. “The man who was brought in with you was alive, barely. They're still working on him but it's nasty.”

Healers could work powerful magic, save people on the brink of death, but there were limits. The body could only take so much at once, and even if it was stable, that didn't mean that they were okay. My gut wound was a good example, it must have been quite bad if I'd been shot by a scatter gun that close. I would be fine in the end, but it was probable that I would need several sessions or weeks of recovery.

“Alright, I'll rest for a bit then,” having at least that information I laid back down, satisfied.

I was there for hours it seemed, the nurse bringing me some food at one point, quite a lot of it actually. When she saw how I was looking at the relative feast I was informed that I needed to get more into me so they could keep healing, and that it should be fine. Not long after that a harried looking priest appeared and worked on me for a few minutes before excusing himself once more.

Not long after that a familiar face parted the curtains to my little cubby and stepped in. The lanky frame of the investigator slipped through, looking too tall and too long from this angle, almost painfully so.

“Young man, we really must stop meeting like this. Sorry for the delay but with how wild things have been the fact that you were here didn't make it to my desk quite as soon as I'd have liked.” Ignus gave a toothy smile.

“And once again I'm not the one at fault,” I informed him.

“Oh I know, most people involved in crimes won't shoot themselves, and certainly not a gut wound. You may have done better than the other poor fellow but had you not been brought in quickly I assure you you'd be dead.”

“Did you get them? I know the one guard was involved, heard his voice through the mask.”

“Did you now? Good to have that confirmation, did you know his name by any chance?”

“Gramin or something? He wasn't particularly talkative.”

“Grawlin, yes, he and several others from his unit disappeared,” the investigator nodded. “I'll make note of your testimony. Now if you don't mind, I'd like the full story please.”

I gave him just that, though there wasn't too much to tell. We were hit hard and fast, with nowhere near the amount of response that I'd have liked. For his part Ignus was happy to sit and listen, making notes and asking for a few clarifying questions here and there. I even told him I saw a girl in the sewer, though it may have been a delusion, since I was sort of out of it by that point.

“Now young man, I know it may be a bit of an imposition, but I'll ask that you stay put until you're released. Just in case I have any more questions.” The way he said it told me that there might also be some suspicion there too, after all I was involved in multiple incidents.

Before he could get up I heard the door to the hall open and the sound of thick heels clacking angrily against the floor.

“Ma'am, my people need to do their jobs. I know that this is a serious matter but you can't just do whatever you want,” a deep baritone voice said, making Ignus turn sharply.

“Oh your Grace, I think you'll find I can in fact do whatever I want,” the reply was feminine, but... old, very old. That said whoever she was her tone didn't imply any concern. “Tell me, do you know how many of those particular devices have been wholly lost to enemies before?”

“I... um...” the man struggled.

“None, none since the founding of this kingdom, and do you know why? Because of what I do to the people who steal them. Now, two of my people are hurt, several of yours have abandoned their posts, and I am taking this matter into my personal hands. If you do not like it, feel free to complain to His Majesty.”

The man, ostensibly the Duke himself, had no response to that. Ignus looked toward the curtain, a visible sweat forming on his brow. I must have looked no less alarmed, because there were precious few that could afford to speak to such a high person poorly, and fewer still that could talk to them like they were a naughty child.

Heels clacking against the floor they passed us and Ignus looked back once more.

“Please excuse me Percival. There's something I need to go look into.” He didn't even wait for my response before making himself scarce.

There were words down the hall, people talking sometimes, though I couldn't make it out. Soon enough though I had a new visitor, one I'd only seen a picture of before. Old Auntie Penumbra, the Worldsinger, the Kingkiller, split the curtains to my room, looking down at me as if to judge me. Her eyes narrowed for a few moments, like she was seeing something rather unexpected.

When she finally spoke, it was in my first native tongue. “Hey, we should have a chat.”