IX Incarcera

Nonum Incarcera — Ninth Prison — also known as Nonum Infernum, Ninth Hell, The Pit, The Devil’s Asshole, and more frightening names, kept its secrets and prisoners bound up tight. The only sentence served at the Ninth was life. The prison sat in a volcanic valley, sealed by magic, auto-blasters, and the heavily guarded borders of the no-man’s-land where it was located between Dwarven, Elven, and Orcish nations.

Its founding during the Neoclassical boom of the early 18th century was evident from its architecture, its Latin name, and the Latin titles for many of the personnel. Those historical holdovers were slowly being eroded, but with the long-lived races in charge, the pace of that change was glacial.

While all the races shared in maintaining the prison, the bulk of the inside guards were orcs, ogres, trolls, and hill giants. Outside, centaurs and fleet-footed elves patrolled the dead-end valley and cliff walls, while dwarves and dark elves manned the caverns that provided the only outside access to the valley.

Only the worst of the worst were sent to the Ninth, and the dwarves guarding the in-valley cavern entrance saw them all. Mad fae enclosed in cages of iron, power-corrupted sorcerers bound with magic dispelling chains, blood-thirsty warlords of all sorts bound hand and foot, some even hogtied. In short, prisoner transport was entirely safe for everyone but the prisoner.

That’s what made the entrance of the latest prisoner so odd. Dark elves walked alongside a human in prison garb, the three of them chatting and laughing. She wasn’t bound in any way and wasn’t brought in a wagon or cart. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the prison grays she wore, it would seem to be three friends out for a stroll.

Blasters whined to their ready state as the dwarves standing guard drew on the trio. The guard commander called out, “Stop there, and stand by for inspection! Lethal force is authorized.”

The three stopped, one of the dark elves holding out a clipboard in one hand, cuffs and shackles in the other. The second nodded at the human woman, who put her hands flat on top of her head. “Would you like me to get on the ground, or anything like that?” she asked.

The guard commander stroked his beard. “No, that’s not necessary, just don’t move.”

“You got it, boss,” she said.

The dark elf guard with the clipboard offered the cuffs and shackles to the dwarf guard. “If you think you need ’em, you can have ’em. She’s bein’ good, though. Hell, she volunteered to walk in when the transport wagon broke down outside the east gate.”

“You walked five miles to get here?” the dwarf asked.

“I did, sir,” she answered.

As the dwarf began looking over the paperwork for the prisoner, he was interrupted by the warden. “Praetorius, I need to talk to the prisoner in your office, please.”

“Aye, Dux Custodiae,” the guard commander said. “Would you like me to bind her first?”

“No, thank you. I will take those shackles and cuffs, though.” The warden, one of the only elves to work inside the prison, and perhaps the smallest employee in the entire complex, smoothed her uniform jacket and turned toward the human woman. “Please step through the metal detector and magic detector, then step into the office here.”

The woman did as told and took a seat across the desk from the warden. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“Ms. Palmer,” the warden said, “I’m Chief Warden Highoak. I’m in charge of the women’s wing of the prison.”

“Please, ma’am, Trish is fine.”

“Ms. Palmer, I’m confused by your record.” Highoak flipped through the papers that had been passed along by the dark elves. “Normal life for thirty years, then six ex-boyfriends murdered in two years.”

Trish shrugged and smiled. “I was set up. Didn’t do it.”

“Poison — utterly cliché. It seems like a severe lack of impulse control. You aren’t going to be a problem, are you?”

“No, ma’am. I just want to keep my head down and do my time.”

Warden Highoak leaned across the desk. “You understand, you are here to ‘do time’ for life, right?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. At least, until my appeal makes it to court. I’m sure my defense team can find the real killer and I’ll be exonerated.”

Highoak cuffed and shackled Trish and led her into the prison proper herself. Once there, she handed her off to intake with her paperwork. After a search, she was issued a uniform, mattress, blanket, pillow, and hygiene kit, and allowed to keep her notebook and soft-tip pen.

Based on the nature of her crimes, she wasn’t deemed a danger to other prisoners. As such, her new cell was in general population. Her cellmate was an ancient ogre, missing a hand and one eye, thinning grey hair hanging limp over a heavily wrinkled face.

“Bottom bunk’s mine,” the ogre said.

“Sure thing. The name’s Trish.”

The ogre simply grunted in reply.

Taking the hint, Trish kept quiet as she made up her bunk and set her sparse belongings on the little shelf next to her bunk. Once she was settled in, she wandered the common area. Those that seemed somewhat friendly she greeted.

A hill giant guard stepped in front of her. “Hey, fish! You need to understand something.”

Trish looked up at the guard’s face. “Yes, ma’am. What do I need to understand?”

“Gumgrut runs the floor here. She tells you to jump you ask how high on the way up.” The guard cleared her throat. “Unless she asks you to do something illegal.”

Trish looked at the guard’s nametag. “I don’t know Gumgrut, Officer Parumpf.”

“Your cellie,” Parumpf said.

“I thought that was the guards’ job? Or the warden?”

“If a guard tells you to do something, you do it or go to solitary.” The guard crouched down to put her face on a level with Trish. “If Gumgrut tells you to do something and you don’t, you might end up dead. Just stay clear of the troublemakers and contraband, and you’ll be fine. If you have a question or a problem, look for me or Officer Wallford. We won’t steer you wrong. If you just want to bitch about something, I’d recommend the bitch in the mirror.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Trish said. “Got it. Um, what time’s dinner?”

“Six. You’ll hear the call.” Parumpf stood. “Now get out of here. Library’s open, if you’re into that.”

Trish wandered around some more, making her eventual way to the library. Her eyes took in everything without any obvious ogling. It was clear that notes were being passed between the women’s section and men’s section through the library. The prisoners working in the library were in on it, and it didn’t seem the lone guard, a bored-looking orc, was paying any attention.

At dinner, she found a quiet corner in which to sit, where she was joined by a boisterous dwarf. She smiled and nodded along as the dwarf woman regaled her with grossly exaggerated stories of how she killed a dozen giants with a spoon because they annoyed her.

Trish knew better than to engage too much with someone so clearly unhinged. Instead, on finishing her dinner, she returned to her cell, where she found Gumgrut already asleep.

As quiet as she could, she climbed into her bunk, pulled out her notebook and pen, and began writing a letter. It was filled with the sort of boring inanities that one might expect of a woman with little hope of freedom trying to stay connected to family.

Beneath the inanity, though, was the real message. Encoded in the letter, she wrote:

Day 1: Arrived. Outer perimeter guards let me walk in without cuffs/shackles. Inner perimeter guards would have let me continue but met with warden who shackled me.

Smuggled in lock pick set, 4 100 krown notes — not internally! — sleight of hand only.

Notes and contraband passing through library. Officer Stormtooth ignored it all.

My cellmate is mob boss Hilda Gumgrut.

Officer Parumpf says Gumgrut ‘runs the floor’ — says I’m to speak to Parumpf or Officer Wallford if I have an issue. Have not met Wallford yet but expect they both defer to Gumgrut.

Expect to find ingress for contraband within original planned 90 days.

Bonus: I will try to find out how Gumgrut continues to run the family from inside.