The guards who delivered the boy took security seriously. They were wearing full body armour that hid all their features, and lacked any identifiable heraldry or symbols that could be a hint to their master - or even the smith who supplied them. They never spoke, communicating through hand signals barely visible in the gloom.
They only took Basil's blindfold off when they reached their destination: a small room that was clearly meant to house prisoners. It was an alcove chiseled in stone, sectioned off from the dark hallway by thick iron bars. The furnishings were sparse, but acceptable: a small bed with covers that seemed to be a part of the mattress, a small hole in the corner for dirty purposes, and a table with a stool, both hewn out of the stone floor.
Basil cried softly as he trudged along with his captors, bady shivering in fear. How long had he been since he'd ran after Junebug's carriage? It had felt like an eternity- the blindfold made it impossible to tell how many days had passed. The boy kept silent, his muffled sniffles barely audible over his footsteps. There wasn't any use in speaking- none of the excuses he'd tried before could even elicit a response.
Finally, after walking past... something that made his skin crawl, the tear soaked blindfold was finally pulled off Basil's face. It didn't make much of a difference- it was far to dark to make out anything beyond the most basic of shapes. Blinking, the child looked around frantically before focusing his eyes on the two figures he presumed to be his captors. "My family..." he whispered, voice dripping with as much venom as his eyes were tears. "...Will kill you for this."
Unfortunately, Basil's line was wasted on the guards. They didn't even seem to have registered what he said - either they were foreigners from something too remote to understand the trade tongue, or they were very dedicated to not engaging with prisoners. Then again, considering the heavy armour they were wearing, it wasn't like any change in their expression or twitch would be seen.
Most of the guards left immediately, but some loitered around. They were very disciplined - they didn't chat to each other, and they kept at the edge of what little light was given out by the oil lamp at the wall. There really wasn't anything to do here.
The boredom of being kidnapped was soon relieved by an appearance of a certain man. He was wearing a rather simple robe, and a scarf wrapped around his head to keep his hair in check and probably also to conceal his identity. What little wasn't covered was a pair of brown eyes and skin darker than even most Verdans.
He spoke the trade tongue well enough as he approached the iron bars cautiously. He coughed to get Basil's attention, although that probably wasn't necessary. "Can you hear me?"
The majority of the guards left, ignoring the boy's insult. Basil's nose wrinkled- despite his situation, the young noble still had the time to feel insulted.
It was hard to tell how much time passed in the cell. Basil had seemingly done everything there was to do- squeeze though the bars (it burnt when he tried), looked for secret passageways under the bed, decided not to look for a passageway in the small hole in the corner when he got a good smell of it, and ended up lying on the floor staring at the ceiling. "This isn't fair!" he thought angrily, tears beginning to fall down his face once more. "I didn't even do anything!"
The sound of coughing pulled the boy away from his thoughts. "No!" Basil replied defiantly. "I can't hear you at all, you cur!"
The man pinched the bridge of his nose, murmuring something under his breath. When he raised his voice again, there was an undertone of frustration to his words. "Well, if I'm not being heard, I suppose my only recourse is talking to myself. And there is quite a lot I have to say."
He folded his arms, gathering his thoughts. "Of course, the main problem is why are you still here. Are you enjoying the arrangements? With the power you have at your disposal, it should have been a simple matter to disappear from here and go back to... wherever you wish to be."
Basil's face paled, and he suddenly felt a bit ill. He knew about the wishes? But nobody was supposed to know about that! He sat up, glaring at the shadowy man with upmost contempt. "I don't know what you're talking about, brigand." he said, trying his best not to sound frightened. "Teleportation doesn't run in my family. Never has."
This was a lie- Basil's now deseased great uncle had the ability to warp large groups of peoplr from place to place. His captor didn't need to know that, however.
The boy crossed his arms, hoping beyond hope that he could change the subject. "As far as accomodations go, this place is an absolute travesty. Where, I ask, are the marble tiles? I swear, you have no class whatsoever!"
The man continued to watch Basil with calculating eyes. "Is that so? Well, I suppose if marble tiles mean that much to you, just make them happen. That would probably be faster than waiting for someone to come and replace the floor here."
Basil blood was beginning to run cold. This was not good- who knew what this guy wanted to wish for? Thankfully he didn't seem to realize the boy was unable to make wishes of his own, a fact Basil intended to keep secret- more out of spite than any sense of duty.
"I would, but y-you'd need to let me out and put me in contact with a architect." the boy replied, voice shaking a bit. "Why are you even here? You're ugly and unhelpful. Go away!"
