Chapter Summary: In a world where he never broke, Warmage Widogast apprehends a criminal Beau.

Chapter Five:
In Uniform (ft. Beau)

It was midnight. One moon hung heavy overhead, lending a ghostly light to the gently bobbing boats tied at dock, while the other, a purple sickle, lingered like a watching eye. There was mist coming off the river, enough to draw goosebumps from Beauregard's skin. She refused to grumble as she adjusted the lenses of her darkvision goggles; they were uncomfortable and made her look like an idiot, but she would need them if they were going to move this merchandise. Operations were being shut down all up and down the trade route, and a mistake could mean more than lost profit.

"See anything yet?" asked Quindel, and Beau jerked her head, by which she meant both 'no' and also 'shut up'. Reading her easily after their months of collaboration, Quindel whispered a few disgruntled curses in halfling but settled down into the cramped positions they'd both assumed to wait.

Finally, movement on the water. A figure came to the head of the vessel, looked around, and surreptitiously lifted the hood of a dark lantern once, then twice.

Beau stood, knees twinging after so long in a fixed position. "That's it. Come on."

She and Quindel moved silently down the docks. Beau knew every board, every moldering nail, and so avoided any noise other than the natural creaking of a structure with water rippling below. They stayed out of sight until their contact, a dwarf, stepped out to meet them.

"Beauregard," she said, and the beads in her hair sparked in the moonlight. They were silver and intricately worked, like all dwarvish craftsmanship.

Speaking of which. Beau gestured impatiently. "Not that I'm unhappy to see you, Daerselle, but I'd rather make this quick."

"Things have been heating up," Daerselle said, handing over a leather sack that had an admirable heft to it. Beau weighed it with her hand, a skill she'd picked up after long experience. As expected, everything seemed right. Daerselle was an honest crook.

"It's the damned war," Quindel muttered. "As if the empire didn't have enough problems without dragging us into an conflict with the Xhorhassians."

Daerselle looked around the long shadows with uneasiness. "I'm more interested in immediate concerns. You have your payment. Are we good?"

Beau shoved the leather bag into her belt pouch. "Let's get to it."

Between the three of them, they were able to shift the five crates onto the barge without much trouble. Afterward, Daerselle pried up one of the lids, and relief overcame her usual tense and crusty expression. "Thank Moradin," she murmured. Her gaze met Beau's. "There are many people who will be grateful to have this."

Beau shrugged, trying for nonchalant. "What do I care? Profit is profit."

Daerselle gave her a shrewd look, but before she could retort, a metallic glint caught Beau's eye. Her head snapped to the bank of the river where the reeds were heavily overgrown, and – there – she saw it. Two yellow eyes, staring dead at her. Their gaze met, and then a crossbow bolt went whistling by Beau's ear.

Beau snapped, "Run!" and fled into the dark. Quindel did the same, putting that halfling dexterity to use. Poor Daerselle fumbled with the rope of the barge, but it was already too late. There was the sound of boots, and then a shill voice called out, "One apprehended. Two at large." Beau caught sight of their colors, and swore bitterly. Those weren't crownsguard. They were imperial military.

As she wove through the outbuildings that surrounded the docks, the feeling of being followed crept up Beau's spine. If she could reach her father's warehouse, she felt sure she could slip away in the tunnels underneath, but as she turned the final corner, a weight dropped onto her shoulders. "Halt!" her assailant shouted in that same screechy voice from the docks.

Her first instinct was to fight. Even as she fell, Beau was turning so that she landed on her back and not her face. The impact forced the breath from her body, but she was able to seize one of her assailant's scrabbling hands as it reached for her throat, and that was when she got her first good look at her attacker.

Green skin. A catlike, coiled body. A goblin.

This couldn't be one of the empire's people, could it? Yet she saw the lines of its uniform. This was the one she'd seen in the reeds, the one who'd spied on her rendezvous with Daerselle and shot at her with a crossbow. Had the empire sunk so low they were recruiting even those they hated to do their dirty work?

Holding onto her with its knees, the goblin drew one hand to its mouth, and Beau saw a copper wire. "I've got her, Caleb. We're just south of the –"

Beau twisted, freeing herself and raining down a flurry of blows. As her fist made impact, she felt something give and heard the goblin's cry of pain. Then she was off, forsaking the tunnels and heading straight for the tree line.

She never made it.

Heat billowed up in front of her, a literal wall of fire. She jerked away from it, but not so quick that she didn't feel the heat against her arms. Her sleeves caught, and she had to drop to the dirt to put them out. Which is when she received the blow to the back of her head.

"Careful," someone said over her. There were multiple sets of legs, backlite by fire. "She's dangerous, even without being armed."

