4141.224 · August 12, 1821 AD
When Liars Turn on Each Other
Three convicts sit at a rough table in the wine cellar, surrounded by wealth they'll never possess. Broadmoor chose this location deliberately—dank air, thick stone walls, oppressive atmosphere to unsettle men already anxious. They came presenting unity. But lies have a way of unravelling under pressure. And when men who've agreed on their story start contradicting each other, accusing each other, protecting themselves at the expense of their fellows—truth emerges in fragments they never meant to reveal.
Jasper Enfield—nineteen, sharp-eyed, called "The Ghost" in London for entering houses without trace. Silas Jennings—thirty-three, faded gentleman's posture, wire-rimmed spectacles hiding intelligence that's both asset and liability. Ezra Barlow—burly, grizzled beard, naval discipline still rigid in his posture despite transportation.
Three convicts who've provided statements. Three convicts whose statements contain inconsistencies Broadmoor noticed immediately. They wait an hour in the cellar's oppressive atmosphere before he descends—time enough for nerves to fray, for agreed-upon stories to feel less certain.
They present careful unity at first. Coordinated responses. Practised denials.
Then Ezra explodes: "Liar." He saw Silas skulking near the rose garden that night, not mending fences. Silas retaliates: if Ezra was tending roses, how did he witness a rider with bloody hands heading for the woods? Jasper, caught between them: nobody told him about bloody riders.
The veneer shatters completely. Accusations fly. Old resentments surface. Stolen whiskey. London reputations. Skills that remain remarkably convenient when masters vanish mysteriously.
And beneath the accusations, fragments of truth neither meant to share. About strange nights. Obsessed masters. Things waiting at sacred trees.
When desperate men turn on each other, secrets spill like wine from broken casks.
