Prisoner 950

     He is the marvellous, intellectual, unimpeachable Master Vex.

     "Bah," Vex muttered, scrunching up the pages and tossing them onto the cobbled floor of his office. "That won't do at all. I'm introduced far too early - I need much more context."

     The notebook - titled A History of Darigan Citadel and Its Prison Warden - was closed with a snap and placed inside his desk drawer. It was a dark, dingy office. Water from the rain dripped from each corner of the ceiling, but Vex was used to such conditions by now. The Mynci was getting weary with age, but he still considered his job the most important of all. Lord Darigan himself had offered him retirement, with a very good pension, but what else was there? And he hated to admit to anyone other than the pen telling his story, but the idea of leaving his prisoners behind was as if being asked to leave behind his heart.

     Not that he ever told them as such. Nor did he treat them with much care or affection. But they had three square meals a day, and sometimes he even let Barallus out of his chains to fly around his cell. Once a year, to celebrate Darigan's victory in the war (this kind of historical inaccuracy did not bother the citizens of Darigan Citadel), they were even allowed to wander the grounds outside.

     Most prisoners came and went, short sentences that were more to scare them than anything else. Some were here forever - and it was these he considered family.

     His office door burst open without a knock, and Haskol the Skeith barged in, dragging a prisoner behind him.

     "New one for you, Master Vex!" he said. Haskol had a gruff voice that sounded as though he'd never had a drink in his life.

     "I would appreciate you knocking," Vex snapped, for the hundredth time. Haskol never listened.

     "Sorry, Master Vex," Haskol said with a grin. "This one's here for life though."

     "For life?" Vex said. There hadn't been a permanent fixture in the Citadel's dungeons for years.

     He took a serious look at the prisoner in front of him. He seemed innocent enough - a Darigan Aisha with a moustache and a nervous expression. But looks could be deceiving. Barrallus was evidence of that.

     "What did he do?" Vex asked.

     "Tried to break into Lord Darigan's private quarters," Haskol said. "Definitely a thief, although he wasn't actually caught with anything. Name's Arnie. Hardly criminal mastermind of the year name, but we get what we're given in this life I guess."

     "I wasn't trying to steal anything!" Arnie said, shaking his head. "You've got it all wrong. They're back, you see - they're trying to mess with things again and -"

     "Oi!" Haskol clobbered him on the head. "Enough of that and all. He keeps saying they're back as if we'll have any clue what he means. If I were you I'd keep his mouth shut. Prisoner 950 he is."

     "Thank you, Haskol." Vex frowned and inclined his head, making it clear the Skeith was dismissed.

     After Haskol left, Vex walked Prisoner 950 to his cell.

     "This is where you'll be staying," Vex said. "As you can see you've got a bed, and there have been no instructions to chain you up, so you can do what you please in here. Prisoner 950, welcome."

     Prisoner 950 looked near tears. "You have to listen to me. It's The Three."

     Vex's blood ran cold at those words. The Three - those infamous legendary beings, supposedly seen by Lord Darigan and Lord Kass. The cause of all Darigan Citadel's suffering.

     Except...only Lord Darigan and Lord Kass had ever seen them. Many of the citizens believed them to be a myth, a convenient scapegoat for all the problems caused by bad leadership.

     Vex certainly didn't believe in them himself.

     "The Three are a fabrication," he said calmly to Prisoner 950. "They aren't real. Lord Darigan was under great pressure when he thought he saw them. They were a hallucination, nothing more. As for Lord Kass...he was a traitor, plain and simple."

     "But I saw them," Prisoner 950 whispered. "The Skeith...the Gelert...the Faerie." Despite his purple colouring, he was turning white with fear. "They were moving around the castle. I don't think they saw me. But they were whispering...whispering in Lord Darigan's ear again."

     Master Vex paused at this. Had Lord Darigan ever released the details of The Three to his citizens? That they were a Skeith, Gelert and Faerie?

     He shook his head. No. This was silly.

     "You broke into Lord Darigan's chambers," Vex stated. "You are now facing the punishment. Making up silly lies will not get you out of this. Good day, Prisoner 950."

     "No! Wait - please!"

