Under A Darkening Sky - Repost

[reiver33]

Thank for the feedback and I've made a few corrections and clarifications to the text of part one - part two will probably appear late on Wednesday night (another night shift).

Cheers,

Martin

[reiver33]

One

I awoke face down in the gutter, a knife in my back.

I always have Sight, but it took me a few moments to regain Touch and Hearing – given the rank debris under me I decided to forgo the pleasures of Taste and Smell. It was near morning but the previous day’s heat still radiated from the flagstones, the air hung heavy and fetid, rich with the smells of decay. It felt like there was a long-overdue thunderstorm building high above the City.

I stood up gingerly, feeling the blade grate against my spine, and turned slowly, leaning against the nearest wall for support. My attacker lay dead, on his back, his right arm a blackened stump, his sleeve still smouldering. The immediate past was still hazy but I recognised the darkened alley as par of the Warren, between High Market and Stator Square, not an area for the faint-hearted after dark but one that usually posed me no problem. So, it was probable I had been acting as Gallant to yet another bored and jaded Lady, squiring her about town while her husband whored with someone less matronly. Officially I was a corporeal eunuch and the perfect chaperone for those suspected of having inflamed passions, being incapable of ‘manly arousal’; unofficially I was a male prostitute in great demand.

With difficulty I was able to reach round and withdraw the dagger without causing further damage to my unresponsive flesh. The bloodless blade had a sickly hue to it, and was warm to the touch; a weirding weapon then, one that would blister skin and poison the blood should the blow fail to kill. Unlikely to be in the possession of a common street thief, and definitely not the weapon of choice against my kind. The Flux which covers me like a second skin had obviously reacted violently to the enhanced blade, the unnatural mix of Powers earthing through my attacker and rendering me unconscious.

I knelt beside the body and, as an Acolyte of Sight was able to look upon him closely. His outer garments were commonplace and no doubt of local manufacture, but his waistcoat was of far finer material with gilt buttons. No signs of wear and tear that would suggest a cast-off from some great house and no evidence of alteration should it have been stolen or otherwise acquired from the petty nobility. His boots were of soft leather, soft as butter, designed to make no footfall on virtually any surface. A hired killer then, but with no Guild tattoo on his surviving forearm; a professional from outside the City – expensive, and against all Kanly agreements to boot.

Someone with enough knowledge to exploit my worst sense – Hearing – but ignorant of how to bring me down.

Dawn was approaching so I thrust the blade into his seared stump and waited only to confirm the remaining flesh had started to shrivel and char. With luck the locals would strip the body long before a constable was summoned and the weirding blade would provide an obvious, if uncommon, cause of death. I doubted any serious effort would be expended on yet another ‘random killing’ and my involvement would go officially unnoticed. The low-life who inhabit the Warren know enough to give me a wide berth, and would appreciate me leaving the body ripe for despoilment.

I made my way back to the Temple of Senses without further incident and entered through the first gate, as was my custom. After pausing to offer thanks in front of Niall the Farsighted by lying prostrate in the shadow of his statue, two Novices ushered me before a Priestess. She obviously was one who took her position seriously.

“As one who seeks to see beyond the Veil, I bid you welcome. Rest now, and be replenished in the Source of All Life”.

I knew the formalities must be observed, but bridled at the mindless ritual; I appreciated all the Powers had given me, and in return I offered respect and loyalty, but not empty devotion. Nevertheless I bowed in return and was escorted to a plunge pool where I stripped and stepped into the warm waters. My body sank to the bottom as I filled my lungs and I lay there a long, long time, feeling the tiny charges sparking over my flesh.

In the three years since my change this is the only place that has brought me any peace.

Eventually I emerged and performed a clumsy handstand to let my lungs drain of fluid; it’s a necessary ritual and always makes the towel attendants laugh. After treatment for my latest injury I expected a period of quiet contemplation in the Chapter House but instead I was informed the Lady Messalina required my presence.

This was new, uncommon, unexpected in an environment based on order and ritual. She was from the House of Touch and my primary schooling was still Sight, yet the summons went unquestioned by my superiors and I passed through the central pentangle into the ‘realm of skin’ as others called it.

The Lady lay on a richly furnished couch, watching the sun rising above the Pinnacle. The soft glow of table mounted lamps cast long, diffuse shadows, and the air was heady with the reek of devotional ungents. As an Adept of Touch she could wear only the most gossamer of robes, which served merely to accentuate her voluptuous sexuality; any normal man would have been aroused in an instant, and I cursed the memory of such spontaneous carnality.

She rose like some languid predator uncoiling from its night-time perch and swept her great mane of auburn hair back from an oval face to reveal heavy-lidded eyes, small nose and full lips. She smiled.

“Captain Stone. A new name for an old face, and I find it strange that having lost so much you would cast aside the last link to a life you so evidently wish to reclaim.”

“I will never be that person again, Lady, my mentors have made that plain. If I seek to regain anything it is my dignity, my place in the society of men.”

“Yet you have kept your rank, Captain, defining yourself by function rather than form. Such a conceit, such a typically male failing. But it is an honorific title these days, no?”

“I hold a commission in the Temple Guard, Lady.”

“A Captain without men in an army without cause. “ Her smile broadened into a lascivious grin “We both know your true value to the Temple; servicing the wives of wealthy men in return for donations. Now, disrobe.”

She stepped closer, exaggerating the sway of her hips, delighting in an overt display of sensuality she knew would leave me unmoved. I let the simple kaftan fall to my feet and stood immobile as her fingertips ran over my tracery of scars.

“Fine needlework” she pronounced, “excellent quality. You would be hard pressed to notice that they were sutures and not scar tissue. The shimmer of Flux makes your skin feel exquisite, almost lubricated without being oily, and I can quite understand how your reputation as a masseur has spread so readily.”

“I am classed as a eunuch, Lady”.

“Yet you have a tongue, and probably the hireling of husbands who are disinclined to pleasure their wives in that manner themselves. The role of eunuchs and chamber maidens in the City has long been an open secret and considered unthreatening to the egos of real men. However, should your true abilities come to light, even though you are incapable of fathering children, I doubt that they would be so understanding.”

She stepped back and stood, hands on tilted hips, regarding me.

“A brute, but a hansom brute, and well suited to our purposes.” She paused, the tip of her tongue running over her lips, “Just how long can you maintain your manhood?”

“My blood has been replaced with plasm in which reside Swimming Servants. They are responsive to my will and through them my flesh is made obedient. I can maintain an imitation of arousal indefinitely, three hours has been the maximum to date.”