The man's expression was unreadable due to the shawl, but it was safe to assume that it was twisted into some sort of a frown brought about by Basil's lack of cooperation. He sighed. "Well, if you're going to be like this, I can just leave and return some other day. I'm not good at dealing with petulant children. Just remember: the more time you waste, the longer you stay here. And I recall you being displeased with the arrangement."
He chose his words carefully, skirting around anything that might have been considered a lie, just in case the boy had the ability to see the future. Everything he said was true in a way - he would have to come back later until his research was complete, and the progression of his master's plan hinged on it.
"Fine!" Basil yelled, standing up. "If you're gonna go, then go! My family will see to it that everyone involved in this insulting endeavor is dealt with soon enough anyways!"
The child stomped to his bed, simultaniously furious and dispondent. Wasn't he just going to be randsomed off anyways? His sister had told him that was what happened to people who were taken from home. He just had to wait and he'd be bought back by his parents!
...Right?
That was not a good day for Qadim. The child has proven to be completely uncooperative, and the scholar had little power to change it. Why was he the one assigned to this task? He chose his profession specifically because he preferred dealing with scrolls to tolerating people! He was this close to losing his temper, but at least it was a good excuse for him to stop for this day. After all, if he stayed, the prisoner would learn that he didn't keep his word.
"I wish I knew what 'marble' even was" he grumbled in Essyrni under his breath. The suffix indicated that it was some kind of a stone, but-
What was this strange equation that showed up above the boy's head? The guards immediately took notice, their hands gripping the weapons tightly to defend against the unknown foreign magic. Qadim couldn't help but sigh - the multiplication problem was simple, Essyrn was the land of the most brilliant mathematicians, after all. The answer slipped from his lips before he even began to analyze the situation. "Thirty-eight."
Knowledge flooded into his mind, a sudden realization. While most of the time he'd attribute his flash of insight to his mind working out a problem, simply connecting the dots between the stone and the unfamiliar word, it was no longer the most probably explanation. He wasn't told a lot about the boy's ability, but it must have been powerful enough to draw his master's attention. Could it be?
He was a scholar, there was only one way to deal with it: test a hypothesis. What was the least statistically probably thing to happen? "I wish... for a pomegranate to emerge from this wall."
Just when Basil thought he'd gotten the man to leave, the worst possible thing happened. His captor began to mutter in a tongue the boy himself didn't understand, but his power seemed to understand just fine. The boy flinched as he felt magic being pulled from him to power whatever wish had been made. "No..." he sobbed quietly. "You can't..."
Soon he felt another pull- this one a bit stronger than the last. Whatever the man had wished for this time would require a more difficult equation..."
The hypothesis was quickly verified by the appearance of another equation. Qadim frowned - while it was still not beyond his capabilities, it would take a while to solve it. Perhaps he should request help of a scholar whose field of expertise was mathematics? His master wouldn't want to bring any more people into this highly secretive matter, but there was always the possibility of just posing the equation as a challenge without supplying any further context.
"Carry the five... square root of the product... That will be thirty-six and seven forty-sixths. No, wait, thirty-three and seven forty-sixths." He turned to the wall, expectant. Before his waiting eyes, a bulge grew out of stone, its colour almost indistinguishable from the rock in the dim light of the torches. The fruit he requested popped from the granite like a stuffing out of a torn plushie. Its soft peel felt the same way as a normal pomegranate would, but Qadim was still suspicious. It could be poisoned - it came from a prisoner, after all. He cautiously hid it into the folds of his robe - he would later deliver it to his master for further examination. He could leave right now - he's gathered quite a lot of information for the first day. But his scholarly nature demanded more, especially now that he's come upon the method of tapping this power.
He should begin to find limits of the prisoner's ability. He could impart knowledge and create objects - that gave him some basis to start upon. Already could he come up with some ideas that should narrow it down. First, he should test if the boy could pass on information he was unaware of- or maybe further investigate how much matter could a single wish create- or perhaps do the smart thing and just get all he needed right now.
"I wish to know the underlying mechanics of this wishing magic."
The equation presented to him was enough to let loose a volley of words that should never be used in a presence of a child.
More talking ensued, and Basil felt his magic powering another wish- this one larger than the last. By this point the boy was sobbing, pleading internally for the man to stop. "No more! Just ransom me already!"
Soon the boy felt another tug, and the a snap- as if a rubber band had broken after pulling on it to hard. The man's last wulish had been unsucessful, and he wouldn't be able to make another for a while because of it. The boy paled. Would they blame him? "Y-you can't make anymore now!" he cried. "You're stupid and bad at math, now go away!"
