The Sacred Garden

Chapter Six

Rodan had been taken from the trial to Cellblock Alpha, a stone building behind the courthouse. She was deposited in a small room where the openings consisted of an envelope-sized window and a thick wooden door that bolted shut from the outside. The stone floor was clean and there was a small cot against the wall. Rodan collapsed on it at once, stared hungrily up at her tiny little serving of light and let herself weep for a while. Then she focused all her long-dormant Time Lord training on regaining emotional control. By this time, she was collected and taken to the common room, where she was joined by a public drunk and an unlicensed herbalist in a reasonably familiar supper of an overcooked grain and some kind of savory meat.

She hadn't yet been given prison garb, but while she was led back to the cell it was promised to her for tomorrow and her nerves were just frayed enough that this set off another round of tears. It was not so much that the prison robes looked like they had been sewn from sackcloth. It was more that she was going to be stripped of the last thing that made her Gallifreyan. It was – a reminder that she had no real identity anymore. Uncitied? She was un-worlded. She might as well not even have her name.

And then: no. No. I'm a Gallifreyan, she thought to herself, sternly. Now, in this place, and in all places, and in all times. I can't outrun or outgun these people, but I can outlast them – and if I can outlast them, I can outsmart them.

Comforted by that vague resolve, she went to sleep.

She woke in the darkness, hearts thumping madly, to the sound of the door being unlocked and opened. Two figures were standing in the doorway, one tall and distinct, with spiky hair and a lean, muscular profile; the other cloaked from head to foot.

"This is her."

To her alarm, Rodan recognized the voice as belonging to the rabble-rouser in the courtroom that morning. 

"Are you sure?" said the second voice. "She looks just like you."

"She's not an Armonon spy. I'm pretty well acquainted with the lot of us. She's not Ragis, either. I've been told there were no records for any of them. She's more one of you than one of us."

"Interesting. But perhaps not wholly unexpected." This second voice had a purring quality, calm and confident. Rodan didn't know why it made her so uneasy. "Geralwyn will not be over-pleased."

Rodan mustered all of her courage and sat quickly up. "What's going on?" she asked, as the men jumped.

The man she recognized from earlier strode forward and stood over her. He had a hard, mercenary look: heavy-lidded eyes, drawn-in cheeks and dark, pseudo-military dress. "We're breaking you out."

"Why?"

"We know you aren't guilty."

"You are an Armonon spy," said Rodan matter-of-factly, as she walked briskly down the dark streets, arm linked in the man's. The hooded one walked behind them, quiet.

"Does that mean something to you?" he responded tightly.

"No, I don't even know where Armonon is. Only that – you were pretty convincing earlier on, and I don't think that helped me and my friends much."

"Can't be a good spy and a bad actor. I did need you all put away, though. You've gotten a bit close to--."

"Tyman." The other man's smooth voice was full of icy warning.

"All right, all right. It's not like we won't be interrogating her, anyway."

Rodan felt her high hopes collapsing. Out of the frying pan ...