How Not to Poach a Unicorn

Twenty-Seven

The executioner did not like being told his business and was starting to get annoyed; less at Prag, and more at the damned royals that had sent him these prisoners without the proper paperwork. "Piracy, then?" he proposed cautiously.

"Kind of a stretch there," Prag said, shaking his head. "Last I checked, pirates didn't get private audiences with the entire royal family before they die. That, and you'll notice that this girl still has all of her teeth."

"Okay, I admit that it was a bad guess." The executioner was running out of ideas. "What's she doing, anyway?"

"I think she's praying. She's quite faithful, you know. She's hoping for a good spot in heaven," Prag lied casually.

"Which heaven, exactly?" the executioner posed, hoping for a hint as to her particular profession by her faith.

"The City of Teev," he stated, pretending to be caught off guard by the question.

"So she's praying to Teev, God of Masquerade and the Night? You're thieves!" The executioner crossed his arms and puffed his chest up victoriously.

Prag's shoulders slumped in defeat, though he grinned inwardly. He figured he could drag this on for another few minutes at least. He really wished he knew what he was aiming for, though. He pondered what she... he could possibly be doing.

Prinin was doing pretty well, by his thinking. Time lost a lot of meaning when his consciousness left his body, but he had disabled four machines and he could taste enough magic flowing through his veins to get the last two. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure what he could do after that. He wiped that from his mind. Doubt was wasteful and time was short.

"You got us," Prag said in defeat. "We're thieves. So how do you want to kill us?"

The executioner's victory washed away and he started to debate angrily with the guards before turning back to Prag. "You're perfectly aware that thieves aren't executed!" he shouted in frustration. "Do you think me a fool?"

"No, sir, I think that you're being used, just like we were." Prag was looking at the executioner with pity. "We were hired, and when we brought back what we were hired to steal, we were chained up and marched in here."

The executioner debated for a moment with the guards who corroborated that Mercutian had taken Prag's pack and that Prince Vestin had been given some kind of magical sword. Another piped up that they had been told to keep the two quiet and that they were probably breaking orders now by letting Prag talk. The sergeant shouted out an emphatic order for Prag to keep quiet.

"Or what?" Prag responded condescendingly. "You'll have me arrested and executed?"

That comment left the group of uniforms looking a little bashful. "We could beat you first," one suggested in a tone that failed entirely to be threatening.

"Go ahead, that will just make your punishment worse." Prag had a good enough sense of the crowd to try a new angle. "You think the Vagabond is going to let you chop off our heads for fulfilling our contractual duties? You've got some nasty surprises coming."

The entire escort blanched. The Vagabond. That name was used only in hushed tones amongst law-keepers. Everyone had heard the stories. Everyone knew better than to try to punish an Antiquer for a job well done. It was death. They had their own law and those that interfered met with terrible ends.

Prag was delighted at the effect his own reputation had. Admittedly, he had been credited with several more acts of retribution than he could have possibly accomplished, but it was now working in his favour— as long as they didn't realize that they were in fact executing the man they were so afraid of.