That was troubling. A chilling realisation settled upon Qadim as the prisoner accusatorily stared at him. The knowledge he demanded wasn't coming, and the numbers disappeared. Did he ruin something? Was there a set limit of the wishes that he just exceeded?
That was bad news. He was ordered to find out how the wishing magic worked, not to use it up for himself! He would surely get executed - this was a very secret and very important undertaking, and if he ruined it... Could he possibly lie about it, say that the boy had no power to begin with? No, the guards saw the pomegranate emerge, there was physical evidence he couldn't get rid of.
He had to get his thoughts in order and figure a way out of this situation! He quickly recalled what the boy said. "Bad at math? Does it mean a person who's better at math would be better at wishing?" That made sense - he remembered that he only got the previous wishes granted after he provided an answer.
Basil crossed his arms, giving the man a defiant glare. "Not telling!" He looked away, nose in the air. "You had your chance."
The scholar was about to protest when he caught one of the guards giving him the sign in the faint torch light. Damn it. He choked down another swearword and left. He would have to try again later.
Faysal hated going into anything without proper grounding. He has learned early that information was the true power, overcoming giants such as coin or morality. He would have given his scholars more time to research the specifics of the wish-making ability, but he could no longer afford patience. Once again, he was outmatched - but now he had the means to fight back in a way no one would expect him to.
It didn't take him long to come up with the most efficient way to use the wish. According to the results of experiments his men have performed, the complexity of the equation depended on the magnitude of the request. He was always good at making the best use of smallest amount of resources and he had a plan before the end of the week. A new day came and with it, the reset on the wishes.
It was best for him to remain unseen - while he didn't plan on letting the prisoner go, accidents always happened and he knew better than to consider his guards infallible. For this purpose, he had his men move him to the dungeon while the prisoner slept. It was best if he remained outside the light of the torches and did not move unless necessary. He wished not to shed any clues on his identity - secrecy was paramount. Since his lack of mobility would narrow down the list of suspects, he could not let it be known.
He would have preferred to just make his wish while the boy was sleeping, but the magic didn't work then. It was a risk he had to take. As soon as the child began to stir, he spoke, in a low, controlled voice. He didn't need his prisoner to hear, or even understand his language - it was enough that his magic did.
"I wish for the 7347th symbol in the first contract I saw today to be changed to ghayn."
The equation sprang into existence, glowing numbers arranged together. It was rather complex, considering the simple nature of the wish - apparently the magic responsible was able to predict the consequences of fulfilling a wish. He should keep it in mind and compare the problems to his intentions - if it was a constant quality, it could function as a prediction of the future. Fortunately, he came prepared. He tapped on the arm of the nearby guard to signal her to close the door of the room he was occupying. Once the line of sight to the prisoner was gone, the woman felt around the walls until she found the torch. She sparked some fire and lit it, then stood at the slit in the wall, keeping an eye on the equation.
Faysal finished putting it down then offered it to the guard to check. She kept glancing between the slit and the paper, making sure that he made no mistakes, then handed it back wordlessly. Satisfied, he began working it out.
Basil ran after the carriage, feet barely touching the ground. Juniper was laughing from inside, mocking him for being unable to catch up. The carriage got farther and farther away, and soon the ground between them began to crumble. Basil was barely able to stop himself in time- but then he felt a hand push him, and he fell anyway...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Basil woke from his nightmare, a panicked yelp escaping his lips. Drenched in sweat, the boy pulled himself out of his uncomfortable cot and began to pace his cell. His heart raced, and he silently thanked Myyla that it was, indeed, just a dream...
And yet, at the thought of being able to hear his sister's voice again, he found himself wishing he could go back.
Faysal was running out of time. He was prepared for having to spend more on his wish - the scholar he hired failed to ascertain whether the power could be cheated. He felt a stab of irritation at the need for secrecy - he was no stranger to clandestine proceedings, but this particular endeavour allowed no mistakes. He couldn't allow anyone to steal this asset from him, he couldn't be caught having a hand in it, he couldn't let the consequences of his requests lead back to him... This balancing act was exhausting and he couldn't remember the last time he enjoyed it.
The guard tapped on the wall, indicating that their time was up. It was now or never - or at least, now or some unspecified time in the future when he would be able to return here. Once again, he covered his mouth with his hand, speaking in an old, almost forgotten language. His last wish was too grave to be spoken in words that someone could understand.
The equation that appeared was even longer and more complex than the previous one. Faysal didn't even know most of the symbols involved. But he anticipated the increase in difficulty - he didn't voice his wish, expecting immediate fulfilment, just to gauge how hard it would be. He didn't even focus on remembering the exact order of figures, just their appearance so that he could research the the concepts later. They didn't look like something that would ever come up in accounting books, so he wouldn't be able to pretend that he's just training for his position. Perhaps he could bother Mirza's tutor, make it look like he was testing her skill...