“That was Lady Margo Scales, was it not? Don’t answer, for she is a dear, dear friend and absolute slut and I understand your discretion is also valued, and valuable. Your activities enrich the Temple, and in return we will maintain your re-animated flesh.”

“Animated flesh, Lady, I never died.”

“Splitting hairs” she laughed “of which I see you have none.”

She sank back amidst her cushions.

“The Temple of Senses has received a request, not a command, but under the personal seal of the Chancellor, that you accompany the Firstborn as one of his intimates.”

I gave her my long-practiced look of disgust, which I am quite proud of.

“Lady, none of the carnal acts I have participated in have involved men, even as voyeurs. I am aware that Firstborn Stephen and his favourites have an evil, unhealthy reputation, but that? Not since the days of the Sacred Band have such practices been acceptable at Court.”

Lady Messalina broke into a fit of childish giggles.

“OH, your face! Such a picture of outrage that would make, even if perfectly contrived. No matter, you misunderstand me, Captain. You are to serve as the Chancellor’s agent and informant whilst in the guise of an amusement for the Firstborn, an exotic oddity, a performing...” her gaze flickered over my body ”…donkey, shall we say. Now get dressed and peel me some grapes while I finalise the arrangements.”

The sun came up and bathed the room in light. It was a fine morning with the promise of rain later to clear the air and wash away all the sins of the world. Sunlight struck the great stone eye atop the Temple of Truth and it seemed to turn its piercing gaze upon me, as if searching for the soul I no longer possessed.

[reiver33]

Two

In was noon before I left the Temple and the bells were ringing out from the Pinnacle, high on Serpentine Hill. All vehicles are prohibited in this part of the city but I avoided the main thoroughfares regardless, wearing my hood up and keeping to the less frequented side streets where possible. There were many who found my deathly pallor unsettling, even menacing, and I was in no mood for harassment or a physical confrontation.

I kept a suite of rooms in Last Place, off what used to be Last Road and is now known as Martyrs Approach. Its proximity to the Field of Ashes kept the rent low and attracted residents who generally had a good reason for avoiding contact with their neighbours, which well suited my purposes. I had no real need for a place in which to sleep or cook, but it was ideal for private liaisons with Ladies after escorting them to public events. Accordingly I maintained a modest larder of sweetmeats and other fancies, along with a goodly stock of wine, all designed to freshen and pique the jaded pallet. It was eating I missed most, for while I could invoke Taste enough to savour a dish anything I consumed would simply rot in my inert stomach. The effort and indignity of having this manually purged tended to offset the fleeting satisfaction of sustenance, which, in any event, my body no longer required.

On my way ‘home’ I stopped by Veda Square, which was lined by a covered colonnade home to many small shops and street traders, and one of the few well-populated areas I felt comfortable in. I needed to replenish the cosmetics I used to give my skin some degree of colour during my social engagements, and my frequent purchases had brought me a degree of acceptance. On that occasion there was a squad of City Guards, in full harness, performing close-order drill in the square. A punishment detail apparently, miscreants sweating out a variety of petty crimes and infringements under the watchful eye of a Sergeant who lounged in the shade outside the wine shop.

As the Guards jogged doggedly across the dusty flagstones they were accompanied by a number of beggarly children, running and skipping alongside the small column, barking and yapping as they did so. It took me a moment to remember that the latest slang name for the Guards was ‘dog soldiers’, the rumour being that they were spawned deep in the Citadel, grown from the flesh of animals. This was certainly more inventive than the previous invective – that the Duke employed ‘evil gypsies’ who stole infants from outlying villages – whereas in truth the lowlife of the city would always find service in uniform preferable to starving. As the column executed a sudden inside turn the end man ‘took the back of his hand’ to his nearest tormentor, as the saying goes. The child was sent tumbling to the ground, bloody and howling, while his companions scattered, vanishing between the stalls and into the alleyways with that talent peculiar to those who live on the streets. The Sergeant halted his men and strode out to inspect the child, hauling him up and sending him on his way, blood coursing from a broken nose. His sadistic tendencies obvious satiated, the Sargent allowed his men to break for a rest and glass of watered wine.

My path took me through the sprawl of soldiers as they relaxed in the shade, fatigue evident in every face. I tried to avoid eye contact but just for a moment my gaze met with that of a grey-haired veteran trooper, the lower part of his face obscured by the cup he was draining. Recognition flickered in his eyes and I felt I should have known him, rather than any firm recollection, but I let the moment for comment lapse and passed him by.

It was only much, much later that I realised how often pure Chance makes fools of us all.

On reaching my lodgings I found the door guarded by two ducal troopers who sported no mere gorgets but liquid armour that flowed like quicksilver over their torsos. Although they carried ornate walking-out daggers the real threat lay in their gauntlets, the touch of which could stun a man or stop his heart. The potential for disaster should they lay hands upon me would have given any sane man pause, but those in the personal service of Duke Leon were renowned for a devotion to duty bordering on the suicidal. The door swung open to my touch and I entered.

The man sitting by the window table flicking crumbs of bread to several attendant sparrows was well known to me, indeed, well known to everyone in the city. A large, heavy-set man with swept back brown hair, grey at the temples, full moustache and cheery, twinkling eyes. He looked like a favourite uncle, one who could regale the company with outrageous tales and pluck sweets from behind the ears of small children.

To my personal knowledge he had ordered the arrest, torture and execution of twenty-six men and women on charges of sedition and treason. Of these, two had been proven innocent of all charges but their bodies were so ruined by interrogation that death had seemed more charitable than release.

He half rose as I entered, his right arm extended, beckoning. I bowed.

“Chancellor Steel, I am indeed honoured.”

“Captain, so good to see you again after all this time! Please, sit, no need to stand on ceremony. You had very little in the way of provisions so I had Nadia fetch some in, understandable, given your condition I dare say. Nadia makes excellent tea and I must insist that you try some. Nadia! Now, if you please.”

She entered from my modest kitchen and placed two cups in front of us. I did not know her personally but her type was self-evident; trim, efficient and the very image of the Chancellors daughter – although that was not a comparison any sane man would make in his hearing. Each young woman lasted around a year in his employ before being quietly replaced amidst rumours of rape and murder, but there were always those willing to risk all for the patronage of one so powerful.

