“Take these to Kanser.” The rat-faced man… (That was no exaggeration. The little man’s pointed maw was overfilled with front teeth that should have been filed down ages ago. Hassan marveled that he could open and close his mouth without hurting himself.) The rat-faced man applied the stamps that sealed the package and magically warded it against tampering. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the soldier in front of him, a soldier who happened to be one of Kanser’s elite agents, and therefore one of the most dedicated servants in the empire. It was just that he was good at his job, good enough to have kept the post for longer than the last three administrators combined.
Hassan accepted the documents, saluted, and departed without a word. Unfortunately for the murine civil servant, and his commendable career, Hassan was not to be trusted. He was not even one of Kanser’s agents, but a foreign spy tasked with infiltrating the intelligence network of the Jondurian empire.
Kanser was at the very top of the Jondurian espionage network, taking his orders directly from the emperor himself. Normally the two men met in person, but there were still rare occasions when that was impractical. During times such as that, the little rat man acted as intermediary, passing his Excellency’s orders to Kanser or one of his trusted agents. If an agent, the orders would be sealed and enchanted.
Yet further ill luck for the unfortunate administrator, Hassan had the necessary tools and training to defeat those precautions.
Hassan slipped into one of the many hidden niches used by Kanser’s agents to spy upon events within the palace. Known only to a handful of men, it gave Hassan as close a guarantee of privacy as he could hope for. The only way to be completely sure would be to exit the palace, and that was unimaginable. The little man would have recorded the exact time he surrendered the documents, and Kanser would be sure to note the minute he received them.
A tiny black cat had somehow found its way into the secret chamber, but Hassan paid no attention to it. Cats were common within the temple, keeping out mice far more effectively than any of the complicated traps devised by the gnomish artificers. The feline had likely stumbled upon the secret lever while hunting the filthy vermin, and had become temporarily trapped. Unperturbed by its situation, it had apparently gone to sleep. As long as it remained quiet, its presence was of little importance to the rushed spy.
A discrepancy of a couple minutes should go unnoticed, for even the enchanted time pieces occasionally lost or gained several seconds, and not all men marched from the palace proper to Kanser’s hidden wing at the exact same speed. But a delay of more than a few minutes, as a trip outside the place would entail, would be noticed. It would be seen for what it was, an unauthorized and undocumented excursion by one holding sensitive documents, and Hassan’s assumed identity would immediately unravel. So the secret niche was Hassan’s only real option, and tiny flaws like the presence of a sleeping cat would have to be ignored.
Inside the spy hole, Hassan brought out his tools. The wax and duplicate seal had been manufactured by his own hand not more than a week ago. The wand, he had carried since leaving his homeland. It was attuned specifically to the style of warding used within Jondur, an attunement made possible only by the work and sacrifice of those who had gone before.
The ward was designed to mark any tampering upon the seal, creating an invisible record of every unauthorized moment of access. A thief unaware of this magical layer would replace the broken wax, turn the documents over to Kanser when done, and be on his way, completely unaware that his peaking had not gone unnoticed. It was also likely that the ward activated a second spell when triggered, an illusory enchantment that would alter the contents of the package.
Hassan could destroy the ward, but he could never replace it afterward. It was unique, bearing the flourishes that identified its creator. Such complicated magical tapestries picked up perturbations influenced by the innate characters of their castors, rendering them impossible to forge. Even if Hassan were a spell castor, his forgery would been seen through immediately.
Fortunately, there was another way. The wand, crafted specifically for this purpose, could dissolve the bond that held the magic aura to the package. Like carefully unwrapping a gift, he would unfold the enchantment and move it aside. Once he was finished, the wand would transfer the ward back into place.
Hassan moved quickly but carefully, removing the magical protection, then breaking the wax seal and sliding out the secret orders. Though it seemed a far longer time, only seconds had passed since entering the spy hole. Plenty of time remained to ensure he had memorized every important detail of the communication he now held.
