Archive of Our Own ^beta

When he arrives back in the Keeper Compound Artemus is surprised not to hear complaining from Garrett. The thief is trapped within a circle of runes, hunched down in an old wooden chair, his fingers idly tracing the ends of the chair arms. He won't look up at Artemus, no matter what Artemus says to him, and he always turns his face away.

"What did you do to him?" Artemus demands when Orland finally deigns to come down from his office.

"This is to keep him here for the trial," Orland says. He glares at Garrett, who just focuses harder on the floor.

"This is insanity," Artemus says, trying to quash the rage that spikes inside him at the way Garrett seems to shy away from them. "Let him out. I will take responsibility for his presence at the--"

"This is not something you can sweep under the rug, Artemus. Not this time." Orland folds his hands tightly behind his back. "He killed the interpreter. He must face the consequences for that."

"Can you prove that?" Artemus demands. "Has he confessed?"

"Who else could it have been? He had the motive and means. She was close to exposing him as the Brethren and Betrayer."

"And how do you know that?" Artemus feels like a whining child, but this is absurd. Orland just shakes his head. "Let me talk to him." At that Orland laughs, and Artemus feels cold. "What? What are you laughing at?"

"Balance," Orland reminds himself. He takes a moment to regain his composure. "Your faith in the thief is... noble, I suppose, but a Keeper is dead. A child will have to serve as Interpreter. Now is not the time for your nonsense."

"I want to see him." Artemus squares his shoulders. "Open the circle."

Orland shakes his head but beckons over an Enforcer. "You're too attached, my friend."

Artemus ignores him, trying not to fidget as the hulking enforcer sweeps aside one of the runes. Rather surprisingly, Garrett does not attempt to run. He cowers, clutching the arms of his chair. When Artemus steps inside the ring of runes he grows tense, his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Garrett," Artemus says. "Explain to me what has happened." He receives no response. "If we do not clarify what has happened, you may be executed. You must tell me--"

Garrett curls in on himself, shoulders rising to the level of his ears. A glyph sparks in the circle around them, and Artemus catches sight of...

No. It's not possible.

He puts his hand to Garrett's chin and lifts, and though the thief winces and closes his eyes he does not struggle. He allows Artemus to look upon the swollen flesh of his mouth and chin, at the ink driven into him in curves and lines. He swallows, and Artemus can only stare, speechless, at the locking glyph tattooed on the lower half of his face.

There is a brief moment where he questions it. With this glyph placed where it is, Garrett will be unable to open his mouth. How do they expect him to defend himself? To eat and drink? But it doesn't take him long to understand.

The answer, of course, is that they don't. The trial will go quickly and smoothly, and Garrett will not live long enough for it to matter.

Still Artemus can't speak. He touches his thumb to the lowest line, low on Garrett's chin, and the thief shudders, making a pained noise deep in his throat. The flesh is seeping, the tattoo painfully fresh. His own voice sounds hoarse and far away as he whispers, "What did they do to you?"

Again, the answer is obvious, but Garrett does not respond. His chin rests heavily in Artemus' hand and his nostrils flare as he struggles to take a deep breath. The glyph glows slightly and he makes another pained noise before his teeth clench involuntarily. Artemus is not sure what pains him more--the pain the thief is currently in or the circumstances that let them do this to him in the first place. He can picture them rendering him unconscious with a poisoned drink or a signed glyph, but he can picture Garrett fighting it and the Keepers holding him down as the glyph was inked into his flesh. Every option he can see ends in the pain before him.

When Artemus lets him go Garrett huddles back in his chair, still clinging to the arms with trembling fingers. Beyond the circle the enforcer whispers. The glyphs drawn on its skin glow too, power and pain in equal measure, but the Keeper that this enforcer was in its previous life spent years preparing for the marks on its flesh. Garrett has had no preparation at all.

Artemus steps away. "Garrett. Stand up."

Garrett grinds his teeth. He doesn't make a move to stand.

"I will not ask you again. Stand."

