Day Two-Forty: Caught

I finally caught up to Logan today, diary. Because he was waiting for me. So he says, anyway.

As you well know, I've been fruitlessly chasing the prince (I assume I was chasing, it was usually hard to tell) all around the castle. And, as you know even more, Logan has been telling people to get lost all week long. He even set Antonia, his former pet kangaroo, loose. Dangerous thing, that, considering she's a giant bundle of claws and fur.

Today, he addressed me. And he asked me to do the same thing. Today, though… it was very different today.

After three hours of searching, I found myself in the barracks. I was tired, bored, annoyed, and generally unsympathetic to whatever cause Logan had in mind. All I'd been ordered to do was get him to talk to his MOTHER, of all people, and he'd refused every time. Hell, he'd been MAYBE two hundred feet away from the Matriarch yesterday, and he STILL wouldn't visit Queen Daena.

(The queen was pretty distraught at that revelation, lemme tell you. She almost YELLED at me. Good thing she has impeccable manners.)

I hopelessly wandered the barracks, weaving through the empty bunkrooms and lounge areas without purpose, and eventually found myself in the training range. Everybody's out repairing the castle or dealing with the last of the merchants, so it was empty, save one person: Logan.

Though the training range is huge, I easily spotted Logan at the far end. He was crouched next to a bunch of ostrich cages, disabling lock after lock. Each time he opened a door an ostrich sprang free, dashing across the field and down one of the adjoining halls. Thanks to the general state of chaos in the castle at the moment, more than a few of them managed to escape through the castle's secret entrance.

I tried to stop Logan, but he was too quick. He'd opened thirty cages before I could get to him. This time, though, he didn't try to run away when I reached him.

Logan looks awful. It was the first close-up look of him that I'd gotten in a while, and I hadn't appreciated the sallow nature of his skin from a distance. He had shadows under his eyes, and his sunken cheekbones gave him the air of a beggar, not royalty. I wondered how long it had been since he'd eaten a decent meal.

He grinned at me, but his eyes kept creeping away to other parts of the range. He was struggling to hold his eyelids up. "Hi… hi, future dad. How's it goin'?"

I gently forced Logan to have a seat. Fancy pants or no, I know when a kid needs to sit down. "Gods above, Logan, what the hell is wrong with you? Are you sick? I mean, it's obvious you're sick -"

He shook his head. "N… zznnn… gotta get… all… all you… out… before…"

"Before what?" The hair on my head shot up. It seemed very important to coax Logan into speaking. "C'mon, kid. Don't fail on me now. Before what?"

Logan shuddered. His head rolled around and around on his neck, as though his spine was tired of its job. He laughed, though he couldn't have been more humourless, or the sound more hollow or eerie.

I tapped his cheek lightly. Tried to get him back. When he laughed harder, I outright slapped him. I don’t know that I'll ever get another chance to smack royalty, but that seemed an appropriate moment.

Logan's head straightened, and he twitched. He stared at me, unbelieving, soundless for a split second - and then he chuckled. He chuckled normally. Some of the colour came back into his face, and his next few words teemed with his original humour and renegade authority.

"Good… good hit, old man." He coughed. "He… he wants you here, Dragomir. He… he… wants… he wants to thank you. You can't… stop… him… so you should go…"

"Who?!" I practically yelled into Logan's face. "Who, you little bastard, who?!"

"He… he…" The energy disappeared. Logan's face deflated as he fought to force the words out of his mouth. The last one looked painful enough that Logan was on the verge of fainting. "He… killed… my… tutor…"

Logan drooped. A harsh breath of air blasted out of his lungs, and he slumped, unconscious, in my arms. I couldn't coax another syllable out of him.

Nor did I have much chance. Seconds later, a heavy hand dropped on my shoulder, accompanied by the rustle of soft cloth down my back. Brock, the royal guard. And, oh, four other Omega Corpsers. They'd managed to sneak up and surround me while I was talking to Logan.

"Give us the prince," Brock demanded, tightening his grip on my shoulder. He seemed ready, and able, to crush the bone. "We'll take him to his father."

A surge of fatherly power rushed into my brain, overriding common sense. "Not a chance in hell."

"Give us the prince," Brock repeated, tilting my head with his free hand so I could stare into his blank eyes, "or we'll kill you."

I gave them the prince. They took him without another word and left me to shiver. I was so scared that I didn't think to wet myself.

I reported my failure to Queen Daena later in the evening. I told her everything that I thought safe to tell her, which wasn't a hell of a lot: mainly that I'd found Logan passed out in the barracks, and that I'd handed him off to a bunch of royal guards. She sent a messenger into the castle to verify his wellbeing. He's under house arrest for disturbing the castle and loosing several animals, notably a werewolf. Order of the king.

We didn't know what to say about that. Daena couldn't believe that her husband would order Logan arrested… though she admitted that she didn't know what Jeffrey was on about, these days. They hadn't spoken since the funeral. Sounds like all is not well in the royal family, overall.

The queen thanked me for my diligence, rebuffed my attempts to apologize for failing her ("You didn't fail, you did as well as anyone could, and you DID find him, so thank you!"), and sent me off to spend the rest of the day with Libby. We played her board game again.

I spent the entire evening worried. I couldn't enjoy myself, games or not. Somebody… wants to THANK me? For what? And… and the guy killed Logan's tutor… so… does that mean it's DRISCOL? But… he's dead… or was it the person who TAUGHT Driscol how to do that fire thing…?

I'm really sick of having a bunch of questions at the end of a week. Lords above and below and in-between, my daughter's getting married soon. You'd think this would be cause for celebration, not… not all this shit.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Tracker