The documents were proof of everything Hassan’s king had suspected. The emperor of Jondur was mad, and suffered a massive inferiority complex with regards to the western nations. The slightest perceived threat could set off his paranoia and trigger a massive war, something on a scale not seen since the goblin crusades. That the emperor’s paranoia was justified, that foreign spies really had infiltrated his court and closest councils, escaped Hassan.
The package was resealed, the official mark and aura replaced as flawlessly as they were removed. Hassan didn’t need to glance at his gnomish chronometer to know he was well within the acceptable time range. A quick glance through the one-way jewel that served as peep hole assured him that the passage outside was clear. A moment later he was marching down the corridors, the risky portion of his job accomplished without error.
A wave of magic, more powerful than anything Hassan had felt before, more powerful even than the divine essence of Eyetos the Flaming One that coursed within his blood, washed over the spy. He lost his footing and stumbled, but managed to catch himself against the wall and avoid a complete collapse.
The energy faded as quickly as it had come, and Hassan checked himself for damage as his balance returned. His first thought was the fear that he had somehow failed, that he had triggered this by improperly replacing the ward. He shook that fear away, telling himself that no Jondurian mage could create magic that felt like that. Besides, he appeared fine, and if he had activated some unknown defense, surely it would have incapacitated him.
Hassan continued towards his destination, all concern over the brief wash of magical forces quickly fading from his consciousness. He didn’t realize it, couldn’t realize it, but his very thought processes were corrupted. The magic had completed its task, settling into his brain and walling away certain memories and knowledge. The damaged spy couldn’t even detect his own mental injuries, so thorough a job had the enchantment done.
Most of the memories that had been blocked were old ones, created more than a year ago and of little concern to Hassan’s present mission. One was not. The most recent change of passwords to be used among Kanser’s agents had been blotted from Hassan’s mind.
Hassan stepped through an illusory wall, halted inside the entrance to Kanser’s secret wing of the palace, and stated what he thought was the access code. Seeing and hearing nothing out of the ordinary, he moved onward. Around him, human cogs were already whirring, preparing to identify and apprehend the intruder. For the paranoia here was even deeper than that which afflicted the emperor. And if there should be a false positive, an agent should make an honest mistake… it would be his last.
Kanser was sitting at his desk when Hassan arrived, his face giving away nothing. This too, seemed normal, for the man had not risen to his position by being transparent. “You have something for me?”
Hassan handed the package over without a word and waited to be dismissed. He stood at attention while Kanser carefully checked the dials beneath his desk. Instruments, far more sensitive to magical fields than the sharpest mage, verified the integrity of the delivery. Others checked the current time against that marked by the rat-faced man. All this Hassan expected, but even if he hadn’t, his training had gone too deep for him to show unease now.
After what seemed like an eternity, Kanser motioned for the soldier before him to depart. Hassan bowed slightly, spun on his heel, and marched out the door. Within minutes he could be outside the palace and away from surveillance. Within minutes more he could convey the key points of gathered intelligence to his king.
Mundane methods such as carrier birds were suspect, but Hassan had a better plan. He would head straight for the temple of Bachal Emetus, the drunken messenger god. Use of the god as a conduit was unpleasant for both parties, and only simple messages could be reliably conveyed, but it was one of the most secure forms of communication. The sheer volume of the god’s supplicants ensured they couldn’t be effectively monitored.
Hassan pushed on the revolving panel that would grant him access to the more public portion of the palace, finding it surprisingly locked in place. He turned, intending to find an alternate route, but found four armored swordsmen blocking his path. Hassan drew his sword with his stronger arm, and a dagger with the other. He preferred fighting with a shield, but as long as he kept his back to the wall, he thought he could manage four men.
The clanking of mail echoed through the corridors as the rest of the soldiers marched into position. “Take him alive,” ordered their captain. “Kanser wants to know how much he’s seen.”
...
The bureaucrat looked over his client, surprised at the complexity of linked chains pinning him to the floor. Of course this man was dangerous, having already killed two men and injured several more during his three escape attempts. But the functionary had represented dangerous men before, and had never seen such extravagant precautions. He would like to think his service had finally been noticed, and his personal safety finally merited consideration, but he doubted that was the case.
