Derranged
Chapter 8: Fakim
Fakim, second and favorite son of Razul, was tasked with keeping peace on the Isle of the lost. He was a great burly man with jet black hair and a short, neat beard. He was well versed in seeing how things run normally so he could pick out inconsistencies and investigate what caused them to fall out of line. In a dredged society such as this, a drunkard that suddenly gives up alcohol is a cause for concern. They fell out of line; a crooked one, but a line nonetheless.
The Goblins had reported that Maleficient had stopped drinking. She had not accepted any of the shipments that had passed through her way. She didn't bother to lower down the drawbridge so that they could deliver her the supplies. Though Fakim did not condone consumption of ill-made liquor on the island, he understood that it was a coping mechanism for this godforsaken place.
Fakim and his three underling guards entered Maleficient's castle, armed and ready with their scimitars. Not a sound was being made here, though later piercing winter wind added an eerie sub layer to the erode the stillness. The kitchen was stone cold, as were the living quarters. Her daughter, Mal, was nowhere to be seen. Fakim had Mal on file as well. Tormented youth, age 19, and endured years of abuse under her mother. Fakim had more sympathy than his father, but it was easily stowed away and was brought out on only special occasions. Fakim felt a particular amount of sorrow for the youth, but it fell short next to the logic of the situation. Her mother should have known better than to raise a child here. Nevertheless, Mal existed, and therefore, she should be here and accounted for.
"Fakim!" cried Hazarath from the dungeon chambers. Fakim rushed down to the dungeon, taking note of the designs in the floor and searching for hidden traps that Maleficient used as safeguards. He found none as he descended the stone staircase to see the subject of Hazarath's cries. Maleficient lay motionless in a pool of dried blood at the base of the staircase. Studying the injuries up close, one could make the argument that she was pushed to the ground and cracked her skull wide open. One could also make the argument that she slipped and fell. She smelled of cheap alcohol and she was gangly, fragile. It wouldn't have taken much to push her down and it didn't appear that she was in a massive struggle.
A scrap of faded lime green fabric was held in the shackles along the back wall. From his initial observations of the Isle's inhabitants, he recognized this color and fabric matching that of Mal's jumper. It was one of her only three outfits, it seemed.
Fakim replayed the scene in his head. Mal was shackled to the wall as punishment, or an extension of Maleficient's irrational cruelty. Perhaps Mal fought back, Maleficient receiving a kick and then flying back, smashing her head along the cobblestone staircase. Perhaps… In any case, Mal must be located to provide Testimony to this case.
The entire day was taken up with searching for Mal. Each search proved inconclusive. She was gone and her clothes were too. Mal had fled, far from this place. Fakim was prepared to tear the island apart looking for her. Murders were few and far between on the Isle, after the Imperial Guards took over law enforcement. As he threw up his hands, belaying orders and making a plan, he didn't notice the figure watching him through the window. The figure was in the dark but could be made out to be wearing navy blue robes and a pale white mask over her face. Strands of black hair fell foreword over her bowed head. Her slender pale hands held the bards outside the window. She leaned in closer to catch every word. Her dark eyes grew wide when she heard the calls for Mal's arrest. Swiftly and silently, she disappeared from Maleficient's castle. She heard Fakim calling for help. She would need her own, now. She must find Mal before Fakim does. She didn't trust Fakim. She only trusted one man, and that is precisely where she was going now.