Archive of Our Own ^beta

“All right,” Forficule whimpered. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

And that was what he did. He told Vilnix every detail of the meeting which had taken place in the back room of the Bloodoak tavern. Of the entrance of the Professor of Light, and how the sky pirate captain had fallen to his knees. Of the plan the three of them had hatched up. Of the Professor of Light’s decision to accompany the sky pirates on their quest to the Twilight Woods.

“The treacherous cur,” Vilnix spat. “And this captain?” he said. “Has he a name?”

“Cloud Wolf,” said Forficule promptly. “Though the Professor of Light addressed him by a different name.”

“Which was?”

“Quintinius Verginix,” came the reply.

Vilnix nodded. “Now, there’s a name to conjure with,” he said thoughtfully.

The nightwaif’s thorough, if belated, confession had proved very interesting to Vilnix Pompolnius. Not only did it confirm what he suspected about the Professor of Light, but he now also knew that Xintax had lied to him the night before. No-one could forget the name of Cloud Wolf - the sky pirate captain was infamous. The Leaguesmaster himself must be planning something underhand.

Vilnix chuckled to himself. There were many other ambitious leaguesmen who would be only too happy to strike a deal with the Most High Academe.

He turned back to Forficule. “And this youth you mentioned,” he said. “This Twig. What is he to the assembled gathering?”

Forficule swallowed. Although he hadn’t known Twig long, he had liked what he heard in the boy’s head. His thoughts were decent and honest, loyal and true. He would hate to think that something he said might mean that the boy came to harm.

Vilnix dangled the heavy pincers in front of his face. Forficule nodded, as much as the leather strap would allow, and continued. “He is a crew-member on board the Stormchaser,” he said.

“And?” asked Vilnix Pompolnius, sensing he was on to something.

“He was born and raised in the Deepwoods.”

“And?”

Forficule shuddered. If he made it clear that Twig was not relevant to the plan, perhaps the youth would be left in peace. “He is not to accompany the pirates on this particular trip,” he said. “He is to stay with Mother Horsef-”

Vilnix cut him short. “There is something you’re not telling me,” he said, and raised the pincers threateningly.

Forficule looked down. Tears welled up in his eyes. He was not a bad creature - but neither was he brave. The pincers hovered in the torchlight next to the metal bowl. Better dead than deaf.

“He... he is...” he faltered. “That is... Cloud Wolf is his father.”

Vilnix breathed in sharply. “A son,” he hissed. “Quintinius Verginix has a son. And he has left him behind,” he smirked. “How very careless.” He turned to Minulis. “We must introduce ourselves to the lad forthwith,” he said. “We shall invite him back here to Sanctaphrax, to await the return of his valiant father.”

He turned back to Forficule. “What a splendid little bargaining chip you have given us,” he said, as he returned the heavy pincers to the shelf. “I can’t tell you how grateful we are.”

Forficule felt wretched. His attempt to protect Twig had failed, and now the youth was in mortal danger. And yet - Sky forgive him! - he couldn’t help but be relieved that the Most High Academe seemed so pleased with the information.

“Am I free to go, then?” he asked.

Vilnix looked round at him, and smiled. Forficule stared back, hoping. With his head still echoing from the deafening noise of metal crashing on metal, he was unable to hear the dark thoughts lurking behind the Most High Academe’s smiling face.

“Free to go?” Vilnix Pompolnius said at last. His eyes twinkled. “Oh, yes. Quite free.”

Forficule gasped for joy.

Vilnix nodded to Minulis. “Unbind him and throw him out,” he said. “But first, cut off his ears.”

It felt exceedingly good, to have something pleasant to dream of once more.

From his earliest days as a lowly knifegrinder in Undertown, Vilnix had long dreamed of power, wealth, prestige. He’d never once been let down by his scheming - sabotaged by others once or twice, to be sure, but persevering through the grating setbacks still led him here, to the office of Most High Academe, to becoming the Savior of Sanctaphrax, to enjoying the opulence of the Leagues and the fawning of the masses. To a point where Vilnix no longer had anything left to dream of, to strive for... Until now.