“Nadia, the Captain here was formally one of my most ardent Inquisitors, loyal to both the law and the city. As such he was never destined for high office as our dear Duke does not understand loyalty, and certainly does not trust it. He prefers servants with obvious flaws – corruption, depravity, licentiousness; it does not matter as long as they are efficient and discrete. Now that the Captain is dependent upon the Temple for his continued existence, a true slave of the senses, as it were, he is deemed trustworthy. “

“I was unaware, Lord Chancellor, that his Highness the Duke could exert such influence over the Temple.”

“Well, he could have your dismembered torso left to rot in a cell once the Power that sustains your flesh dissipates. Is that incentive enough?”

“I remain his loyal servant in all things.”

“Excellent! Now, I trust that Lady Messalina has outlined the commission I wish you to undertake?”

“I am to join the Firstborn and his company in their latest debauchery as some kind of performing curiosity.”

“Curb your tongue when speaking of the Firstborn and do not presume upon my prior patronage! However, this ‘latest debauchery’ as you so aptly describe it has taken on a far greater significance of late. The wedding between Stephen and Lady Maud has been brought forward to coincide with the start of the Great Fair in three days time. The nuptials will form part of a general festival day for the commonality, funded by the happy couple, and the city will have every armed man it can muster on the streets to curb the expected drunken debacle.”

“This apparent need for haste - is the Lady Maud…?”

“Pregnant? Ha! Lady Maud is a young woman mature beyond her years, possessed of a fierce intelligence and sharper tongue. Stephen has as much chance of bedding her before the wedding as I do of flying round the Pinnacle in the company of crows. Even if she were tempted by his youthful ardour, the Malmorte family have not invested this much time and effort in arranging this match to see her relegated to the rank of ducal mistress. No, the reason for ‘haste’ is far less prosaic – my informants tell me that there will be an attempt to kill the Firstborn, and the blow must be struck prior to the wedding. And I mean ‘blow’, Captain – a knife thrust; nothing else will do to satisfy the contract.”

I thought of the body in the alleyway but said nothing. The Chancellor continued.

“Three men, three assassins, at large in the city - by bringing forward the ‘due date’ I hope to force their hand.”

“Why not simply alert the Guild to the presence of unlicensed assassins and let them deal with the matter privately? They take a very dim view of any ‘free traders’ at the best of times, and I think they would be especially ruthless when this involves a threat to the first family.”

There was a sudden imaginary chill in the air.

“Captain, how did you know these assassins are unlicensed?”

Damnation.

“Lord Chancellor, an assassination by blade, even by proxy, speaks to a highly personal motive, something more intense than simple politics. Nevertheless, I know of no formal vendetta declared against the Duke and his family, and even if it were so, the Guild would never accept a contract against the Firstborn while leaving the other members of his family unscathed. Legal niceties or no, the Duke would avenge his son in a manner most horrible – something we both know he is capable of. The Guild might be induced to attempt the complete removal of the entire ducal family but the cost would be exorbitant and well beyond the resources of a single noble house. Any association of nobles would, by definition, be a risky affair and prone to treachery and betrayal for political advantage.

Therefore, a personal motive. Therefore, an assassination from outwith the Guild. Therefore, outsiders who need time to settle in, adapt to life here, work out how to reach the Firstborn. Therefore, their plans can be disrupted by altering the expected timescale.”

“Well done, Captain! An excellent recovery from a faux pas that would have sent a lesser man to the Temple of Truth for interrogation. ”

“Thank you, Chancellor – but a knife attack? Almost impossible for the assassin to escape if in public, and the private chambers must be virtually inaccessible. Given the increased security surrounding the Firstborn due to this threat only a fool or maniac would attempt anything, and paid killers tend to be neither.”

“No one in Stephen’s household has been alerted to the threat, nor are they to learn of it from you.”

“Chancellor Steel, do I understand that you want this attempt to succeed?”

“Of course not! What I want is for the attempt to be made and for you to ensure it fails. What I want is for at least one assassin to be taken alive and held for questioning. What I want is the whole conspiracy uncovered and the person behind it named.”

I tried to mentally relax while Nadia poured me some more tea.

“Then, Captain, what I want is for you to kill both the Firstborn and the Duke.”

[reiver33]

Three

I remember thinking that years of behind-the-scenes manipulation and politicking had finally driven the Chancellor into megalomania, as if proposing to have the two most prominent men in the city assassinated was an everyday occurrence to be discussed over tea. I didn’t have a suitable face to indicate my scepticism so had to be far more direct.

“Lord Chancellor, even given that exposing the current conspiracy might induce the ducal family to relax their security arrangements, the chances of striking down both the duke and his eldest son are incredibly slim. If by some miracle this could be achieved it would leave the Secondborn as heir, unless you intend to have Duke Leon killed after the wedding, which would place Lady Maud on the throne. If I may speak freely sir, this scheme has little prospect of success and is, quite frankly, unworthy of you.”

The Chancellor laughed and slapped his thigh.

“Excellent, excellent! Did I not say, Nadia, that he would speak plain, even at the risk of offending me? A lesser man would have accepted the commission without demurring and then either fled the city or alerted the Duke. The Captain here knows he has no real proof and his continued existence is tied to the Temple, so he throws my plan back in my face and calls me a fool, to boot!”

“Chancellor, I…”

“Calm yourself, Captain; this has been but a test of your intellectual integrity. I had to be sure that the Inquisitor I knew still lives on inside this prison of animated flesh. I always trusted his judgement, Nadia; if he came to me and reported that a suspect could stand no further interrogation I would simply sign the death warrant there and then, without question. Some would have continued to torture the poor wretch unto death, as if to prove their commitment to the truth, but my Captain of Inquisitors was always a model of efficiency.

Rest assured I have no designs upon the throne, even by proxy, and remain a servant of the city. You are to stay close by the Firstborn, ensure his survival, but let the assassination attempt come to fruition such that all the conspirators can be exposed.”

And after a few pleasantries they left, leaving me to wonder just how much was real.

- - - - -

In my daydream it was after midnight in the city, and raining. In my daydream it was always after midnight in the city, and raining. It would come to me, unbidden, during times of rest and meditation and I would lie there, paralysed, while it ran its course.

In my dream I am striding through the rain-drenched streets, dressed as an Inquisitor, my black uniform driving any remaining revellers from my path. The thunderstorm rages overhead, water cascading from overflowing gutters to cleanse the streets and feed the swollen river. The city feels deserted, home to only the lost, the lonely and the desperate – and I am its First Citizen. I reach Ascension Plaza and stop, gazing out over the wide circle of flagstones, its barren expanse broken only by the twenty-three life-size statues of the Powers. Her face is a suggestion of pale beauty amidst the colonnades directly opposite me and I immediately strike out towards the plaza. The rain falters, as if the storm is drawing its breath, but I press on regardless; I am sacrificing everything for her – my position, my authority, my honour – all for the daughter of a suspect I have had released from custody. I step onto the great Seal of the Ascended, carved into the middle of the plaza, and my life ends. I am enveloped, consumed, by light; a light that pierces the soul and strips away every vestige of humanity, a bolt of lightning, the Wrath of Powers.

