Arrens left the Pig & Whistle, his head down and shoulders slumped. He could barely look Madam Aely in the eyes after admitting he had been tossed into the Stockades the night prior. He had apologized profusely for his behavior to everyone that had been there and witnessed the display. His left eye was still horribly bruised. It would appear he had taken shots from more than just Lyresse that night. Dravir and the Stormwind Guard had each taken a swing at the fel-tainted drunk. And now, following the advice of one of his most trusted professors, Vyree, he was headed back to the University, tired and cowed from yet one more in a long line of recent humbling experiences.
As he neared the Canal District, he heard his name. "Professor Caltrains?" Turning to look, Arrens saw a man he did not know.
"Yes?"
"Professor, think you could spare a word?" the man asked.
"I...I'm sorry, sir. It's been a rather long night and all I would like is to get some sleep."
The man waved a dismissive hand. "Never you mind, guv, it'll only be a moment and you'll thank me for it."
Arrens sighed. "Very well then. What can I do for you, Mr..."
"Sullivan. James Sullivan. A pleasure." He held his hand out, which Arrens shook firmly. "Tell me, Prof, you had any dealings with a Tarquin ap Danwyrith?"
The normally astute headmaster didn't think before he answered. He knew Tarquin had a list of enemies from Lordaeron to Booty Bay. But the lack of sleep, the crushing hangover and the emotional turmoil that he had been through clouded his judgement. "I know Master ap Danwyrith, yes."
Almost imperceptibly, Sullivan nodded. From behind, three very large and very goonish men grabbed Arrens. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
"Easy, guv, easy. Gettin' you off the street. Dangerous place out here." Sullivan smiled, somehow giving the impression of fangs despite his even white teeth. "Just a couple more questions in a safe place, and our association's over." Arrens struggled in vein as the meaty paws that held him gave no sway. They half-led/half-carried him back through Old Town and straight into the headquarters of Stormwind Intelligence. None too gently, they carted him down the steps and into an interrogation room where he was unceremoniously tossed onto a hard wooden seat, the slamming of the door behind him a now familiar sound.
"Now then, guv, ain't this better? We can talk privy-like, and it's nice and warm to boot." Sullivan said.
"Let me out of here right this instant, or by the gods, there will be hell to pay."
"Professor, I know you. I know who you are. I know what you do." Sullivan put two fingers to his brow, standing up straight, and grinned again. "And I also know you spent your evening stewing in the Stocks. Drunk and disorderly, innit? Nothing much, that, high-spirited Stormwind boys'll be boys. But how 'bout calling on demonic powers for to threaten the Law of Stormwind?" He laughed, and then his smile vanished. "That's [b]bastard[/i] complicated, guv. Sorta thing your students really oughta know about, the good old Prof Caltrains practicin' that sort of mess. Sorta thing their parents really oughta know about, their precious children bein' exposed to such a vile practice. Sorta thing the whole damn city oughta know."
Arrens blanched. "You wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I? I'm the law, guv, not your mate. After all, my mate'd answer questions I put to him. Like, the hell d' you know from Tarquin ap Danwyrith?" Arrens said nothing, simply stared at his interrogator, who sighed. "Got no need for this to be unpleasant, do we? Hold on a tick." Sullivan knocked lightly on the door. Almost immediately, one of the goons that had helped carry Arrens in appeared holding a mug of steaming tea. "Sorry, Prof, forget what a shit night you likely had. How 'bout some tea? My mum always said it was good for what ailed you."
Arrens looked at the mug as it was placed before him. There was a sweetness in the aroma. He could make out a hint of Peacebloom, a dash of the herb known as Khadgar's Whisker and...something else he could not place. He sipped.
As soon as the hot liquid touched his tongue, he felt the familiar sensations of Dreamfoil. His tongue went numb and his eyes began to loll in the back of his head. A sleepiness he had never known before threatened to overwhelm him. Just then, the goon yanked hard on his ponytail. Through the haze inside of his head, he heard a voice, both distant and familiar.
"Tell me about Tarquin, Professor."
"S...shaw him lasht night. Th...think he tried to hit me."
"That right? Now why would he try to hit you?"
"I dunno. Think a lot of people were looking to hit me lasht night," Arrens slurred.
"Who hit you, Arrens?"
Arrens began counting on his hands. "Well there was Lyresshe and there was Dravir and there was that shtupid guard. And then there wash a whooole lotta people in the Shtockades that wanted to hit me. And you know what I did? I shhowed them that I'm no panshy. No shir, I'm not. I can hold my own in a fight."
"No doubt, Professor. But let's talk about Tarquin. He told you take the fight outside, didn't he? Did he tell you to go demon while he was at it?"
Arrens' head bobbed forward, his eyes nearly shut. Again, he was yanked hard from his ponytail. "What? I jusht wanna shleep."
"You'll get your sleep, Professor. Now, tell me, did Tarquin ap Danwyrith make you fight last night? Did he make you transform into a demon?"
Arrens shrugged. Before falling sway to the potent drugs within his system, his last words for the day were, "Maybe."
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The next morning, Arrens awoke in his bed. He had not changed out of his clothes from the night before and found it very difficult to piece together what had happened between the time he had left the Pig and waking in his bed. Glancing at his timepiece, he hurriedly got dressed for the morning classes. If he missed one more, he was certain he would never hear the end of it from Professor Vyree.
The Long Walk Home
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