'Not armed,' Beau thought hazily, 'I'll show you not armed.' But her consciousness was already slipping. The muscles in her arms were weak as noodles as someone pulled them behind her and she felt the coldness of iron nipping at her skin.

As she lay on her belly in the dirt, she saw the goblin limp out between buildings. For a moment, its eyes glowed with fox-fire, reflecting the conflagration that was still burning, but then a curious thing happened. There was a man wearing a soldier's uniform, and Beau must have been hit hard, because he seemed to have hair the same color as the fire. He reached down, cupping the goblin's chin.

"Are you hurt? Let me see your teeth."

The goblin touched his hand and said, "I'm okay, Caleb."

Then someone jerked Beau's arms in such a way that a spike of pain went through them. The world went black-white-black, and then she couldn't see anything at all.

When Beau woke up, she was in chains, on her knees next to the unfortunate Daerselle. Further down the line was Quindel, whose escape attempt had proven as unsuccessful as her own. Seeing them looking so downtrodden, anger surged through Beau. She staggered to her feet with a mouthful of curses, ignoring the pain in her head and the pull on her arms.

One of the soldiers cast down his cigarette. "She's up. Get Widogast."

His compatriot shifted back and forth uneasily. "Why do I have to do it? Guy gives me the creeps. All that talk about him coming unhinged and being sewn back together by Iki –?"

"Shut up." The first soldier kicked a stone at a stray cat, sending it skittering away. "You never know who might be listening."

They were still near the river, and the sky had turned charcoal grey. The lonely dock had become a hub of military activity. A dozen or more soldiers were examining the barge, which had been offloaded, and Beau could see all of the crates sitting open on the dock. Daerselle kept glancing at them, head hanging low. Then a new layer of sound joined the ambiance of men and water – a pair of boots, and a pair of not-boots. Beau looked up and saw two figures she recognized. It was the goblin and the flame-colored man.

"Warmage Widogast," the soldier reported. "She hasn't said much aside from oaths. We thought you'd rather interrogate her yourself."

The soldier gave Beau a dour look as he said this, and she resisted the urge to snap his ankle like a twig. She could probably do it from this angle, but not without giving herself away. Now that she was in custody, her best bet was to be just another good-for-nothing bootlegger scrapping off a bit of cream for personal gain. It was a role she played well, because it had once been true.

"Thank you," said Widogast, and Beau was struck by his voice. She was well acquainted with Rexxentrum's pretentious accent, but this man didn't speak that way. His accent, though partially masked, was far more provincial.

Whatever his origins, the man who faced her was highly decorated. His uniform was the usual vermillion with copper trimmings, yet there were small demarcations, and embroidered over his breast was a symbol Beau had only seen sketched on bits of paper that were then chucked in the fire: three diamond shards, centered around the mark of enchantment. The ones who wore it were said to be arsonists, infiltrators, and interrogators. It chilled her to the bone. What the hell was one of them doing out here?

Widogast watched her eyes. "I see you know who I am."

"Not you specifically," Beau said. "But your boss has a reputation as a heartless bastard."

Warmage Widogast didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he quietly cleared his throat. "You also have a reputation, Beauregard the Blackguard." He glanced over his shoulder at the opened crates. "Tell me, are you aware that stealing goods from the Dwendalian Empire in a time of war makes you traitor?"

"Traitor," Quindel stammered. "Does it make us traitors to provide food for our families? People are starving while the empire wages this war."

Widogast looked at the goblin. "Is what he's saying about the shipment true, Nott?"

The goblin – a female goblin – pulled out a piece of parchment from her belt. She was also wearing a uniform, one perfectly tailored to the dimensions of her body, and there was something very wrong about that. Goblins weren't empire citizens. Yet here one was, all dolled up like a miniature soldier, following at this man's heels.

Except… Beauregard's mind went back to the wall of fire, to that cupped hand, the soft inquiry. She stared Widogast hard in the face.

The goblin studied the paper. "Fifteen sacks of wheat, fifteen sacks of cornmeal, and thirty-three sacks of flour." She looked up. "Plus a set of wooden blocks. They were buried in the cornmeal. We though they might be hiding something, but they're just blocks."

"It's a toy, you bastards," Beau snapped. "One of Daerselle's kids is turning seven."

There was a pause. "I see," said Widogast.

"I highly doubt it," Beau retorted.

Widogast tilted his head, and Beau couldn't help but notice the scarring that peeked out from the high collar of his jacket. And now that she was looking, really looking, she saw there was a hang to his shoulders, a squint to his eyes that looked…weary. She'd seen eyes like that, on men who staggered back from the front line minus a few limbs. She wondered what this guy was missing.

"Food and toys," the man said. "It seems you are not so hard as your reputation would suggest, Beauregard."

"I could say the same of you."

That got his attention. His eyes, which were pale and almost colorless in the lantern light, took on an edge. "Oh?"