Garrett shifts uncomfortably before sliding to the edge of his seat. He breathes shakily, then stands, trembling like a newborn fawn.

"Good boy," Artemus says, and Garrett shudders.

His shoulders are low as Artemus leads him to Orland's office. He stumbles every few steps. Even so, when Orland sees them, he goes stiff.

"What is he doing out?" he demands, pointing to the thief.

"What did you do to him?" Artemus demands in return.

"The glyph? It was done for everyone's safety, including his own."

"This is beyond precaution. This is sadism." Garrett takes a deep, shuddering breath and exhales sharply, wobbling on his feet, and Artemus takes him by the shoulder to keep him upright. "You have to see that."

"I see a thief and probable murderer who has talked his way out of consequences time and again. Too many people get caught up in his sly words, and you, Artemus, you are the worst of all."

For a moment he wonders on some level if Orland is right. It's true that he can't maintain balance when it comes to Garrett, that the thief has had privileges that even Keepers aren't allowed, but none of that is a death sentence. If anything, Garrett's actions have proven his trustworthiness.

"You won't even give him the opportunity to defend himself," he returns. "This is not our way."

"Neither is preferential treatment for deserters," Orland all but snarls. "He should have been killed when he left the Keepers the first time."

"And he wasn't because Caduca thought he had a role to play." He lowers his voice, though there's no one about to hear but Orland and Garrett. "You know she would not want this."

Orland looks at him with resignation settling into his expression. "It doesn't matter now."

He sighs. "There is nothing I can say that will change your mind, is there?"

Orland shakes his head.

"Then you leave me no choice in the matter. I will call on the Council."

With a sigh, Orland waves him off. "Do what you will. We all know who is responsible."

He physically turns Garrett away. The thief stumbles along at his side through the winding halls, struggling to breathe through his nose.

"Listen to me," Artemus says to him quietly. "You need to run. Go to... Go to the Hammer fort, and hide there. I will try to gather support for you but in the meantime you need to lie low. Can you do that?" There's no response, and he gently turns Garrett's face toward him. The thief whimpers in pain. The eyes he turns to Artemus are red with unshed tears. "Can you do that for me?"

Garrett pulls his hand from the tattoo. He nods wearily.

"Good. Good." If only there were more he could do for him, he thinks, eying the tattoo. "When you get to Fort Ironwood, try to get some rest, and wash your face, if you can. We will find a way to unwrite the glyph, I promise you." Garrett is still curled in on himself in a way that unnerves him. This is not the body language of the cocky young thief he has tried to protect all these years. "Garrett. Do you understand what I am telling you?"

Garrett draws in a stuttering breath and nods.

"Then go now. I will try to lead the enforcers away." He closes his eyes, counts backwards from ten, and when he opens them again he is alone in the hallway. Even injured, Garrett is like clockwork that way.

If ever the thief had wanted a test of his abilities, Artemus thinks, this is it. The Keeper enforcers know all that he has been taught and then some. And there is one more thing--they will not hesitate to kill civilians in an attempt to get to Garrett. They--or rather Artemus, because if not for him the thief would still be cowering inside the ring of runes--are potentially bringing the full wrath of the Keepers onto that Hammer fort.

That is the thought that gives Artemus pause. Not his own lack of balance--he's long since accepted that--but that of the city at large. By sending Garrett to the Hammers he's virtually declared war on the faction, and the Hammers won't hesitate to retaliate if and when the Keeper enforcers make a move. Is destroying the balance of the city truly worth this price?

Yes, he tells himself. To her death Caduca remained adamant about one thing: the Times Unwritten were coming, and darkness would fall across the city. A Brethren and Betrayer would bring everything crashing down, and though he wanted to believe the best of Orland his suspicions were mounting. But Orland or not, if the Keepers were to have any chance at surviving someone would need to act against that Betrayer. That someone is Garrett. It has to be.

And so, as the whispers turn to shouts in the distance, Artemus too fades into the darkness. A storm is coming, and he cannot stop it here. The Age of Darkness is at hand.