Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer

Investigator Mellio considers the narrow doorway.
“You say this was never opened?”
“Logs confirm it, sir.”
Mellio glances at the sergeant.
“Thank you, officer-?”
“Sergeant Parx, sir.”
“Good to meet you, Parx. So, the brief said this isn’t the first?”
“Correct. This is eighth member of the Gundorini gang to escape.”
“How many do you have left?”
Parx checks his smartcuff.
“As at roll call: nineteen. You want me to organise a watch on all of them? The Head Warder’s already complaining over the costs of extra patrols and hi-grade scanners to spot whatever stealth tech they’re using. He’ll not want to add overtime.”
Mellio considers, then nods.
“How many relatives of the escapees remain?”
Parx checks.
“Well I’ll be.. Got one left. All are actual Gundorini family.”
“Are they in a nearby oubliette?”
Parx smiles.
“Rulebook states we’re not to use that word. But they were originally dug to serve that purpose.”
Mellio grins.
“You just answered my next question.”
Parx grins.
“But you’ve got another.”
Mellio chuckles.
“I do: the lowest level of this facility, which I presume we’re in, predates the Watch Station?”
“By about a century.”
“Okay. So, how often had you lost inmates prior to this?”
Parx looks surprised and unhappy at the response to his query.
“Officially, none. But I see one or two cases a year written off as roll-call errors.”
Mellio frowns.
“Outside my remit, but I presume you’ll find and prosecute whoever’s been concealing it?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Good. Right, answering my next question will be a challenge: I’m betting that when the oubliettes were frequently filled, some were known to be unusually bad for anyone incarcerated in them. I’m offering a case of Casarion Red to the officer who tells me which ones.”
Parx raises a hand.
“Make it a cask of Freeport Ale and I’ll be on this all night, sir.”
“Done. See you tomorrow.”

The next day, Parx is waiting by the entrance. Mellio waves cheerily.
“What’s the good news, Parx?”
“They were called Rooms back then. Numbers fifteen thru thirty-one were regarded as the ones for problems that needed ‘solving quickly’.”
“And the answer to my next question is?”
“The Gundorini escapees were in seventeen, nineteen, twenty-one, twenty-three, twenty-five, twenty-seven, twenty-nine, and thirty-one. The last is in fifteen.”
“How often do the escapes occur?”
“Monthly. Whatever sort of stealth they’re using, it’s beyond us.”
“I brought a Kaflarvan remote viewer with me. All I need are grid references for the office you assigned me and Room Fifteen. Next month, we’ll be watching and they’ll never know.”

Nearly four weeks later, Mellio and Parx sit in front of a greenish hologram display as the night progresses.
“Sleeping well, again. Maybe it’s not tonight, either.”
Mellio shrugs.
“Tonight or tomorrow.”
On the display, a section of a corner in the cell goes dark.
“What’s that?”
Mellio sits forward.
“Exit, or…”
Something flows through the gap where the block was. The inmate jumps up, clearly panicking, unable to see the gigantic arthropod with tentacles for legs that rears up behind him. What follows is brutal and brief.
The block slides back into place. Parx waves at the display, choking out a wordless query.
Mellio pats his shoulder reassuringly.
“That, sergeant, is a Bontranalochal. The phrase that mouthful of a name comes from translates to ‘creeping abomination that eats families’. It hunts by following prey home and attacking them there.”
Parx gasps.
“It’s been picking off the Gundorini bloodline!”
Mellio nods.
“Exactly. Now, on the one hand: your sequential escapes mystery is solved. On the other: you have a serious pest problem.”