Each time the daydream possessed me I would scour the streets endlessly for a day or so, convinced that it was a sign, convinced that she was still in the city, convinced that my love for her was not an illusion. That night though I had a pressing social engagement at the Sign of the Blue Cat.
To facilitate their revelries the Firstborn and his cohorts had simply procured the wholesale use of a brothel, the renowned Blue Cat. City Guards patrolled front and back, all gorgets and gauntlets, with two of the Ducal household manning the doors. On gaining entry it was akin to some grotesque vision of traditional entertainment; jugglers, fire-eaters, sword swallowers and the like, but on closer inspection the juggler was blind, the fire-eater was doused in lamp oil and the sword swallower was definitely not using her throat. There were even musicians up in the gallery, struggling manfully to be heard over the din, but the major attraction was obviously the whores. They danced on tables, they cavorted with the Youngblood’s (and each other), they sprawled on chairs and across laps, they left me unmoved.

A uniformed flunky escorted me to the top table where Firstborn Stephan and his intimates were ensconced. The current fashion amongst the young males of the city elite was for a shaven head or close cropped hair, so I did not appear much out of place. Steven was lounging in an ornate leather-backed armchair, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his shirt undone at the throat. He was a young man at that age when youthful vigour can still offset the ravages of a decadent lifestyle, but he appeared sleeker than the hard-bodied athlete I remembered.

He was half turned away from me, leaning over the back of his chair in conversation with the son of Lord Scales, when the flunky whispered in his ear by way of my introduction. Stephen glanced in my direction, then spoke to his confederate who discretely passed him something from the table. This was awash with glassware, discarded food and spilt drink making identification difficult, but I caught the glint of steel and assumed a fruit or cheese knife. The Firstborn suddenly swivelled round and flung the blade at me, overhand. My reactions in general are barely adequate but my Sight was such I could see the path the knife would take as if drawn in charcoal; without otherwise reacting I reached out and plucked it from the air.

This drew a few cheers which rapidly died out as those clustered around Stephen waited to take their cue He stared at me quizzically, a hint of displeasure twisting his mouth, as if he had suddenly discovered his dancing bear could also read philosophy. Finally he began to clap, albeit somewhat slowly and ironically, which broke the attention and earned me a round of applause.

“Bravo, Captain Stone, a display of two abilities in one. How thoughtful of you to not waste my time – just try and remember to do so in future.”

I realised I had caught the knife blade first and the point was sticking through the back of my hand. I withdrew it with a flourish and held my hand up to display the hole before bowing to further applause.

This obviously satisfied their current interest in me and I was able to sit back in relative obscurity, donning a close-fitting leather glove to protect my hand. I accepted a drink and declined someone to sit in my lap while regarding those clustered around the Firstborn. To give Stephen his due, they were all well-built fellows and by all accounts handy with their fists - a necessity given their reputation for carousing that habitually ended in drunken brawling. It took me a few minutes to identify the close escort; three youngish men arranged in a rough triangle with Stephen at the centre. Although they laughed and drank their gaze always returned to their charge and the other two members of the team. For a moment my eyes met those of the man across from me and an unspoken ‘I know you’ passed between us. I surmised that they were all Adepts of Sight, specially trained to identify the slightest facial tension or awkward stance that would indicate hostile intent.

My view was suddenly obscured by three revellers, clinging together for mutual support. Their spokesman was a stocky youth with bad ache and fresh love bites on his neck.

“My good man, the Honourable Elms here maintains his blade is a finely balanced weapon, exquisitely crafted from the finest materials, whereas I…”

“The Honourable Argon” prompted Elms, his left hand supporter.

“…the Honourable Argon. I am? You sure? Whereas I maintain it’s a worthless piece of gilt tat unworthy of a gentleman. I am an expert with a blade, as everyone knows. Therefore if I miss, it’s due to an inferior weapon. We have a wager on this, Cloves here has the money, I have the dagger, you have the hand we need.”
The weapon in question was a needlepoint stiletto with silver filigree on the handle. I had prior experience of such tricks, having assisted a Novice of Touch in finessing his co-ordination. I smiled and placed my left hand flat upon the table, spreading my fingers as wide as possible.

“Gentlemen, I am your servant. May I suggest thirty strikes between the fingers as an adequate test? As I do not bleed, and thus there will be no overt sign of failure, I will accurately report any contact made.”

Argon held the blade aloft with a wavering flourish and brought it down with a wooden ‘thunk’ into the tabletop, outside my thumb. Slowly at first, then with increasing tempo, he tap-tapped the point across the table, striking between my fingers. As his friends shouted encouragement he leant in closer to me and I realised he was far more sober than his previous manner would suggest. He hissed at me under his breath.

“I understand that you are a friend of the family, Captain Stone, or at least of my mother!”

I tried to jerk my hand away but he was far quicker than I and plunged the blade through the back of my hand, pinning me to the table. He stepped back, all hint of intoxication gone, and drew his own blades, one at each hip – an affectation common amongst insecure young men.

Insecure young men.

Gambling on him wearing a gorget under his dress shirt I thrust my right hand towards his chest. As expected the protective aura slowed the sudden lunge to a languid wave, giving him ample time to realise the awful consequences of mixing Powers. His face blanched with fear as he stumbled backwards, tripping over a kneeling whore to end up sprawled on the floor. I wrenched the dagger from the table and handed it to my attacker’s bemused associates before making my way quickly to the rear door.

The back alley was dark and cool as I leant against the rough stonework, more out of habit than through a genuine need to rest. I found it difficult to pull on a second leather glove given the damage to my right hand and motioned one of the City Guards over to assist me. As he stepped close to me the rear door opened, illuminating his face beneath an open helmet.

It was the trooper from the square earlier that day, the one I had recognised but failed to identify. His detail were obviously drawing double duty as part of their punishment.

It was the father of the woman I loved.

[reiver33]

First point - sorry about the minor formatting issues and typos in the last section - I missed the chance to edit them out.
Secondly - to those who have mailed me; due to the loss of previous posts I can't reply to personal messages until my 'post count' reaches 15 - so please include any feedback etc. in here.

