The Warden

A sickly mist creeps through the bone-white wetlands. From within the fog’s depths, we hear the wheels of a carriage approaching. But as the hulking vehicle trundles into view, we realise that it is not horses in the traces. Instead, the carriage is being pulled by prisoners, their heads and hands bound in welded cages.

Horrified, we instinctively halt as the carriage comes to a stop before us. On the box, whip in hands, stands the driver of these human pack animals, a man of stern countenance and oddly flamboyant dress. His voice, when he speaks, is strangely cheery.

“Greetings, travellers. I am the warden of the prison yonder. These bogs teem with unsavoury folk — miscreants, vandals and vagrants of the lowest order. It is my task to find these criminals and apprehend them. Will you swear fealty to the cause of justice, and keep me informed of what you witness? Or will you stand in the way of the law’s long arm?”