It could have been worse. She wasn't dead yet.

Calponia kept reminding herself of that as the guard shoved her against the rough outer wall of the tavern. Shove, shove, drag, drag, and there was the pat down. She suspected she lost a layer of skin from the side of her face. Crude metal cuffs snapped around her wrists.

Not dead yet. The faces of her captors made her reconsider the permanence of that status.

"You mentioned friends," the older captain sneered at her, squinting upward at the broken window.

"I lied," Calponia blurted. Barring the fact Cesario's disguise was far better, and intact, Lady Agatha wore no disguise at all. Aside from the obvious legal issue they would have with the lady knight's flippant use of weapons, there was also the very discomforting chance the guard were not only aware of the Inquisitors' presence but supportive of it. Lady Agatha would stab them to death before she allowed them to arrest her. Best to divert their attention to the rebel without a mustache in front of them. "It's just me."

The captain's sneer turned ugly. He nodded to the other guard. "Go check upstairs-"

Calponia hurled herself backwards. The back of her head caught the captain under the chin, who grunted and released her long enough for her to slip out of his hold. With black spots dancing at the edges of her vision, she made it half a dozen steps before she tangled in her own feet; she managed to roll so she didn't slam her chin against the cobblestones. She'd developed a knack for falling. The guard chasing her wasn't so lucky. His arms closed around the air she'd occupied as he launched himself at her. The unfortunate fellow skidded hard on the street, tumbling into a crumpled heap. Calponia looked up in surprise, if she didn't know better, the bête noire seemed to be working to her advantage.

Her victory was short lived as the captain hauled her up, cursing through his bloody teeth at her. "Try that again, and I will spill your guts right here on the stones, trollop." His fingers clamped hard around her arm as he lead her away, snarling at the other guard to pick himself up. She almost pitied that one, his nose clearly broken as he staggered to his feet, but his glower promised retribution. He was going to blame her for the fall, and it likely was her fault in some way. Not that he knew that. He was still a jerk.

Assholes, all of them, she thought, through the painful march through the streets. There was no sign of the Inquisitors or zealots now, as if they'd all filtered into that tavern room. Why were the Inquisitors in this realm to begin with? Were the others okay? Her distraction worked in keeping the guards from further investigation but what if they had been overpowered? Mack was fairly hard to kill but what about Lady Agatha or Cesario? Her stomach churned at the thought and that unease provoked the bête noire. Twice the captain's feet found hidden potholes in the street, bringing down Calponia to the street each time. One hole was so deep he pitched forward with an audible crunch to his knee that made him limp the rest of the walk to the jail. Not that she was in much better shape, feeling the various bruises she'd accumulated since her plummet from the window. The captain ignored the incidents with grim determination, not losing his grip on her again.

After what felt like hours, the air fog laden and pungent around them, they reached a low squat building. For a jail, it seemed rather small for a city this size, until they dragged Calponia inside, descending carved stone stairs, straight down into the earth. She never considered herself a claustrophobic person until the damp rock walls closed in around her, the path not quite wide enough for her and the captain so that it scraped her shoulders as they pressed through. The interior of the prison was ripe, the overpowering smell of unwashed bodies, urine, and rotting hay made her eyes water. It was ten times worse what she imagined an old English prison. The panic Calponia had staved off with worry of her friends clamped down on her.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to sign me in? What about due process? Do I get a phone call?" She dug her heels in, trying to slow their progress as the captain dragged her to an empty cell. "I demand a lawyer!"

The captain snorted at that. "What damn foolery are you spouting?"

"My rights! Right to representation, right to fair trial--" The words died in her throat at the gleeful hatred on the captain's face.

"Only right you have is to a silken cord 'round your neck." He spat the words at her, "after you cough up a few names." Phlegm and spittle flecked across her cheek. She didn't give him the satisfaction of wiping it away.

"I don't know any names," said Calponia.

"Then it's a rough rope and a slow stretch, milady," said the captain. He didn't seem terribly disappointed by the prospect as he limped away, whistling under his breath.

Calponia sank onto the rotten hay. She felt woefully unprepared for this situation. All Cesario's warnings weren't enough to wrap her head around the absolute hatred the captain displayed at her drag show. Hanged for dressing as a man was total overkill and, and they expected her to give up others to the same fate? What sheer fuckery was that?