Cheers,

Martin

[reiver33]

Four

His surname was Hamilton, but I could not remember his other personal details. He had been wanted for questioning on suspicion of sedition and heresy, although this second charge had been stuck down as the Duke did not support veneration of the Ascended. Being unable to locate him we had detained his daughter, Victoria, as an inducement to come forward and spare her being interrogated.

I loved her from the first moment she was brought before me; slightly built, short blond hair – nothing at all like the women I was prone to dally with. I looked into her grey eyes and was lost; nothing mattered to me after that. My initial questioning as to her fathers whereabouts was perfunctory at best and I had her returned to the cells, but without the chains. In the two days in took her father to present himself I visited her often in the cells, the custody Sergeant turning a blind eye to this. It was an open secret that some of the Inquisitors would subject their prisoners to sexual assault, sometimes as part of the interrogation process, sometimes simply to satisfy their base urges – especially after the death warrant had been signed. I was willing to accept a reputation for depravity in order to simply sit in her presence and throughout all this I was struck by her composure and frank contempt for my obvious control over her situation. I brought her books, arranged for better fare at mealtimes and ensured that no one else had private access to her. Only when I came order her release did she acknowledge my desperate interest in her; she paused in the doorway and held my cheek in her right hand while gazing up at me.

“Only fools want me, so if you want me, you too are a fool. “

I willingly let her draw my face to hers as she kissed me, the merest brush of our lips although it burned like fire.

“Tuesday at the empty plinth, after midnight” she whispered, “If my father is free.”

And with that she was gone, taking my heart with her.

I had her father’s documents delivered to my personal chambers where I burnt them and scattered the ashes. His release warrant I placed under the ducal seal, reserved for only the most sensitive cases, which guaranteed no comments nor questions while I had Hamilton escorted out via the postern gate.

That Tuesday evening was a hell of petty delays and meaningless trivia requiring my personal attention. I was supervising the interrogation of a particularly recalcitrant suspect and in exasperation resorted to calling in ‘the knuckle squad’, as they were colloquially known, to administer a beating. This took everyone by surprise as I had a reputation for patient questioning as a means of extracting information rather than a more direct approach. However, I did overheard a muttered comment to the effect that it looked like was I human after all.

More than they knew.

I let my over-eager thugs beat the woman to a bloody pulp, thus giving me a reasonable excuse to suspend the interrogation until she recovered consciousness. Signing out for the night I set off on foot through the rain-swept streets to my rendezvous with Victoria. It never occurred to me that she would be there, and I never questioned abandoning my entire life to date in pursuit of happiness; one vision, one purpose.

The empty plinth was the twenty-fourth in Ascension Plaza, supposedly symbolising the possibility of a suitably devout mortal joining the existing Powers, although on occasion it had carried a ducal statue. Not since the Martyrs Revolt had any ruler of the city dared to associate themselves with the ‘divine’ in this way, and the garland of flowers laid at the empty plinth on Ascension Day was popularly ascribed ‘To Those Left Behind’.

On that night I offered up everything I had, everything I was, for the love of a woman I barely knew. In return I was struck down by the Powers for daring to deny my heritage, my existence rendered dependant upon their continued good offices in a savage display of irony.

Now some three years later I faced the man who had imprisoned my mind in a shell of senseless flesh, who had reduced me to the plaything of the indolent and licentious. He half bowed in recognition of the embroidered seal on my tunic and removed his gauntlets before assisting me - I bear the mark of the Ascended on all my formal attire as a warning to others using Powers. Having pulled the glove on over my damaged left hand he again half bowed and returned to his station, donning his gauntlets as he did so. We neither spoke nor made eye contact during the entire process but I had been aware of his rough-chewed fingernail tracing out letters on my wrist, hard enough to tear the skin. I resisted the temptation to inspect his covert message and returned inside.

The Honourable Argon was still on the floor, having either struck his head as he fell or been subject to a random iron-shod boot amidst the throng of revellers. The floor around his head was wet with red wine, some helpful soul having doused his face in an attempt at revival, so it was unclear whether he was bleeding to death or merely stunned. No one was paying me much attention so I found a chair off to the left of the Firstborn, its previous occupant, and the whore on his lap, having fallen to the floor in an amorous embrace.

“Still with us, Captain Stone?”

I looked up from the glass of wine I’d been nursing to find the Firstborn standing over me, two semi-clothed women hanging round his neck.

“My lord, how may I be of service?”

“Well, I had intended that you give us an exhibition of your prodigious sexual prowess with the good ladies of our company, but I have been reminded, pointedly reminded I might add, that these rumours are merely the product of idle chatter and slanderous tittle-tattle. Ladies gossip and servants listen and there are few secrets that remain so for long amongst the nobility.”

He wrapped an arm around each of the women and straightened up, filling his hands with flesh.

“Ladies, in ancient times the good Captain here would have been venerated, nay, worshiped as one favoured by the very Gods themselves. In more recent times he and his kind would have been hunted through the streets and dismembered by the howling mob as an abomination. Who knows what the city will make of him in times to come?”

Amidst uncertain giggles he and his companions turned away to acknowledge yet another toast being made in honour of his forthcoming wedding. I retired to the shadows at the back of the room and stood with my back against the wall, this spot proving me with both an adequate vantage point and a degree of illusionary protection. I was coming to the opinion that the Chancellor had provided me with a guardian angel, someone to mitigate the worst excesses of the evening such that I could concentrate on protecting the Firstborn.

I let my gaze wander at random over the throng and something caught my eye; nothing specific, nothing wrong as such, just something out of place. No, not out of place, but two faces the same, in different parts of the room. It was difficult to keep them both in view but my Sight was such that I could see and remember them clearly; not just similar but identical faces, bodies, clothes - identical twins.

No, not twins.

They had the face of the man in the alley.

[dreir]

Hey Martin,

As I said in the other thread I really loved the first part - very nice setting up of the world, action oriented, engaging characters and dialogue. (I only have one question: I take it that not 'activating' Smell does not actually prevent Captain Stone from smelling his surroundings a little?).

At this point I've only read up to part 'Two' and the top bit of 'Three', so my comments will be about those. The unfolding story continues to fascinate, but I find that the beginning of this second part is a bit too slow and has a little too much 'telling' (the evil gypsies comment in particular making my eyes glaze over with the urge to skip the paragraph, but luckily I didn't as the 'sudden inside turn execution' is much better). Most of the subsequent dialogue is great but some parts feel like it's trying to overload me with information. I think you can leave some bits out for later. Also, I know that some of the rather rambling dialogue is tied in with the Chancellor's character, but I think you can cut down on a few of his asides without losing too much of the flavour.