The guard tapped on the wall again, this time more insistent. He was almost done, and that would have to be enough. He gestured at her, leaning back. It was time to go.
It was morning when Basil next stirred, though he hardly knew it with the lack of windows. The boy stood up groggily, wincing in pain as he did so. The cot he'd been provided was not comfortable- and on top of that, he had to sleep in his clothes! How he missed his silken pajamas back home...
"Home..."
Wiping the stray tears out of his eyes, the boy looked around the room. It was still only dimly lit, but now Basil could see something on the floor near the cell door- a tray. He cautiously approached, before recoiling in disgust upon seeing it's contents. "Fish!?" he exclaimed loudly. "They expect me to eat fish!?"
No answer was provided - the only guard barely visible through the darkness didn't even seem to register his question. Perhaps she took her job seriously enough that she wouldn't even hear a prisoner's words; or, more likely, she was lacking in the department of languages and would sooner understand a thought process of a cat.
Fortunately, Basil was not left at the fish's mercy for long. A few minutes passed before another guard entered the dark hallway, carrying a lantern - a rare sight here. The woman immediately leaped towards him, pulling her weapon free. A quick exchange of words in a strange, foreign language took place - neither of them attacked another, but there was clear tension in the dusty air. After a heated exchange, the stranger left in a hurry while the guard took position by the entrance, drawing her weapon.
The food looked disgusting, but Basil hadn't eaten in a few days- he'd vehemently refused to. The boy's stomach growled against his will as he gingerly poked the fish with his finger, holding back a gag. "Ewwww... Do you savages not have anything better?"
No response. Feeling annoyed (as well as scared, anxious, lonely, and confused), the boy peered through the cell bars to see what appeared to be a heated argument between two of the guards. After a minute, one of them fled, and the other drew a weapon. Basil didn't understand what had just happened, nor did he care- all he wanted was to be given real food.
And to go home.
Especially to go home.
Several words descended the stairway, echoing against the walls. The guard's body relaxed almost imperceptibly, but she still kept a hand on her weapon. technical level - some of the people within him were conceived and given life to by playwrights, the rest honed by experiences of life itself. He wondered idly what would happen if he were to meet one of the people he collected. He hoped that he would get to compare his Soon, more people showed up, all wearing some sort of a variant on what little could be seen of the woman's amour. Their hands were full of what could be best classified as equipment: strange weapons, lanterns that illuminated the harsh interior to an unseen before point, one held a tool that he began to operate into the lock but didn't look like any key a sane person would use. It did not seem that they were sent to replace the odious fish with something edible.
One of the people stared at Basil. His mouth moved, but the words that came out of it were incomprehensible. He repeated it several times, finally - by chance or providence - arriving upon badly accented Serenian. "We go. Moved." He continued with his litany of alien words. It was obvious that he had no idea what would work, and was making the best of his limited vocabulary in a trial-and-error method.
Basil winced as his hunger overrid his disgust, picking up the fish with his thumb and index finger. He slowly lifted it up to his tongue, reluctant to even taste it....
The sound of footsteps caused the boy to freeze, and he glanced upwards to see a group of guards in strange outfits approaching his cell. His heart jumped as he saw them unlocking his door, and he quickly stood up straight. One of the men spoke in a strange language he'd never heard before, then followed up in Serenian. "Home?" Basil said quickly, cutting off the man before he could speak further. "Moved back home?"
If several barely pronounced words made a spark of hope flare up in Basil's heart, he was set up for a bad disappointment. The man just stared, either struggling to process his words or trying to find a way to make the obstinate kid move. Fortunately, not all of his co-workers were equally lacking in imagination and common sense. One of the women accompanying him just snarled in frustration and grabbed the boy's arm, pulling him outside the cell. Taking advantage of the momentum, she pushed him in the direction of the stairs. Some of her companions were already there, weapons drawn.
From the outside, there were audible sounds of fighting. They were distant enough not to give any information, but close enough to put the guards on edge. Some of them gestured to the lantern, covering his eyes. As several others followed suit, blocking their sight with forearms or pulling their head wraps over it. The woman who pushed Basil extinguished the lamp, the only source of light in the dungeon. At her word, the others opened their eyes, hopefully accustomed enough to the darkness to make their way to the exit. They surrounded the boy tightly, slowly moving towards the staircase.
