The Earth King Has Invited You to Labyrinthia
Disclaimer: I own nothing in this very strange crossover.
Notes: Another short interlude before returning to the main story.
Nothing in his life had shaken him more than the sight of Defender Wright and Sir Layton at the bottom of The Pit, alive and well. He had spared no steps in his bending, pushed all of the same veins of earth he had bent in the years and years before. He had crushed enemies and good friends alike within that dread machinery. Yet Kira still walked the earth. Yet Wright and Layton and their assorted apprentices stood at the harmless bottom of The Pit and smiled back at him, and with a fire in their very hands wished him good luck. What was once a coherent narrative in his mind had been thrown into disarray by one man. Rather, by two men and a few collected children.
Perhaps... this was like the trial. Perhaps, yes, he was only missing one vital piece to have this tale fall into its proper order. As they left his sight, those four strangers and the Storyteller's beloved daughter, Barnham's resolve was set. As Inquisitor, it was his duty to discover the truth, just as they set forth to do. Where they searched below, he would search above. Throwing the courthouse doors open, he made full haste back to the scene of the incidenet: the home of Alchemist Newton Belduke.
He arrived to the arrest of Jean Greyerl. His officers held the tiny woman's arms aloft, and amidst her cries of pain they shouted, "Sir, we've caught her! The Alchemist's murderer!"
He straightened himself up before his officers. "On what grounds?"
The question staggered all three of them, Greyerl included. Barnham thought he felt the earth itself still under his feet before he sensed the collective eyes of the rest of his officers on the back of his head.
"But... but she's a firebender!" one officer protested. "We saw her bending the fireplace- uh- flames as we battled the Avatar!"
"Then detain her for being a firebender," Barnham commanded. "But she is by no means under arrest for the Alchemist's murder. I dare say she's not under arrest at all. Last I remembered, Greyerl was a born-and-bred Labyrinthian, not an agent of the Fire Nation."
"But-"
"And she was the one to alert the guard of the fugitive Defender Wright in her household."
His men were stammering like idiots and tightening their grip on Greyerl's fragile arm. Her face pinched and her skin was going pale with fear, and yet they only had minds- what little ones they had, for their "arrest." "But sir- firebend-"
"Send the Inquisition to investigate her parents, if you must have something!" Barnham ordered with a sigh. He dropped to his knee before Greyerl. "Pardon the inconvenience, Miss Greyerl. We have disturbed you and your home. Permit me to search the Alchemist's study and replace whatever has been moved."
Greyerl shivered, and with a terrified tremor in her voice, she pleaded, "Have mercy on my parents, please! Please, sir, they aren't even benders! I don't know why I have these powers, but they're not bad people! I'm not a bad person! I love my city! I don't want to hurt anyone!"
Barnham nodded solemnly, assuring Jean and quieting her panic. "Hold her in the kitchen of the house until I give you the word. Have Vigilante Foxy accompany her if she needs the privy."
"Yes, sir!" His officers, and he mentally took their names for future reprimanding, grappled Jean's arms and forced her into a deep bow. "Be grateful for Inquisitor Barnham's mercy, traitor!"
"The truth-seers will put you through the wringer once you're in a cell!" The officers hauled her to her feet and dragged her to the kitchen and out of Barnham's sight.
It was the usual conduct for firebenders. Barnham vividly remembered every time he himself had treated a firebender with such open contempt. Doing such to a murderer and enemy of the city was justifiable and even somewhat cathartic. Doing the same to the little girl that used to wrap his tea leaves made his chest burn with guilt. It hurt him. It felt wrong somewhere deep in his chest and in the back of his head. She was a child, and she was being treated like a monster only because of her bending.
This couldn't be right. It couldn't be. It thumped in his head. He had to get back to work if he was to find the papers Wright spoke of. Barnham turned on his heel and stepped into the Alchemist's house.
It was a familiar and short walk to the study, even through all the clutter. He had turned over that crime scene time and time again. He could reconstruct that room from memory if he had to. It was that very fact that drew his eyes to the papers on the floor and their faint writing. Heedless to the guard posted to the back wall, Barnham lifted the papers to his nose. They smelled, for lack of a better word, toasted. The flour-puffed baker had his hands all over the things, no doubt, but that didn't account for the heated scent. The top-hat wearing one, perhaps? Curious, Barnham held the papers over the guard's candle. Before his eyes, and before the guard could protest, the words darkened on the page.
"Witchcraft!" his officer gasped.