I'll try to read the rest of the entries whenever I have time

- Dreir -

[reiver33]

Five

Identical twin assassins, or rather, until the untimely demise of their brother in the alleyway, identical triplets. I appreciated the disorientation that their sudden appearance could cause, and that they might be able to parley this into an attack while the bodyguards hesitated, but I simply could not understand how they expected to escape afterwards. Suicidal lone assassins were not unheard of, and the stuff of nightmares for Watch commanders, but this situation seemed to defy reason.

They were making their way steadily through the throng towards the top table, but seemed to be searching the crowd rather than focusing their attention upon the Firstborn. Two of his close escort had spotted them though, and had dropped any pretence of being dissolute revellers – standing, hands on dagger hilts. The third of their number, who had his back to the main room, had resisted the temptation to turn round but was obviously awaiting any overt change in their stance as a call to action. His attention was thus not fully focused on the rear of the hall where I stood, unarmed and pensive.

I felt a breath of cooler air against me and shortly thereafter a figure emerged from the corridor to my right which led to the rear door. In the shadows I could not make him out clearly but the bulky weapon he carried was distinct and his purpose obvious; the ‘assassins’ in the main room were the distraction and he the instrument of death. The weapon was a Fleshette, capable of projecting a swarm of needle-like darts that would easily penetrate unprotected skin. It was generally used against rioters, being discharged into the air where the darts dispersed and fell upon a large area to wound and gall the populace. Used at short range, in a confined space, it would shred flesh and tear muscle from bone.

I looked back to where Stephen was again sprawled in his chair, visible to me in three-quarter profile; one whore in his lap, the other leaning over them and running her hands over both their semi-naked torso’s. He was evidently oblivious to any threat, real or imagined, and an easy target. It was unlikely that any shouted warning would have been heard over the background noise so I was faced with the unappetising prospect of direct intervention. Although there would be no pain the level of physical damage such a weapon would cause gave me pause, and the wrath of both the Duke and Chancellor should the assassination succeed seemed almost preferable to a shattered and disfigured body.

As I began to sidle away to my left someone blundered into me from that direction. It was the Honourable Elms, clutching a soaked towel to the back of his head and now evidently moving from the pump room towards the rear door. There was no recognition in his dull eyes as he swayed back, and there was no resistance as I sent him staggering into the assassin’s line of sight.

The Fleshette fired with a ‘wump’ sound, striking Elms fully in the back and sending him to the ground in a bloody, unrecognisable mass, his scream choked off as darts tore lung and muscle to shreds. Had he been hit from the front then the gorget might have slowed the projectiles such that he survived, albeit badly disfigured for life, but its protective aura only extends forwards and thus his fate was sealed.

The assassin cursed under his breath and for a moment the weapon swayed in my direction as he became aware of my presence. Thankfully, however, it was only capable of being used twice before reloading and thus his attention snapped back to the Firstborn as he fired again.

Stephen was on his feet, his erstwhile paramour dumped unceremoniously to the floor, the other girl now pulled in front of him. The close escort facing me was also up and trying to reach the Firstborn, the other two were half-turned, uncertain as to where the threat lay. The shoal of needles struck down one escort, riddled the human shield and hit Stephen on his right arm and left cheek; a number missed completely and wounded various bystanders, but ultimately they were of no consequence. The assassin vanished down the corridor and by the time I stepped gingerly over the discarded weapon and reached the rear lane there was no one in sight. I walked to the end furthest from the main street where the detail of City Guards were involved in quelling a disturbance - a group of night-time denizens wagering on two street fighters.

The corporal in charge was an ugly brute with a scarred left eye and the sallow skin which marked him as having a refugee heritage, seemingly undiluted by several generations of living in the city. His face paled on hearing of the assassination attempt but I made sure he understood that I was ‘investigating the matter’ should anyone ask for me. He and his men ran hell-for-leather back to the Blue Cat amidst jeers and catcalls from the crowd, while I turned away from the bedlam they would find and made my way back to the Temple.

I emerged from the drawn out process of having my hands sutured to find two notes awaiting my attention. The first informed me that Lady Margo Scales required the pleasure of my company and would visit my lodgings at eight that evening, the second that the Chancellor had sent an escort for me who were waiting outside. I did not relish the prospect of either appointment but knew that my personal preferences were irrelevant; I was treated as a chattel, a tool to be used as desired by my ‘betters’.

My ‘escort’ turned out to be common street thugs, four likely lads wearing the badge of the Citizen’s Militia and armed with staves – an old weapon that predated gauntlets but had a similar effect. The Militia were an uncommon sight, it being a virtually moribund organisation that ‘mustered’ but once a year on Hammerfield. This was a large shallow depression outside the North Gate, a natural amphitheatre with the Well of Souls at its centre that served as the venue for what was now little more than a city-sponsored grand picnic.

The long-expected storm finally broke as we made our way through the streets, the rain clearing a path as readily as my escort, and we soon reached the coffeehouse at the corner of Dogleg Lane. The Chancellor was waiting for me under the street canopy, sitting at a bare table along with High Constable Squires and a dapper colonel of the City Guard I did not recognise. Nadia was in attendance, sitting off to one side and feeding a shredded teacake to two scruffy pigeons obviously grounded by the weather. The Chancellor was in a foul mood and he had dropped all of his usual bonhomie.

“I don’t care what went wrong and I don’t care who was responsible for this failure – for now. The Firstborn has been taken to the Citadel infirmary and will probably be scarred for life and lose his left eye, assuming he survives at all. The Duke has taken half his guards and gone to secure the Secondborn at the estate by Lake Boron. Apparently he prefers to ‘take his chances’ commanding men in the field than trust to my security arrangements and has issued a ‘Warrant of Impunity’ to the Captain of Inquisitors over my head. He can arrest and question anyone, regardless of rank, position or privilege, in pursuit of the conspirators. Colonel Thorn?”

The well-groomed officer was impassive in the face of the Chancellor’s evident agitation.

“The City Guard has been confined to barracks pending a formal investigation into possible collusion in the attempted assassination. In a few hours the criminal element will realise that the constables have no support and I predict a rapid breakdown in law and order. I understand that you have mustered and armed the Citizens Militia? Well, I suppose that takes some of the worst cases off the streets and the novelty of the situation might buy us some time, but ultimately you’ve given them a licence to openly oppress the general population, in your name, and the means to do so.”