Now, he has a lovely new dream, a personal vendetta at long last fulfilled, a series of infuriating slights in his youth finally made right. He dreams of seeing the look on that thrice-blasted Quint Verginix’s face, when the man sees what Vilnix has done to little Twig. Even better, the options afterward tantalize: chaining Quintinius up to watch as further tortures take his son apart, perhaps finishing by slitting the boy’s throat and letting the body rot beside his father. The horror, the grief, oh, simply picturing them is enough to fill Vilnix with more eager anticipation than he’s felt in years - and every day they come closer to fruition, whenever ‘Cloud Wolf’ returns from his illicit stormphrax quest. Several spies linger in place around the Undertown shipyards, Mother Horsefeather’s tavern, all ready to dash off a message at a moment’s notice when Quint’s ship returns, and Vilnix can once again fulfill his dreams-

-which makes it all the more alarming one morning, when he’s torn from sleep by an almighty cacophony, and what feels like the whole of Sanctaphrax dropping from beneath his bed.

Quint.

It must be Quint.

Foolish, arrogant, over-bearing Quint, who’d always acted like he’d known better than Vilnix in the Knights Academy, who’d gotten him thrown out, who’d probably LEAPT at the chance to go stormchasing and put one over Vilnix twenty years after his own fall from grace-

“Minulis! Minulis!” His manservant does not appear, unfortunately, but no matter; Vilnix can handle dressing himself, can gather his personal guards, can and will deal with that accursed sky pirate once and for all!

Especially, Vilnix reminds himself, skirting past fallen plaster and the shattered remains of his crystal chandelier, with a certain bargaining chip being held for just the right moment’s reveal.

“What is the meaning of this,” he says, voice soft, yet full of unspoken threat. “Can I not turn my back for a moment?”

Gathered within the Great Hall, the hundreds of academics who’d only moments ago been hollering with celebration are deathly silent, shuffling about uneasily. Upon the stage, Vilnix’s decidedly former patron, the Professor of Darkness, draws up his shoulders and scowls quite thunderously. Arrayed around him, a handful of ragged sky pirates bear matching glares - yet Vilnix ignores all of them but one, the tall fourthling standing front and center, his dark curls hanging limp and unwashed, much of his clothing caked in dry Mire mud, bloodstained bandages wrapped about one arm.

Quintinius Verginix.

Nearly three decades of rage swells within Vilnix just at the mere sight of him.

But one cannot rush their revenge - this situation is tenuous, and calls for immediate focus upon the greater threat: reminding the academics of Sanctaphrax precisely which doddering old fool already led them to the brink of ruination once, pointing out the use of renegade pirates to undertake what should be a sacred quest. He can practically see both Quint and the Professor of Darkness quiver with rage, but Vilnix keeps going, keeps his words booming across the hall, swaying the crowd back to his side, until at last: “Seize him - seize them all - these verminous bugs that must be crushed-!”

“It takes one to know one,” a shrill voice calls from the back of the hall. Nervous laughter ripples outward, and Vilnix feels his fury leap to new heights.

“Who said that?” he demands, heart pounding. “Come on, who was it?”

A figure steps into view. An awfully, unfortunately familiar figure, a servant dressed in white, who should have been present in Vilnix’s chambers when this mess first began. “The Professor of Darkness spoke the truth,” Minulis shouts, with more defiance than Vilnix has ever heard from the man. “Unlike you!”

“How dare you,” he screeches. “Guards, seize him too!”

Two of his flat-head goblins break off from the group attempting to reach the sky pirates, but none of them get very far, failing to shove and wade their way through a crowd actively resisting them, buying more time for Minulis to continue.

“Many’s the whispered conversation I overhead, the crooked deals you struck with the Leaguesmaster. The bribery. The corruption. You are the traitor! The monster! Torturing prisoners for information, or simple entertainment!” The servant flings a hand towards the distant stage, not at Vilnix himself, but at the sky pirates- “Taking captive Cloud Wolf’s son out of pure spite, to use against his father!”

At least, a distant part of Vilnix is able to think, past his growing rage and panic, he did get to see that oft-dreamed look of horror appear on Quintinius Verginix’s face.

