• Pride's Treasure: Episode 17: Sorry I Got You Arrested. Again.

    Another day, another arrest.

    You’ve been sitting in this uncomfortable, grey room for an hour, the white light overhead pecking away at your head and causing your vision to blur at the edges. You fold your arms on the table in front of you and lean forward to rest your head. Just as you get comfortable, your stomach rumbles, its hollowness suddenly impossible to ignore. You grumble to yourself, glancing up at the huge mirror, wondering who’s watching you from the other side.

    Finally, Raguel walks in, a thick folder in his hand. He lays it on the table and sits opposite you, rigid like he’s got a broom up his backside. He taps the folder repeatedly until you look at it.

    One word is written on the front of the folder: Aguillard.

    “The King’s Needle,” Raguel says, enunciating every word as if it should mean something to you.

    It doesn’t.

    Of course, it doesn’t.

    Why would it?

    “It has been a long time,” he says.

    “What has?”

    Despite your obvious confusion, Raguel seems to think you know more than you do. He taps the folder once more, his nail making an indent in the thin card. “You recognise this?”

    “No.”

    “It’s been a while since you were here.”

    You glance around the unfamiliar room. “I’ve never been here before.”

    He leans back in his chair with a laugh, but there’s no mirth in it. “Not this room, no.”

    His eyes are so dark, you can’t even tell if he has pupils. They could be pinpricks or saucers for all you can see.

    “Well, this is all I’ve seen since I got here, so I don’t know where I am.”

    “You’re at Cascade… obviously.”

    “What is Cascade?” you ask. “Nobody will tell me.”

    “You don’t know what Cascade is?” He folds his arms over his chest. “Or Aguillard?”

    “No.” You huff out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know what either of those things are.”

    “How did you come to be aiding Miss Hazard in her body-snatching escapades today?”

    “Do you mean Doctor Hazard?”

    He clears his throat. “I do.”

    “I only met her today.”

    “You expect me to believe that when you’ve been less than forthcoming so far?”

    You shrug. It’s not like you can explain any of this, is it?

    “How do you know Doctor Hazard?” he asks.

    “I don’t,” you tell him. “Like I already told you, I met her this morning. I was just… tagging along with Pride.”

    He nods slowly. “Ah, right. Mr Pride. And how do you know him?”

    Your knee starts bouncing under the table, because this line of questioning really isn’t any better than the last. “We met a few days ago…” You decide against mentioning Kane’s shop in case anyone gets in trouble. “At a bun-throw.”

    This man has the most sceptical eyebrows in the universe. “A bun-throw?”

    “Yes. In Abingdon. I was with him when he was called to the British Museum last night. You know there was an ash army in there tearing up the place?”

    “So, I heard. Who’s body was in the grave?”

    “What grave?”

    Panic rises in your stomach. Does he want to know if Pride was really the king allegedly buried at the Sutton Hoo site? Is he supposed to know?

    Raguel lets out a frustrated grunt. “The grave beside which you were arrested little more than an hour ago.”

    “Oh, that,” you say, trying not to sound too relieved. “Sir Reginald somebody. But Doctor Hazard definitely had no plans to dig him up.”

    “Just wanders around with body-bags in her pocket, does she?”

    “You know her better than I do. She’s your niece, isn’t she?”

    “An unfortunate connection.”

    You’re absolutely certain Ophelia feels the same way, but you don’t say anything. He dislikes you enough already.

    But you are curious about something. “What is Aguillard? Why are you asking me about it?”

    Raguel snorts derisively. “Not a what, a who.”

    “Who is Aguillard, then? And why would I know them?”

    He frowns, standing abruptly, so the chair screeches across the floor. With his palms on the table, he leans over you menacingly. “It is only a matter of time before you break, and I will sweep the rotten pieces of you back under the rock from which you came.”

    Since you haven’t been restrained in any way, you stand too. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care, though I can only assume Armando Rose knows you very well. I don’t know who Aguillard is, or what Cascade is, and I barely know your niece. I don’t know why I’m here, or why you’re being so rude to me, and I want to go home. So, what exactly are you arresting me for?”

    His nostrils flare. “If you won’t answer to me…” He turns on his heel and stalks out of the room, leaving you standing alone and none the wiser. From beyond the closing door, you hear, “They’re all yours.”

    You sit back down, anxiety biting away at your insides. What if Raguel has sent in someone even worse? You still don’t know what Cascade is, so how would you even know if they routinely torture people? And if you’re being arrested, shouldn’t you get a phone call? Isn’t that how it works? You bite your lip, unsure how anything works here. A place where all the rules are different.

    You stare at the door for long seconds before the handle turns, and you’re certain that whoever comes in next will be able to hear your heart beating in your throat. That they’ll be able to smell your fear. You hold your breath, letting it out in a rush when you see who’s there. “Uriel!”

    “Sorry about him,” he says, nodding towards the door. “He thinks you’re Aguillard.”

    “Oh!”

    “To be fair, you do look remarkably alike.”

    “Who are they?”

    “Aguillard was the king’s concubine and partner in… not quite crime, I suppose. After all, many things have been crimes that should never have been declared so.”

    “I… um, which king?”

    His smile is soft. “You know which king. The one whose purse you carry about your waist.”

    “I think… I think it might be time to go home.”

    He nods. “Do you have time for one more little mystery?”

    “Depends what it is.”

    “Sir Reginald’s son has an alibi for the night his father died.”

    “Does Ophelia know?”

    “Not yet. She was sent for… by Emlyn Shepherd.”

    “The coroner?” Did he choose Ophelia to examine Sir Reginald after all? “Well, that’s a surprise.”

    “Isn’t it just?” Uriel perches on the edge of the table. “So, will you help?”

    “How can I help? I don’t know anything or anyone.”

    “I seem to recall you were pretty good at extracting confessions.”

    You smile. “That was a fluke.”

    “Perhaps. But the old man deserves justice if he was murdered.”

    You don’t say anything about Ophelia’s findings because you don’t want to get her in trouble. Well… any more trouble. “You said the son has an alibi?”

    Uriel grins. “So, you’re interested, then?”

    You let out a long sigh.