High Constable Squires was a balding, florid man in an ill-fitting uniform complete with food stains; evidently he had been called directly from a late supper. There was sweat on his upper lip and a nervous twitch in his right eye.

“I’ve called out every constable I have, cancelled all leave, pulled in those off sick, everyone. All I can do is concentrate on defending public buildings and commercial property; I simply don’t have the men to spare for a show of force on the streets and I certainly don’t trust the Militia to take orders, especially as you’ve given them staves and all we have are damn wooden truncheons.”

“There is always the army” murmured Nadia, brushing crumbs from her skirt.

The three living men around the table exchanged awkward glances.

“No.” the Chancellor finally pronounced, “The army must remain at ease, indefinitely.”
“Not even a few companies?” there was a pleading edge to the High Constable’s voice, “A few foot patrols, even just posted at key points, the threat of violence would be enough!”

“No, Squires.” the Chancellor was adamant, “They could prove too unreliable, too….”

“Divorced from the realities of today’s political environment?” offered Thorn.

The Chancellor glared, “Too radical, but it comes to the same thing. No, the army must remain in the vaults for the foreseeable future, especially as we near Ascension Day. “

He sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, a sudden look of fatigue making his face appear saggy and worn. Nadia stood and began to massage his shoulders, although it was doubtful whether her elegant figures made much impression through the heavy cloth of his uniform tunic.

A rain-soaked figure wearing the undress uniform of a ducal guard appeared from out of the darkness and sat, unbidden, at our table. The Chancellor barely glanced at him.

“This is one of my most trusted informants and his name is of no consequence to any of you. Report!”

“My Lord, the ducal guard have detained everyone they found at the Blue Cat and the immediate surroundings, much to the frustration of the Inquisitors who have been refused access to these individuals pending direct orders from the Duke himself. Colonel Tie is in charge. “

“A good man.” intoned Thorn, “Solid, if a little literal minded.”

“Well, he has determined that Sargent Hals, in charge of the detachment at the rear of the building, despatched his men to deal with a disturbance at the end of the lane. When they proved insufficient he called down one of the two-man Fleshette teams from the roof, took charge of their weapon, and sent them in also. Based on this information a warrant has been issued for his arrest, but I expect we shall find his body before dawn.” He smirked, “A dead end.”

The Chancellor glared at him, indeed, at us all.

“The three of you are dismissed. I wish to speak with Captain Stone privately.”

He waited until they had left then shrugged off Nadia’s attentions with a twitch of his shoulders. Slowly and deliberately he folded his arms across his chest and stared at me directly.

“Well?”

[WafflesToo]

Well? Well what?!

As far as a great hook and immersive world I'd say you've got a winner. I spotted a few errors here and there but nothing major.

Look forward to the next installment.

[reiver33]

Thanks for the interest people! I noticed a couple of errors myself (e.g. Elms should have been Argon) but unfortunately only after the edit window had closed - I can only blame being dog-tired as I was on a night shift at short notice. I'm on holiday next week and as I don't have internet access at home there will probably be a slight hiatus in the narrative.

Cheers,

Martin

[reiver33]

Six

The Chancellor had obviously been deeply unsettled by the recent turn of events to attempt something so crass as physical intimidation – especially with someone as unresponsive as myself. In times of stress he tended to fall back on tried and tested solutions, hence his ‘bully boy’ tactics, and while that it itself did not trouble me, I knew that another of his ‘solutions’ was to dispose of all those associated with a failed scheme and start afresh.

“Lord Chancellor, it would appear that your informants were, on this occasion, misinformed. The three supposed assassins were no more than a distraction while the real…”

“Actors!” he snapped, “Bloody actors!” his fist on the table made the attendant pigeons start and flutter.

“Jugglers and acrobats” murmured Nadia.

“Thank you, Nadia”.

“Singers specialising in three-part harmony, the Brothers Gi…”

“ENOUGH!”

He cut her off with an angry glance, his eyes hard as obsidian, then took a moment to run his hands back through his hair and compose himself. When he spoke again his voice was the usual rich baritone, warm with inflections of paternalism.

“Nadia, dear, kindly go and see if the proprietor can provide us with some hot food, despite the hour. Some soup perhaps, bread, and a little wine?”

She rose without demurer and disappeared into the shadowy interior of the coffee shop, his smile slipping as soon as her back was turned. He sat hunched forwards, a noticeable flush to his features and when he spoke small flecks of spittle were evident on his lips.

“These damn decoys were on the list of entertainers for the Blue Cat, which is the only reason they got past the door checks. All, and I mean all, of my informants who notified me of their presence in the city are either missing or have turned up dead – professional kills, no hint of suicide or accident.

The main reason for your involvement was that the information received was detailed enough to make the threat credible but vague enough to deny any preventative action. I wanted someone from outwith the ducal household and definitely not one of my usual civilian agents; someone reliable, someone robust, someone I could use as a convenient scapegoat should events demand one.”

“I applaud your honesty, Lord Chancellor, although it is perhaps not best designed to inspire loyalty”.

“You are my creature, Captain, directly or indirectly, and you would do well to remember that.”

He sat back, his arms half open in a conciliatory gesture, all smiles again.

“But we are far from the point of apportioning blame, are we not? As to these actors, one is dead with a dagger through his eye and another had his skull cracked by a helpful whore wielding a stool. The third is still at large and although a detailed description has been circulated unless he walks into the arms of a brighter than average constable I doubt he will be found. At present I have no further information as to who lies behind the attack and the impending civil disorder will hinder my usual lines of inquiry. You, however, have a certain reputation in the pleasure quarter and your presence would go largely unnoticed. This night is too advanced for you to make any meaningful contacts, and I appreciate why you shun the daylight, but I want you out on the streets come dusk tomorrow – my eyes and ears, Captain, my instrument of vengeance.

Now go, for I have other meetings and they do not concern you.”

I stood, bowed, and took by dismissal as would any good and obedient servant.

I remained outwardly calm and composed, as always, while pacing through the rain drenched streets towards my lodgings. While I accepted my lot as a prisoner of the flesh, dependant upon the continued administrations of the Temple, contemplating a future of nothing more than grinding servitude made my soul rage. I could let my mind run free at times like these, plotting a terrible revenge upon all those who treated me with less regard as they would a performing animal, safe in the knowledge that neither my face nor posture would betray my dark thoughts.