Torturing prisoners

Simple entertainment

Taking his son-

“Twig,” Quint whispers, a rising chorus of no no NO he was supposed to be SAFE filling his mind to the exclusion of all else. Even when the gathered academics begin decrying Vilnix at last, calling for his ousting, even as the man himself turns and flees and the crowd surges after him, Quint can’t make himself move.

Taking captive Cloud Wolf’s son, to use against his father

Oh, Earth and Sky, what has he done?

“Captain?” There’s sharp alarm in Tem’s voice, his old friend grabbing Quint’s shoulder. “Captain, did he mean-”

“Twig,” Quint manages to say, a strangled confirmation, causing several of his remaining crew to inhale sharply. They can fuss at him for keeping this secret later- “We need to find Twig, now!” He turns towards the Professor of Darkness, desperate, but only sees alarm and dismay in the old academic’s eyes. “Where would Vilnix keep prisoners?!”

“I am sorry, my boy, I haven’t any idea-”

“Captain,” Spiker calls, not looking at Quint, but out into the thinned crowd - across which a figure wearing white robes is hurrying directly towards them. The servant, who’d called out Vilnix.

Taking captive Cloud Wolf’s son

Uncaring of the sharp drop, Quint leaps off the stage. Startled cries ring out, but he hears a heavy thump behind him, followed by more impacts; his crew, staying close, Hubble and the others not letting their shock slow them down. After their trials with the Great Storm, the struggles of the Twilight Woods- dealing with Spleethe and Mugbutt afterward, losing the Professor of Light- forced to set down in the Mire for repairs, only to be attacked by that damned Screed and delayed again-

“Where is he,” Quint demands, nearly leaping forward to seize Vilnix’s betrayer, “Where is my son?”

“Beneath the palace,” the man says instantly. “I can show you, quickly- the lad isn’t in a good way.”

Torturing prisoners

Simple entertainment

Cloud Wolf’s son

“Find a doctor,” Quint shouts over his shoulder, and then takes off running on the servant’s heels. “I’m coming, Twig,” he can’t help but mutter, mind still whirling with terrifying visions, with fear, with guilt. “Hold on, son. I’m coming.”

“The Hall of Knowledge lies at the top of this tower,” Minulis informs the sky pirate racing beside him, “Where Vilnix got whatever secrets or screams he wanted. A handful of cells are kept in the lower levels-”

“Hurry up, then,” Cloud Wolf growls, as dangerous as any real Deepwoods timber-wolf. Minulis skips the commentary as he unlocks one door after another, leading the way down a series of curving steps, until they reach a short hall with perhaps half a dozen heavy barred doors. “Twig! Twig, can you hear me?”

“This one,” Minus says, heading for the furthest cell. Another quick click of stolen keys, and he steps back to let Cloud Wolf shove the thick metal aside and be the first into the small, dank space, no windows for light, only a scattering of thin straw across the stone floor. The man barely makes it two steps before he staggers, and an agonized keen tears out of him, the likes of which Minulis has never heard without active torture involved.

Then again, perhaps the sight before Cloud Wolf counts.

Torchlight from the hall barely illuminates a thin figure upon the ground, arms and legs somewhat pulled in close, but otherwise very clearly laying where the guards last dropped him on his side. The fine blue pirate’s greatcoat is a tattered ruin, mere scraps of it still clinging to the boy’s form; the chestplate and parawings were stripped upon arrest, the lad’s boots likewise long gone. His hammelhorn-skin waistcoat, cut in two, sits just out of reach, one of Twig’s hands stretched in that direction.

Hands, upon which every finger is twisted and broken. There are razor thin cuts marching up his bare arms, each inflamed and likely still burning from the venom coating upon the blade Vilnix used. Whipmarks cover the boy’s exposed shoulders and back, and blistered burns are clearly visible on the soles of his feet. The rest of his skin bears heavy layers of bruising, from sickly yellow-ish green to deep, ugly blues and purples, kept fresh from the guards beating him every day.

And all of this constituted Vilnix holding back, waiting to inflict the real agonies upon Cloud Wolf’s return.

