The Shoebocker Household

The evening, as far as evenings went, was a quiet one. Work for the day was winding down as the sun slipped softly beneath the horizon, casting a warm red glow over the sky. A gentle breeze carried a cheery tune over the rooftops as somebody pulled in their washing from the clothesline, singing as they went. It was a pleasant end to a pleasant day, and all seemed to be well in the neighborhood. For some, however, the setting of the sun did not spell the end of the workday. Indeed, the night's work had just begun. 

Anybody who happened to look out their windows just as the sun vanished would catch a glimpse of an eerie sight. Three black-clad figures strode down the street, their dark cloaks billowing in the breeze and blending into the shadows that were quickly engulfing the settlement. Once the sky darkened entirely, the lead figure lit a lantern and held it before her as she walked. She made no attempt at stealth as she led the other two down the neighborhood, sauntering straight through the center of the road in a loose V formation. There was no need to hide, as they were here on official government business. The black-and-purple Isran flag emblazoned on the shoulder of their cloaks was evidence enough of that, and nobody with any sense in their heads would attempt to stop them. Nobody, after all, got in the way of the Inquisition.

As they arrived at the front door of the Shoebocker household, Mirela nodded to one of her companions and made a sharp gesture to the back of the house. The other inquisitor nodded, detaching from the group and making his way around to cover the back door. There would be no escape for the criminals, no bothersome chase through the streets. The operation would be quick, clean, and simple. Just the way she liked it. She wished that her brother could be here, as he tended to appreciate these sorts of jobs. Burzul had taken a daytime patrol assignment today, however, and so Mirela found herself to be the only Thorne on duty tonight. As she stepped up to the front door, she paused, speaking without turning around.

"Do you know the difference between Inquisitors and guards?" she asked, her voice soft and conversational. The other inquisitor shook his head, eyes fixed on the front door.

"Guards have to knock first," said Mirela, and kicked the door in. Her heavy hobnailed boot shattered the bolt and sent the door flying open, eliciting a shout of surprise from the young man sitting at the workbench inside. He got up to run, but Mirela moved faster. Lunging across the room with a speed that belied her towering frame, she grabbed him by the collar and slammed his face down onto the workbench. Footsteps hurried down the stairs as a young woman appeared, worry creasing her otherwise pretty face as came to see what was going on. Jerome Shoebocker struggled under Mirela's grip, turning just in time to see the woman let out a shrill shriek of fright.

"Delilah!" he screamed, voice distorted by his broken nose. "Run!"

His words were in vain, however; there was simply nowhere for poor Miss Sinclair to go. Mirela didn't even bother chasing after her as she sprinted towards the back door, nor did she even spare a glance in her direction. The strangled cry that rang out from the back of the house was confirmation enough that the man she'd sent to watch the back had caught her. Sure enough, he returned a moment later, holding the struggling Delilah with her arms pinned painfully behind her back. As the third inquisitor made a quick sweep of the house to ensure that nobody else was inside, Mirela picked Jerome up by the back of his collar and deposited him on the floor at the base of the wall. Delilah was thrown down beside him, and the two of them clutched at each other, fear and hatred burning in their eyes. There was no more point in running, they knew.

"Mister Jerome Shoebocker," said Mirela, towering over the pair of them. "And Miss Delilah Sinclair. Aren't you two just the cutest. A sweet couple in a lovely little house. It's almost a shame, don't you think?"

"It was an accident!" blurted out Jerome, his gaze flicking quickly between the two inquisitors still in the room. "I just...found the notebook in a pile of scrap firewood. It was inside a broken mannequin, and I just found it! I didn't know what it was at first, I swear."

"And yet," said Mirela, "you decided to read through it and make copies. Copies to hand out to everyone. Tell me, Jerome. Did you really think we wouldn't find out? Do you think Lady Naoki's eyes would not fall upon you if you chose to spread this illicit information around? We saw you hoarding the paper, Jerome. Buying it, stealing it, sneaking it away by the crate."

Glancing over at the desk, Mirela's gaze fell upon a distinctive sort of tracing device. It was comprised of a pane of glass in a frame, behind which sat a burning candle. Two sheets of paper were stacked on the glass: some sort of anatomical diagram on the bottom and a half-completed tracing of the image on top. A stack of completed copies sat off to the side, held in place loosely by an old wooden shoe form. One of the other inquisitors grabbed the papers, shoving them into a bag and ransacking the room for more.

"The people should know," hissed Delilah, giving Mirela a defiant stare. "That doctor was making these things with Lady Naoki's approval. There were notes in there about specifications and improvements that the government had asked for. People should know why so many washed-up corpses vanish! They need to know what their Empire is doing behind closed doors!"

Mirela smirked, leaning down and hooking a fingertip beneath Delilah's chin. Silencing Jerome's protests with a sharp kick to the midsection, she tilted Delilah's face up towards her own, watching the defiance fade into fear as she met the woman's gaze.

"Well now," she said, "aren't you a sweet little birdie. Just a busybody, aren't you? So concerned about matters that don't concern you. If you're so worried about these creatures, perhaps I can set your mind at ease. There's no more of them, not anymore. They've rotted away. No more have been made. See? All this fuss for nothing at all."

"Why should I bel-" started Delilah, but Mirela pressed a finger up against her lips to silence her.

"I'm not finished," she said. "The monstrosities are gone, Delilah dear, but the mines remain. They're still there, and somebody needs to dig the stone. That's where troublesome little birdies like you come in. You can chirp all you want down in that mine, but nobody will hear you. It's a shame that such pretty, delicate hands will have to be ruined by hard labor, but I suppose that's the way of the world, isn't it?"

"Go to hell," muttered Jerome. "You're sick. You're all sick. Every one of you, making these things, hiding them from everyone. You're all sick in the head."

"Now that," replied Mirela, "is just a matter of opinion, isn't it? I think we've got everything we need, don't we? Let's get them out of here, gentlemen."

The young couple were dragged to their feet. Mirela took the time to pat them down for weapons, giving Delilah an extra little pat on the cheek before black canvas bags were drawn over their heads. She watched as the other inquisitors pulled the drawstrings tightly shut and held them in place as the pair struggled and thrashed. A few moments later, they succumbed to the poisons inside the bag and slumped to the ground, unconscious. Their prey subdued, the three inquisitors turned the house upside down, rummaging through every nook and cranny to find the offending notebook and every possible copy that could've been made. Once satisfied that no trace remained, Mirela grabbed the unconscious, hooded Delilah and slung her over her shoulder. The other two picked up Jerome, carrying him by his arms and legs, and they left the house as quickly as they came. In the morning, an official notice of "crimes threatening the wellbeing of the town and its people" would be posted over the shattered door. For now, though, any witnesses peering out between curtains and beneath shutters would simply have to wonder as to the night's events. Mirela didn't mind. The fear would keep them honest, and the honesty would keep them safe. Safety, after all, was always her number one priority.