The rain eased rapidly to a persistent drizzle which blurred rooftops and reduced streetlamps to amber pools of haze, although the gutters still gurgled with the flow of excess surface water. It was only by chance that I caught sight of two dim shapes, reflected in a burnished metal shutter that some prudent shopkeeper was fitting to his angled shop front window. That brief glance was enough to arouse my suspicions; their basic stance and the way they moved suggested a basic lack of good intent, not that was uncommon in the city, especially under cover of darkness, but I was predisposed to treat any such behaviour as a personal threat.

I quickened my pace somewhat, and stole a backwards glance while turning into Potters Row - my shadows had not only kept pace but shortened the distance between us appreciably; two dark clad, heavy-set men with open coats that no doubt concealed weapons. I ran round the curved street to where I knew the road surface was being re-laid and grabbed a shovel from amongst the tools stacked against the wall, avoiding the abusive workmen and darting into the gloom of Old Stables Lane.

I swung the shovel two-handed at the first figure to be silhouetted against the relative brightness of Potters Row, striking him flat-bladed against the head and sending him reeling against the far wall. The clatter of a blade against the cobbles was a welcome sound as I had feared braining a conscientious workman, but I had little time for self-congratulation as the second pursuer was already upon me.

He slashed at my belly with savage force, obviously aiming to inflict severe and incapacitating muscle damage, but the blade sank into the wooden handle of my shovel which I had been able to hold across my body. He cursed and took a backward step to better pull his weapon free, assisted by my own move back as I pulled the shovel up and back to shoulder height, sliding into a batsman stance. This gave my assailant pause, as there was little room for fancy footwork and a thrown blade was unlikely to bring me down. Instead of pressing home his attack he stepped back to where the other man lay inert and plunged his dagger back-handed into the man’s neck. Satisfied his erstwhile comrade was fatally wounded he backed out of the lane, and was gone.

I returned the shovel to the huddle of apprehensive workmen gathered around the brazier and made my way home without further incident.

- - - - -

The day came and went slowly as I lay in my bedroom, listening to the sounds of the city. There was little apparent change in the normal rhythm of urban life; no rioting mobs, no armed gangs roaming the streets, no ducal retaliation, but I imagined an underlying tension not evident before, like the sudden hush prior to a thunderclap. One reason for my inactivity was the crude message that Hamilton had inscribed on my wrist - one word;

Wait.

Wait? Wait for what? A contact, another knife in the back, a sign from on high? I was gripped by an uncharacteristic indecision that seemed to suck the very hours from the day and hastened the lengthening of shadows. Eventually, as the glow of streetlights replaced natural daylight, I stirred to prepare for my anticipated visitor.

I dressed in a white linen shirt, open at the throat, close fitting black trousers, soft black boots reaching to the calf. Knee-high riding boots would have been more in keeping with my overall image, but they were the very devil to remove quickly, especially if your partner was in the grip of passion. I had retained the black gloves, not to protect my sutured palms but because I knew from past experience how much Lady Scales appreciated the touch of leather.

The only illumination was from thick, round candles at various stations around the bedroom and the log fire - with a garnish of sandalwood to scent the air. Small dishes of massage oil stood warming in the grate and I had hung several black silk scarves from the headboard so as to be in easy reach when required. At just after eight there came a discrete knock which drew me through to the main room and I answered the door with a mock flourish.

Instead of Lady Scales, who could best be described as ‘full bodied’ – with appetites to match – I found a slim figure dressed in the ankle length hooded travel cloak considered the height of fashion by both whores and the great ladies of the city. I thought her a servant, a ladies maid sent on ahead to ensure that I was indeed alone – while the services I could offer were an open secret amidst the noble salons, there was still a degree of social embarrassment involved should my clients come face-to-face. With a shake of her head the hood fell free.

Victoria.

[Boneman]

Don't like to put a dampener on anything, but have you read Brent Weeks' trilogy yet? He has a Warren, Assassins, and so many other things....

She rose without demurer (Chapter 6)

Dammit, can't remember how to spell 'demure, demuir, no......' you'll have to change it....

I wanted someone from outwith the ducal household

Outwith? Outwithit, I say.

their basic stance and the way they moved suggested a basic lack of good intent

Just two basic, I'm afraid.

(Look I don't know how much longer I can keep this up..... Thank God, you say!)

I ran round the curved street to where I knew the road surface was being re-laid and grabbed a shovel from amongst the tools stacked against the wall, avoiding the abusive workmen and darting into the gloom of Old Stables Lane.

Hmm, a lot of info - I knew the road surface was being re-laid AND from amongst the tools stacked against the wall AND avoiding the abusive workmen AND darting into the gloom. Oh,AND Old Stables Lane. It's a change of tenses as well: first you ran, then you knew, then you grabbed, which was fine, but then you started avoiding and darting. I think it would be better to stick to one or the other..... So, would it be better shorter?

I raced round the curved street, grabbed a shovel from a workman and darted into Old Stables Lane.

More later, gotta pick up the wife...

[Boneman]

'ere, Reiver, I hope you're staying in, it just said on the radio not to go out in your area, unless your journey was absolutley necessary. Stay in and go on a writing journey, much less dangerous...... (I think)

So:

I pulled the shovel up and back to shoulder height, sliding into a batsman stance

Nah, come on, you'd be caught in the slips every time..... If you pulled the shovel up and back, how can you slide into a batsman stance? That's forward, surely, and you're deep in silly mid on, no? Your international audience will never know what we're talking about....

I pulled the shovel up and back to shoulder height, protecting my body

I assume you're not wearing a box, either?

but I imagined an underlying tension not evident before, like the sudden hush prior to a thunderclap

I love that imagery......

Instead of Lady Scales, who could best be described as ‘full bodied’ – with appetites to match

Shouldn't this description be saved until we do meet the lady? It's irrelevant here, isn't it?

I love where it's going.......

[reiver33]

Hi - well, always a few problems when writing 'off the cuff' as it were, especially at work inbetween calls (I'm a community alarm and out-of-hours operator).

Sorry about the tense slippage, and yes, a couple of lines could do with revision.

In terms of the batsman stance though I was thinking more baseball than cricket it you were planning to hammer someone with a shovel!

I don't know the author you refer to; I simply used the term 'Warren' as a short-hand descriptive term to suggest a maze of small streets and lanes. The 'Guild' I've mentioned isn't an Assassins organisation but more a cartel which regulates city commerce - ah, the joys of a planned economy!

As regards Lady Scales - would you like her number in case she doesn't make an appearance 'in the flesh' as it were???

Cheers!

Martin

[WafflesToo]

Another victim of the time-travelling telepathic plagiarists!!!