“Twig.”

The single word comes out cracked, broken, as Cloud Wolf falls to his knees beside the youth, one shaking hand gingerly brushing dark hair that curls like his own. Even that faint touch, though, is enough to cause a full-body shudder, and then the boy moans as all his injuries twinge at once.

“Twig,” his father repeats, bending down closer, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this- this is all my-” Another devastated keen, Cloud Wolf’s hands hovering, clearly desperate to gather his child up into an embrace but unwilling to cause him fresh pain. “I- I’m sorry, I never should have left you behind- not again, Sky curse me-”

A very tiny whimper, followed by the faint “F- Fa-?” causes Minulis to take a surprised step into the cell. It also makes Cloud Wolf flinch, before he gently, oh so featherlight gently, cups the boy’s bruised cheek. “Yes, son, it’s me. You’re safe now- you’re going to be alright, I swear.”

The second whimper is no less pained. “N- no, you- y’re- ‘m s’rry-”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Cloud Wolf hisses, his voice quiet but impassioned. “This is my fault, Twig, not yours. Not in any way. But I swear, I’ll do better from now on- we’ll get you fixed up and out of this wretched place, and I’ll never make you stay behind again, Twig, I swear.”

A sniffle. “Don’- don’ go-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” his father promises, curling over the boy as if to try and shelter him from further harm. There isn’t much physical comfort he can offer besides that, but perhaps-

Minulis cautiously steps around the two of them, crouching to gather up the prickly waistcoat. Young Twig’s first true scream had come when Vilnix sliced through the garment, even before any of the real pain began, so Minulis made certain to nab the pieces and bring them down to the cell, rather than discarding them as he lied to his employer. In the first few days, at least, when he delivered a handful of secret meals, Twig kept those pieces close, stroking the fur and using it for a meager pillow.

Now, Minulis nudges the waistcoat closer, careful to make sure it’s arranged the right way before coming into contact with Twig’s outstretched hand. Hammelhorns possessed a funny quality, in that petting their thick fur in one direction made it feel luxuriously soft; yet the opposite way caused it to prickle and jab, stabbing clear through one’s skin if they were not careful. Clearly, young Twig has possessed this waistcoat more than long enough to instinctively know one orientation from the other, as his swollen fingers twitch against the fur.

Cloud Wolf glances up just long enough to look Minulis in the eye, and nod gratefully.

But then Twig surprises them both, as his hand keeps moving, patting, searching for something against the fur, despite the pained whine spilling out of his throat. “Son, stop,” his father tries to order, stroking dark hair again, leaning over to place his own hand against the waistcoat. “It’s alright, you don’t need to- to-”

An odd look creeps onto the man’s face. He pats the coat again, and this time Minulis spots it as well: a lump. Quickly, Cloud Wolf reaches underneath the hammelhornskin, plucking out a little rolled-up bundle. Some sort of embroidered cloth.

Cloud Wolf freezes, staring at it. Twig lets out a relieved sigh.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Cloud Wolf unrolls the bundle, revealing it to be a fairly large kerchief, patterned like a lullabee tree. As if he were handling a great treasure, the sky pirate folds the cloth corner to corner, then eases it around his son’s neck to be knotted in place. Minulis, belatedly, recognizes it as something the boy had been wearing when Vilnix’s guards first brought him up to Sanctaphrax, pale and scared but determined not to knuckle under his fear. The kerchief disappeared somewhere between his presentation to Vilnix and that first torture session; hidden, obviously, so as not to be damaged or lost. Something of even greater emotional value than the hammelhornskin waistcoat.

Twig sighs again with the soft material restored to its place once more, and then the boy goes fully limp, succumbing again to unconsciousness. The best thing for him, really, until medicinal painkillers can be applied.

Reminded that the sky pirate crew should be arriving at the Palace soon with a doctor, Minulis rises back to his feet. “I’ll see if I can locate a stretcher.”

Cloud Wolf simply nods, already huddled over his son once more, and there he stays as Minulis hurries out, silently safeguarding the boy - for all the good it will do at this point.