The sweating walls of the cell pressed in on her. She hugged her knees to her chest, trying to ignore the moldy hay poking at her skin through the thin cloth of her breeches. She couldn't blame the stink of the cell for her blurring vision. The tears pissed her off. She scrubbed them away, wincing at the sting of her inflamed skin, a parting gift of the faulty costume glue. Faulty, right, it was the glue's fault, not the damn bête noire squatting inside her. She kicked the bars of her cell, and discovered her shoes were quite flimsy by bruising her toes. She managed to muffle her scream of pain and frustration with the ruffles of her cuffs.

"Will you reveal names?"

Calponia inhaled a gasp and nearly choked on lace. She peered hard through the dim lighting, blinking in surprise as she recognized the other guard by the road rash on the side of his face. He leaned against the opposite wall, drab uniform blending into the general gloom. Without the presence of the captain, the guard watched her with quiet intensity.

"I don't have any names," said Calponia. Which was true. She didn't know Cesario's real name, not really. Even if she did, well, she spent most of her life alone. Loyalty was something of a new commodity for her but it burned hot and fierce in her chest. She'd rather die than see Cesario dragged in here.

"None at all?"

Calponia squinted at the guard. She couldn't pinpoint how she knew. There wasn't a note of softness or femininity in that scraped up face. Not a hitch in the voice to betray them but maybe she'd developed a knack for spotting a drag show when she saw one. She decided to gamble on that instinct as she rolled to her knees and pressed against the bars of her cell.

"None, not even you." She held her breath.

The guard's shoulders sagged. "Dark Lady watch over us."

That tickled Calponia's foggiest memories of Shakespeare. She tilted her head to get a better look at her guard, spotting more hints now that she searched for them. However, without that careful scrutiny, 'he' was just another guard, unremarkable, plain, forgettable.

"If it was just you on patrol, would I have made it back inside the tavern?"

The guard raised an eyebrow at what was clearly a stupid question. "Did you really fall out the second story window?"

Calponia had the aches and bruises to prove it, feeling them now that she was huddled on the stone floor of a dank jail cell. Time to play another chance card. "Cesario brought me here."

The guard glanced down the dark hall before kneeling on the other side of the bars. "Cesario found help for the old man? Have you made contact with Rosencrantz?"

Calponia flinched at the name. The guard went quiet for a moment. "Rosencrantz is dead." A statement, not a question, as if the guard expected it. The woman slumped against the wall, tilting her head back to look at the dripping ceiling. "Is...is the old man alive?"

The guard's voice broke on the last word, a small tremor Calponia recognized. "My boss saved him. He's alive." She watched the tension release from the woman's body.

The guard turned to look at her, assessing Calponia. "They will try to torture names out of you."

That was a fun time to consider. Calponia hugged herself, remembering the torture happy fun house she'd witnessed on Sanguinheim. That was hard to top, though the captain looked like he would give it a go. "They will try." Her voice didn't sound as confident as she hoped.

"You're brave, even if you are a little foolish."

"Yeah well, this world is not exactly what I expected when I read Shakespeare."

The guard scoffed at the name, though she didn't seem to possess the same burning hatred as Cesario. "The bard was a liar and a conman. He took the stories of our lives and twisted them into fairy tales. Some of his fantasies were more damaging than others."

"What do you mean?"

"The way to Arden is difficult but not impassable. His stories leaked back here through the ways. There were enough half truths in his stories to condemn more than one person to the gallows."

Calponia felt chilled. "For what?"

"Desertion, deception, numerous sins, layered in the tragedies and romances. It was enough to cast suspicion on Cesario and her twin. He kept the attention off her at the cost of his life," said the guard.

Her twin. The detail rattled around in her head as the inner light bulb finally clicked on. She remembered where she'd read the name Cesario before. "Oh my god, Twelfth Night."

"Don't even say the name out loud," the guard hissed, grabbing Calponia's ruffled cuffs to peer hard in her face. "Or I will silence you myself before the captain comes for you."

Calponia didn't doubt her. "Why is Arden so messed up?"

The guard released her. "Those in power are loathe to give it up. Time works differently here. Everything moves at crawl, even revolution. Now the Inquisitors have come. I can only guess what havoc they will create before they leave."

