Flett gazed out hopelessly through the bars in his window, staring out at the skyline of Undertown, and the distant forms of the Mire Provinces beyond. For seven days and seven nights, he had been kept in this cell in the Detention Tower, a plain marble building in Undertown that stood not too far from the central government offices in Senate Hall…and he ached to leave the place forever.
He was not terribly uncomfortable…he had a soft bed, and three well-rounded meals a day, and a bathroom with running water. There was even a button by the door that he could press, which would summon a guard any time he wanted, should he have any complaints or questions. Flett didn't know whether all the detainees in Omniphrax were given these amenities, or whether he was merely receiving special treatment because Eudoxia Prade had taken pity on him.
It didn't matter much to him one way or the other. Flett might as well have been suspended by his ankles from leadwood chains in a moldy dungeon and fed piebald rats. He hadn't come to Omniphrax for fluffy snowbird-down pillows or running water or square meals. He had come to Omniphrax for his freedom. And that was the only thing the academics resolutely refused to give him.
Every time one of the guards—or "librarians-at-arms", as they called themselves—came to his door, either to bring him food or merely to check that he was behaving himself, Flett asked the same question: "Is Peatwood recovering?" And every time, the librarian-at-arms would give him the same answer: "I don't know."
Flett quickly came to realize that "I don't know" meant "No". Surely if Peatwood had indeed regained his sanity, he would immediately demand to know where Flett was, would be outraged upon learning the answer, and would offer an exonerating testimony. So Flett was left where he was, while fear for Peatwood and anger at his predicament mounted inside him.
Flett's bitter thoughts were interrupted by footsteps. Turning, he saw through the bars of his door that a spindly, long-faced treetroll had come to a halt, fumbling with the lock. Flett recognized him as Sergeant Twentell, the officer who oversaw all of the librarians-at-arms working in the Detention Tower. There was a loud click, and the door creaked open. The treetroll silently placed a plate of fried gladegoose eggs and woodhog bacon on the table beside the bed.
"How's Peatwood?" said Flett quickly.
Sergeant Twentell looked at him. "I do not know," he said.
Flett couldn't stand it anymore.
"Please, just let me see him!" he cried. "At least let me talk to him. That's all I want!"
The treetroll hesitated for several seconds. "I cannot do that," he said.
"Why not?" Flett shouted desperately.
"That is not my decision to make," said Sergeant Twentell.
"Then can't you bring High Senator Prade?" begged Flett. "Can't you send her here? I'll ask her to let me talk to Peatwood!"
"The High Senator," said Sergeant Twentell coolly, "is much too busy to occupy her time with such trivial matters. Why she already wasted one evening interrogating the likes of you is something I cannot understand. But let me make it quite plain that she shall not do so again."
Flett had never felt so frustrated in all of his life. "For Sky's sake, have some compassion!" he yelled. "Peatwood is my friend, and my only hope for freedom!"
"That," replied Sergeant Twentell, "is not my problem. I have been charged with the task of keeping detainees such as yourself safely removed from the good citizens of Omniphrax, and I shall do nothing to risk my position."
"He needs me," cried Flett. "I can feel it! He needs my help, as surely as I need his!"
"If that is true," the treetroll said dispassionately, turning to leave the room, "than both of you are condemned to remain as you are, forever."
Sergeant Twentell had taken two steps before he was tackled from behind. Flett slammed into the librarian-at-arms with such force that his leaf-adorned breastplate clanged like a gong against the tiled floor of the cell. The winded treetroll gasped repeatedly, flailing his limbs and opening and closing his mouth, putting Flett in mind of a struggling bloaterfish. Before Sergeant Twentell had a chance to sound the alarm, Flett had scrambled over him and disappeared along the corridor.
As Flett dashed down the hallways, struggling to find the way out, a shrill alarm rang throughout the building, taking Flett back to the night he had rescued Peatwood and his parents from the clutches of the Great Glade Military. Only this time, he was the target.
Already he regretted what he had done. Until now, he had avoided any conflict, determined as he was to show Omniphrax that he meant their society no harm. But in attacking Sergeant Twentell and making a dash for it, he had shattered that impression, even among those who might have believed it before. Even Peatwood coming to his senses might no longer be enough to earn Flett the acceptance and trust of the Omniphrax academics.