“I’ve been assigned as your advocate,” began the official. “That you will be found guilty is a foregone conclusion. That you will be put to death is also in no doubt. All that we can influence is the manner of your execution. I believe I can argue successfully for a simple beheading if you plead guilty and beg for the emperor’s benevolence.”
“Guilty of what,” Hassan growled.
The advocate looked startled. “Espionage of course.”
“I’m not a spy.”
For a moment the government man wondered if he actually had an innocent client. The man certainly sounded sincere. But of course he was a spy after all, so he would naturally be good at lying. “Let’s go over the facts. You were captured impersonating one of Kanser’s elite counter surveillance agents. Do you dispute that you fraudulently used the identity of agent 164?”
“No.”
“You were captured with sensitive material in your possession. The package appeared unopened, but you were also in possession of a magical device capable of removing the warding spells, as well as forged seals for the wax. Do you deny this?”
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid all reasonable men would agree with the conclusion that you intentionally used impersonation and forgery to obtain access to secret documents, and that you likely viewed such documents while they were in your position. You cannot fail to be convicted of spying.”
“I’m not a spy.”
The advocate scratched his head, wondering if perhaps his client misunderstood the terms. The man was a foreigner after all, and despite his lack of any distinguishing accent, he was certainly more fluent in some barbarian language. Could that be influencing his interpretation of the word “spy”? “In your own words, how would you describe your activities and purpose here?”
“My duty is to gain access to secret information, and transmit it back to my king. I am not a spy.”
“But that is the very definition of espionage!” The official rubbed his eyes as understanding sank in. He had seen this before, though never to this extent. The man had been so thoroughly brainwashed by his heathen rulers that he was no longer capable of recognizing what he had become, or what his actions entailed. It was sad, for he was more a victim than a criminal, but that wouldn’t spare him. He had violated serious laws, and for this he would die.
“Forget the matter of whether or not you’re a spy. You will be executed. That is a foregone conclusion. But if you confess and beg mercy, there is a strong chance your death will be humane. If you protest your innocence, you will almost certainly be burned at the stake.”
Hassan shook his head. “I’m not a spy.”
The official resignedly made a note and stood up to leave. He had done his best, but there would be no helping this poor soul. “I’m through here,” he called to the soldiers just beyond the door. “Let me out and take him back to his cell.”
Hassan didn’t know it, but the magic that had disrupted his memories and seemingly doomed him, had also swept over another. That other was already on his way to find Hassan and unravel the mystery that connected them.
The spy’s combination of stubborn pride and overzealous conditioning would soon prove useful in a way he could not possibly predict. His very survival hinged on the fact that he would be incarcerated and eventually immolated rather than simply beheaded.
Of course, the unknown rescuer was just one man. And Hassan was kept in a dungeon from which none had ever escaped, an inverse fortress from which not even an army could fight its way free.
If you want to discover the fate of Hassan, this story is continued in, The Adventures of Frio: The League of Extraordinary Rascals.
Hassan is based off a dungeons and dragons character created by my friend Greg. I never learned the character’s true name, but I’m pretty sure Hassan was an alias. I simply referred to him as Spy. Hopefully Greg isn’t horrified to see how his character has evolved since I incorporated it into my world.
The Jondurian empire is purely my own creation. It’s a powerful entity that’s managed to grow a large population despite controlling vast stretches of arid and resource-poor territory. I’ve pictured it as superficially resembling middle eastern styles of architecture and dress, as a response to similar climates. The societal structures have more in common with the roman empire at its peak, with an emphasis on personal and family honor that exceeds anything in actual roman history.
The world at large is just entering a phase of rapid technological advancement, almost a technological revolution, triggered by the invention of the Cabbage Calculating Engine. In a world where magic is ubiquitous, and technology has been stagnant for tens of thousands of years, this could be even more potentially disruptive than the industrial revolution was to our own past.
An astute reader might be wondering just WHY technology has failed to advance in this universe for so long. Has the ability to perform feats of magic guided the sentient races down a parallel path that was easier and more enticing in the short term, but ultimately sterile? Or is there a deeper and more sinister explanation? Perhaps Phryxia knows…