Basil flinched as one of the guards shoved him, forcing him out the cell door and towards a flight of stairs. As he was jostled in the direction the guards were heading, is quickly dawned on ghe boy that he likely wasn't being taken home. "There's a fight outside!" he thought, heart racing. "Somebody is here to rescue me! That's why I'm being moved, so they won't be able to find me!"
As the light from the latern was extinguished, the boy made his move. He kicked at the shins of the guard ahead of him, and would use the resulting confusion to attempt to slip into the darkness behind them...
Basil's valiant effort was rewarded with a cry of pain. His victim crumpled down, holding tight onto the damaged shin. The other guards, alerted by his shout, spun around to face the unexpected threat. Some still stared towards the darkness, weapons at the ready as if waiting for another attack. As the stream of presumed curses spilled from the mouth of their wounded comrade, one of the women finally caught on.
She spoke in curt, simple sentences, likely not wasting any words. Basil's target finally rose, his movements slow. While his expression couldn't be visible through the wrap on his head, his anger was bubbling in his eyes. He raised an arm, but before he managed to bring it down upon the attacker, the woman grabbed it. The others, now informed of the situation, began to cast glances at the boy, no longer seeing him as a passive cargo to be conveyed from one place to the other.
The guards began to tighten ranks around Basil, cautious not to let him escape or attack again. The victim moved to the rearguard, unwilling to take any more kicks. His fist was still tightened and twitching, but he took no more swings at the boy. Apparently they were forbidden to do him unnecessary harm.
No luck. While Basil's kick had connected, the guard's cry of pain hadn't been enough to distract the others. The quickly formed ranks around him before he could attempt to flee, while the guard he'd struck turned to face him. Basil's eyes widened as the man lifted his arm to strike him, and didn't relax them even when the blow was stopped by the other guards. "I can't fight them..." he thought as they began to move again. "I can't fight them, and I'll never see my family again!"
At that precise moment, something inside of Basil broke.
The guards kept casting glances at their prisoner, but no other attempts at escape were made. It was not enough to relax them - the threat of an attack was still hanging over their heads. They finally reached the door atop of the staircase - a rather average wooden plank. The colour, texture and age of lumber would be hard to estimate without any light.
There were sounds of fighting coming from closer nearby, yet still muffled and distant enough to remain a concern rather than an immediate threat. One of the guards manipulated something hard to see on the wall, while another pushed at the door. It opened to a small room so cluttered with crates, boxes and containers whose shape and nature was hidden by the darkness; that it was nearly impossible to pass through. There was no windows to be seen across the stone walls. Once the final man passed through, he pushed the doorway shut. From the outside, it was covered with enough mortar to be indistinguishable from the walls.
The guards carefully filed into the room, moving with extra caution in order not to jostle any of the clutter. Even the group surrounding Basil was forced to change formation from a tight circle to a frustrated line. Most of them followed the winding path through the warehouse towards an exit veiled in darkness. Finally, the woman standing behind the boy carefully pushed him forward, indicating that it was time for him to go.
"Why did I have leave the house?"
Basil faltered slightly, only picking up the pace again when pushed. He looked forwards blankly, tears welling in his eyes. "It's all my fault..." he thought, mind fuzzy with fear. "I didn't listen. Why didn't I listen?"
The noises from outside were getting fainter with each passing moment, and soon the boy could hear nothing but his own footsteps...
The guard group assembled in front of the door - to the best of their ability, considering how tightly packed the warehouse was. The man closest to the door put his ear to it and listened intently for something. He didn't look all too satisfied when he finally pushed it open, but the others trusted his judgement enough to keep moving.
Outside was the domain of the night. The sliver of the moon hanging in the sky provided barely enough light for them to move about in the labyrinth of walls and alleys. The route the guards have chosen led them out of sight and away from any people that might have lived nearby. The only sign of life was some skittering movement there and then; probably the local animals. Some of the men were casting worried glances at every flickering shadow, but at least in this aspect, their paranoia seemed not to be warranted.
Every now and then, the captain in charge lifted a hand to signal one of the men to scout ahead for something while the rest waited for their report. Most of their communication was done by signals and motions, barely discernible in the darkness. Sometimes, their leader's commands were completely unnoticed, to the point that he had to pick someone and put his hand against her face or arm to convey his will if not through sight then through touch.
It was difficult to measure time, so late in the night and with the moon hidden. Not even the guards escorting their prisoner knew how long it took to finally make their way in the labyrinth of alleys and buildings. Their destination looked like nothing out of the ordinary, certainly there were no distinguishing features for them to tell it apart from any other structure of firm walls and closed doors. And yet, something was recognizeable enough for the captain to end their journey through the shadows and begin to fumble at his belt for a key.