"I've seen that symbol you're wearing. You're one of Archmage Ikithon's, aren't you? They say he takes children from their mother's arms, breaks them, and trains them to be killers."

"That is a very good rumor," Widogast said, still in that infuriatingly soft voice. "Very useful against an enemy who might be intimidated by such stories. But make no mistake, Beauregard. I may not look like the figures from your fairytales, but I am still not a man you want to make light of." He held up his hand, and she could see the center of it crackle and blacken, his fingers shaking as flame formed there, long enough for her to imagine her flesh cracking that way, burning, and then he closed his fingers and the heat was gone.

A drop of perspiration drew down her temple. Still she managed to smile. "You'll have to try a little harder than that. Because I don't buy what you're selling."

"No?"

Beau jerked her head at the goblin standing in Widogast's shadow, watching her with wary eyes. "That's right, and my proof is right there."

The man's tell was almost invisible, but Beau was watching, and she saw it happen. The tiniest, most imperceptible twitch. The next instant it was gone, and he looked at Nott with an impartiality that would've convinced a sage. "She's just a goblin," he said.

Beau took advantage of his inattention. The mage was too far away, but Nott's nose was right in line with Beau's elbow. She struck like a snake, ready for the sensation of delicate cranial bones fracturing under the force of her blow. Instead, she felt another kind of crunch, that of her own elbow giving as it slammed into a glowing, irresistible barrier.

The goblin shrieked as Beau fell back, immediately grappled by two guards. It didn't stop her from seeing Nott peeking out from behind Widogast, whose magic shield flickered and died. Shields like that only protected their owner, and he'd had a fraction of a second to decide whether or not to put himself in front of Beau's attack.

As the soldiers propped Beau up in front of the warmage, elbow now throbbing alongside her head, she said, "Just a goblin, huh?"

Widogast looked at her with haunted eyes, Nott still pressed too close to pass as unimportant. Beau watched him try to draw his composure back together, but now that she'd found this weak spot, she could see the cracks in his armor spidering out. Very quietly, he said, "It seems you have good eyesight, even without those goggles we confiscated from you."

Despite the pain of her injuries, Beauregard was feeling cocky, more in control than before. "Yeah?"

"Perhaps," Widogast admitted. "But I also have good eyesight, and this is the second time tonight you've made me wonder."

A bit of coldness went down Beau's spine. "What?"

He looked at her dead on. "You have a bit of cobalt in your eyes, Beauregard. Or is that just the light?"

Beau's guts turned to ice water, because that was it, wasn't it? As a low-tier bootlegger, she would end up in a prison cell for a few weeks before the right leverage had her walking back to her real work. But if the empire suspected her façade was just that – a façade….if they somehow suspected the Cobalt Soul were not completely loyal…if they pushed her hard enough…

For the first time that night, Beauregard was truly afraid.

A soldier approached. "Sir, we've finished collecting evidence and are ready for transport. We have your orders on the dwarf and the halfling, but what about the woman? Is she going with them or with you, to Rexxentrum?"

Heart pounding, Beau stared into Widogast's face. The spaces around his eyes were creased with wrinkles, which made him look like an old man, though he couldn't have been much past thirty. From under his hands, the goblin gazed at him with concern. Beau waited for his judgement, the one which would end in her freedom or her painful and ignominious death.

"Caleb," whispered Nott.

Widogast broke eye contact with Beau. "Send her to Ikithon."

"What charge?" the soldier asked impartially.

"Conspiracy to overthrow the empire."

Beau felt detached from reality, like she wasn't a part of what was happening. She knew what this meant, and, judging by the looks of grief that passed over Quindel and Daerselle's faces before they were jerked in another direction, they knew, too. They had made a fatal mistake, all of them, but none so much as Beau. Images flashed through her head of sharp-edged tools and heated metal and magic that sliced and burrowed into the mind. She was heading into the heart of the Empire.

Before she was drawn out of sight, Beau looked over her shoulder. Widogast had his back turned, staring at the flames. Despite the uniform, he did not look like a soldier. His shoulders seemed bowed and broken, and as she watched, he reached out and took Nott's hand.

Author's Note: (Blows out breath) Okay. So, this is set after the declaration of war between the Dwendalian Empire and Xhorhas in a world where Caleb broke after killing his parents but, rather than being shuffled off to an asylum, was partially restored by Ikithon and went on to serve the Empire as a warmage. However, this version of Caleb isn't the ruthless soldier Trent was hoping to create; he's weak, sentimental, deeply conflicted, and mentally wounded. Thus Nott. Besides, I didn't want to leave him in that world alone. As for Beauregard the Blackguard, this kind of double-agent subversion is exactly what I imagine Beau would be doing if she weren't off with the Mighty Nein, you know, being a pirate.