"Well, that's why we risked coming here," said Calponia, "to stop those assholes. That and rescue Prospero's sons."

The guard startled. "They were taken?" The woman grabbed for her again, but Calponia jumped away from the bars. "When were they taken? Do you know who has them? Do you know where?"

"Hey, I don't know much more than you do," said Calponia, holding up her hands. "Rosencrantz said they were in the catacombs."

"Beneath us," the guard breathed, her voice so quiet Calponia almost missed it. Her jaw set firm as she climbed to her feet. "You can't be here when the captain returns and my time on the city watch has ended."

"What? What does that mean? Holy crap, are you going to kill me?"

The look she received would have wilted wildflowers. The guard pointedly placed the key on the ground, easily in arm's reach. "Find your friends."

Calponia might have asked more questions except when she looked up from the key the woman had vanished. Completely vanished, not even a whisper of her exit. Calponia didn't bother to try to figure out the why and the how of that little trick. There were more pressing matters, like snatching her freedom and getting the hell out of here. She reached through the bars, brushing the key with her fingertips.

Maybe it was because she was concentrating so hard. There were no other distractions. Whatever the reason, it was the first time she felt her world go sideways, the invisible tug inside as the bête noir reared up. She watched, her stomach churning as the key slid away from her fingertips and slipped into a large crack in the floor.

"No, no, no, no, that did not just happen." Calponia couldn't get enough air, pressing hard into the bars. This couldn't be happening. Who was she kidding? This was typical for her life. Calponia sagged on the bars, fighting the urge to cry. A sound down the stone hall made her freeze, listening hard to see if her guard in drag had returned or worse, the captain was coming to commence the torture. When neither scenario appeared to be the case, Calponia released her breath.

"Focus, Cal, focus." There had to be another way. She was so damn sick of being the damsel in distress. And what if something had happened to her friends? What if there was no cavalry coming to save the day and her friends were lying dead in a puddle of Rosencrantz ooze? 

"Okay, negative thoughts not helping." Calponia gnawed on her lip, trying not to let fear and desperation suck her down into the same crack as the key. Faint hissing reached her ears as she smelled ozone and something else, something indefinable, real and not real. It filled her sinuses and made her head ache. Calponia looked up.

The bars hissed and smoked beneath her hands, visibly warping out of shape in seconds. She yanked her hands away. "What the hell--"

One of the bars folded outward in a twisted spiral, the metal blackened and corroded. She did that? Calponia poked the ruined bar, squeaking when it snapped off and fell to the ground with a muted thud.

She did that. How did she do that? The bête noire had to be the root of it but how had she not destroyed everything on contact her whole life? Did Mack know about this? She stared at her hands. They looked just like hands, not vehicles of chaotic destruction. And yet...she tentatively reached out and touched the lock of her cell, counting under her breath.

She reached the two hundreds and still nothing. Calponia jerked her hand away, feeling like an idiot. Figures, nothing worked when it was supposed to. She stopped. Not when it was supposed to, but it did work in unexpected ways. Like using her klutziness to her advantage.

"Be my own cavalry," she whispered. She crouched on the floor, pressing one hand to the lock as she reached again for the crack in the floor, pouring all her desperation, fear, and hope as her arm muscles strained. The strange scent bloomed. The air in front of her shimmered. The lock groaned, dripping down like a Dali painting as the cell door swung open.

"I am a freaking badass," said Calponia, marveling at the melted metal. "Or just a freak."

She stepped out into the hall, glancing both ways. She should attempt to make it back to the inn, though, if she were honest with herself, she knew no matter which way the fight ended, her friends were no longer there. Which left option B.

That guard hadn't vanished into nowhere. Calponia turned toward the apparent dead end hall. If she heard the guard right, the catacombs were under the jail, which probably meant there was a secret door. Hoping her temporary shot of 'chaos touch' was over, she ran her fingers along the wall, searching for a seam, a loose stone, anything that screamed 'hidden passage here'.

Footsteps approached. The gruff voice of the captain echoed off the stones. Calponia looked over her shoulder to gauge his proximity when her trailing fingers went from touching stone to empty air.  Calponia let gravity take her as she fell sideways through the wall.