Barnham read the page swiftly. Witchcraft indeed, and very suspicious. Why would an ink only made visible by fire be used to communicate with the Storyteller? And why did it smell like lemons? Every word he read further broke his heart. Belduke spoke of the love of his aide, of his little daughter who Barnham never knew, of the ache in his heart at the sight of the Bell Tower, and his inability to go on in his grief. The details eluded him, for the Alchemist spoke in riddles and allusions, but the words were those of a broken man. The only thing which made total sense to him was Belduke detailing his suicide by poison. The black mood over the Alchemist's heart took his life, not Jean Greyerl. He had a heartbroken, shy little girl imprisoned in her own home for the crime of... of what? Of losing her mentor to suicide. Of alerting the Inquisitors to intruders. For being an Earth Kingdom firebender.
He shuffled the papers back into order and rubbed at his temple. "My head hurts..."
A deep voice from behind him spoke. "I shall have the guard fetch you water."
He turned and stood at attention for Her Highness, High Inquisitor Darklaw. His immediate and only superior besides the Storyteller, the highest civilian authority, High Inquisitor Darklaw rose from a low villager to the royal silks within his own lifetime. Barely any older than him, she stood at the very right hand of the Storyteller himself. She stood tall and proud, too, with long black hair and a sharp intelligent ace and flinty eyes. He had the honor of working across from her in the Hall of Inquisition every day, and he still had to fight a flush of heat to his cheeks and a knot in his throat to speak to her clearly.
"My lady."
"Have you apprehended the fugitives?"
"No." He hesitated to answer in full, momentarily and reflexively ashamed he had let his quarry escape again. He had to keep his mind about him, though, as well as his reputation before the High Inquisitor. "I lost their trail. I took to the crime scene instead, and recovered vital evidence to the Belduke case."
It was in that moment that Barnham felt, perhaps, he was on the right track. Darklaw's eyes flashed in the candle light like he had never seen before. It was stunning, but it also made him nervous. That look on her face was not joy, nor was it fear, but it was almost both at once. It stole the very breath from her throat. Barnham's voice stole away from him, and he passed the papers to her in utter silence and let her read over them.
"What is this?" she asked finally.
"A suicide note," he told her. "Written by his own hand and addressed to the Storyteller. Some manner of trickery made the ink invisible until exposed to an open flame."
Her eyes flew over the words in a frenzy. "Who discovered this?"
"If Jean Greyerl is to be believed, it was the defender and the man in the top hat."
"You are relieved of this case."
"I-" The headache pierced through his clouded mind, and he shook the fuzzy noise out of his ears. "Excuse me?"
Darklaw turned and left immediately, taking long fast strides out of the house. Barnham followed her swiftly. This was unheard of! "My lady, why-"
When the High Inquisitor spoke, everyone listened. When the High Inquisitor rose her voicee, everyone stopped and ran from other rooms to listen. Barnham found himself surrounded by what had been his team of investigators, and the guards holding Jean Greyerl between them, just outside the Alchemist's front door. "The fugitives have escaped with the Storyteller's daughter, Espella. Find everyone associated with them and arrest them immediately."
"My lady!" Barnham exclaimed. "Every one of them? On what charge? With all due respect-"
The High Inquisitor bore down upon him with all her presence, stunning him to silence and making him flinch. His men surrounded him to ogle at the spectacle he'd made in questioning her orders. "If I had your due respect, you would follow these orders without question, Inquisitor Barnham."
"But-"
"Am I to understand your sympathies lie with the Fire Nation?"
Panic welled up in his chest as his guards- his own men!- began to draw their swords on him. "No, High Inquisitor! My city has my loyalty, completely and utterly!"
"Then you will carry out my orders as I give them, when I give them, and how I give them!" Her eyes blazed as anger contorted her face into an enraged snarl. "Is that clear?!"
"Yes, my lady!" He dropped to his knee and lowered his head. "For Labyrinthia!"
He dared not raise his eyes, but he could keep his gaze on her feet. Darklaw was often commanding, but she usually reserved a brusque and violent tone for firebenders. To see her erupt into real fury terrified him. It filled his chest and strangled his throat as he tried to control his breathing. He was the leader of the Inquisitors; Darklaw all but ruled Labyrinthia. One more errant slip of his tongue and he could be dead on the spot, or thrown into prison to be cast into The Pit-
Thoughts collided in his mind as if a blade had been raised against them, and with a mighty thrust they shattered against each other. Being cast into the Pit would not kill him, nor would he stand idly by and allow himself to be captured- or worse- for nothing more than questioning. He life was his own, and his thoughts did not belong to Her Highness. He was his own man!
His headache cracked into a manageable thump between his ears. Darklaw's feet stood still, watching him, waiting for him, before they retreated from his vision. The other officers put away their swords, and with Darklaw gone, he stood.
"Go about your orders, but quietly," he told the guards. "Be civil. Do not cause panic. I will speak to the baker woman, and ask her to come in for questioning."
"Yes sir!"
They scattered. He stood. He waited until they were all gone before rounding a corner and heading away from town square. Patty Eclair could take shelter in his home; it would not be searched. In the meantime, he had a route to investigate. Where did Espella keep disappearing to...