     But Master Vex had stormed away, determined not to hear anything more.

     ***

     "Prisoner 950..."

     The voice was soft, almost alluring.

     Arnie sat up in bed, woken from his slumber. He had been Prisoner 950 for almost three months now, and every day he tried to appeal to Master Vex to no avail. Even as around them it was clear Lord Darigan was becoming crueller, that war plans were being drafted, that times were changing to the old dark days.

     "Prisoner 950..."

     "Who is it?" Arnie whispered. It was the middle of the night, so not even the torches were on, but straight ahead he could see a soft white glow.

     "Arnold. That is your real name, is it not? Your friends call you Arnie."

     Now Arnie was frightened. The voice suddenly wasn't so comforting anymore.

     "Show yourself!" he hissed.

     The white light glowed stronger, and then three figures stepped forward, as if the bars on his cell were nothing, travelling through them with ease.

     A Skeith.

     A Gelert.

     A Faerie.

     Dressed in hooded black cloaks, pale and yet luminescent.

     It was The Three.

     Arnie opened his mouth to scream.

     "I wouldn't do that if I was you, Arnie," the Gelert murmured. "I would consider that a very grave mistake."

     "What are you - why are you here?" Arnie could barely speak, his throat constricted with nerves.

     "You worked in the kitchens, didn't you, Arnie?" the Gelert continued. "Every day, toiling away. Little pay. No reward. Hard, gruelling tasks. You see something that doesn't look right - strangers whispering in Lord Darigan's ear - and you try to be a hero. And how do they repay you? By throwing you in this dungeon for the rest of your life."

     It was true. Arnie did work hard. He had to, to send money to his family. And it was true - no one appreciated it.

     The Gelert smiled broadly. "But your ambitions were greater than working in some kitchens, weren't they? Than becoming Prisoner 950? At one point, you dreamed of being a general."

     Arnie sighed wistfully at his childhood dreams. How foolish of him to expect that, even though he had the talent and the brains, he was sure of it.

     Now, the Skeith stepped forward. "Think of the money you could get for that. The rewards. Enough to feed your family for centuries. To help other poor Neopets like yourself."

     It was an intriguing thought. An exciting one.

     But Arnie frowned. "Like you said, I am a prisoner now. Prisoner 950. All this is out of my reach forever."

     Finally, the Faerie came towards him. It was her voice he had heard originally, and it began to comfort him once more. "Not if we lent you power. Not if you decided to get revenge."

     "Revenge?" The word was ugly to Arnie's ears, but the Faerie's coaxing tones soon convinced him.

     "With our help, you will become a great general to the newly improved Lord Darigan," the Faerie whispered. "We just need you to deal with the troublesome Master Vex."

     "No matter what we say, he just doesn't listen," the Skeith said. "He has no thoughts of wanting anything beyond this prison."

     "No further ambitions," the Gelert added.

     "What do I need to do?" Arnie asked. "What do you want exactly?"

     The Three smiled at him. The Gelert reached out his paw.

     "Let's make a deal," he said.

     ***

     Darigan Citadel is changing. Something is not right. Perhaps Prisoner 950 was...

     "Blast it!" Vex tore up the paper and threw the tattered remains to the ground.

     These past few months, things had definitely changed. Darigan Citadel was different. Lord Darigan himself was different. And in his heart, he wondered if Prisoner 950 had been right.

     Maybe The Three were back. Maybe they were real.

     He went to Prisoner 950's cell, expecting the same daily pleadings to hear his story. This time, Vex was ready to listen.

     Except, when he got there, Prisoner 950 was remarkably silent.

     "Prisoner 950?" he ventured. "I'm ready to listen to what you saw those months ago. About...about The Three?"

     "The Three?" Prisoner 950 echoed. "Who are they?"

     There was something wrong. Vex leaned his face into the bars, and found Prisoner 950's expression odd: his eyes were glazed, his mouth held a steady but lazy smile, and there was a certain mania to his movements.

     "Prisoner 950, are you feeling alright?" Vex asked.

     "Do you know what, Master Vex, I don't think I am. Could you unlock this door and come take a look?"

      The End.