《Lamplight》


 I - At the Altar

    <h1>I - At the Altar</h1>


    Joe crossed the grounds toward the steps of the cathedral. Even late at night there was a glow coming from within. The parallel gravel paths, the oiled gates and the well trimmed hedges were present at every site the Chantry owned, and they made his skin crawl. Nothing in this city should be so straight, he thought, that was why it was unsettling. Everywhere Joe knew in the city, everywhere he could think of, the architecture was crooked in small ways, visible to those with a keen eye. Sure, the nobles tried to build perfect little estates, but they always made mistakes. Or time wore the edges down. Expansions were built, repairs needed. Everything had little flaws. But not the cathedrals. Every one of them identical, unchanging statues in an evolving city. He looked back into the darkness, watching for any outline against the orange glow of the city. Smoke in the skies, and gas lamps on the streets make sure no stars shine on this night. Pretty much how it goes every night in Templeton. Nobody following. It was late after all. His feet rapped on the stone steps, and with a final glance behind him, he pushed on the heavy door, leaning in with his shoulder, keeping secure the package under his arm. Light spilled out from the opening, revealing the glowing interior.


    Forgetting his scepticism, Joe was suitably awed. Of course that was the intent. Just as grand as the outside. In fact the inside was far more grand, away from the wear and weather of the city. For most buildings, being viewed from afar was flattering. However in the case of the cathedral, a close inspection revealed no masked ugliness. Not that the soaring towers and windows weren¡¯t impressive, but from the inside, bathed in a soft light from dozens of candles, the colour and stonework was breathtaking. At least, to a newcomer like Joe. He gazed upward, losing himself in the arched ceiling for a moment. The banners were so red. The wood so smooth. The gold so plentiful. Joe for a moment considered the wealth just within a pace of him. What kind of man steals from the Chantry? Probably the same kind that brings a weapon in here. He chastised himself, shook his head and turned to the head of the building, to the giant figure with its arms outstretched, and began walking between the padded seats toward the altar. The icon loomed over him as he approached, its form appearing even larger in the flickering light. He could see no cracks or imperfections in the stonework. He wondered, where do you get such a large piece of stone anyway?


    ¡°Formed and yet blemish-free.¡± A soft voice spoke to his right, making him start. ¡°Pure. Such we can only aspire to be, base creatures that we all are, and not cut by the stonemason¡¯s hand.¡± A figure glid from one of the many recesses toward him, white hooded robe casting shadow onto a bland face devoid of noteworthy features. She was a woman, though with how plain she looked, Joe could hardly tell.


    ¡°Ah, Minister. Yes, most, uh, immaculate,¡± Joe barely got the words out.


    ¡°Are you a man of faith, Mr Lightstep? Do you follow the Chant?¡±


    ¡°I...err...I do my best Minister. I don¡¯t always make it to service, but I say my prayers. I do...I should make more of an effort.¡± The minister was strangely disarming, and Joe found himself inexplicably sweating under his jacket.


    ¡°And yet, you do not. Your actions betray your words Mr Lightstep. We all fall short sometimes, but we must take steps to rectify it.¡±


    ¡°No doubt. But we aren¡¯t here for a purification.¡± Joe swallowed and tried to take control of the conversation by speaking more confidently. ¡°We have business.¡±


    ¡°Shame.¡± The minister betrayed not a hint of disappointment. ¡°Come with me, we shall speak somewhere you find more comfortable.¡±


    ¡°So, er, Minister what was it? I usually use first names, or false ones of course¡­¡±


    ¡°Minister will do fine.¡±


    Of course it will, someone like me doesn¡¯t even merit using your surname, Joe thought to himself with a mild resentment. The minister led him down several dozen stairs and down a corridor to a room lit by candles. Joe, being a tall man, ducked his head, then stepped lightly, as was his nature, inside.


    The room was cut in half by a curtain, resting on a simple white font. It matched the statue of the Immaculate Lady, now many feet above his head. The room had a few chairs, surprisingly mundane, some low wooden furniture, and a large stone slab in the centre. It was serving as a table but seemed to Joe more like a crude version of the altar upstairs. That gave him the creeps. Upon it sat two well made wooden boxes. Joe was always anxious in one on one meetings, but that was just his sense of self preservation. And besides, that¡¯s why he was always armed. At his hip he had a flexible leather bound cane, one of the most effective self defense tools developed by Templeton¡¯s criminal underworld. A lurk cane, could break a man¡¯s nose or finger with a single blow. A female minister was no cause for concern.


    ¡°Wine?¡±


    Joe was surprised by the offer, the minister seemed so cold and distant. ¡°Uh, yes, thank you, Minister.¡± The clink of glass echoed in the long pause before the liquid flowed.


    ¡°To our...business.¡± The final word was spoken after a pause. Was that a hint of distaste that Joe sensed? It was impossible to tell. But he raised his glass and drank just the same. It was good stuff, but of course the Chantry has only the best. The minister took a time facing a small series of drawers, unlocking one with a click. She turned back around with a leather bound book in hand, then brought it and their wine over to the table, sat down, untied the strap holding it closed, took a sip of their wine. She opened one box, Joe could not see inside, then lifted out a leather pouch, placing it down in between the two of them. It make the unmistakable sound of coins. The minister looked up, ready to start writing. ¡°You must tell me about how you came by the goods Mr Lightstep. Leave nothing out please.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not particularly exciting or unu-¡±


    ¡°Please. Indulge me.¡± She pulled out another pouch, placing it by the first. The thought sprung up before he could stop it, double the fee?


    ¡°-sual,¡± he finished lamely. ¡°Alright. I suppose.¡± He placed the package down on the table, and began to recount how he had talked to contacts, greased a few palms with silver, made some shady deals in dark rooms. ¡°After the first few times, some people got a bit spooked. Said I was getting ¡®too regular¡¯ or ¡®trying to undercut their business¡¯. So things got a bit messy after that.¡± The writing paused. ¡°Then the local Lurk boss got involved, set everyone straight about their turf. So I brought what I had so far. Have a few more avenues that haven¡¯t paid out yet.¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°You left everyone in your tale unnamed Mr Lightstep.¡±


    ¡°Their names don¡¯t matter. They¡¯re just contacts.¡±


    ¡°And yet, I am interested.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a rat, Minister,¡± Joe said pointedly.


    ¡°And I am not a watchman.¡±


    ¡°Copper-eyes have informants everywhere. Trust me, knowing less is sometime better for your health.¡±


    ¡°Ministerial privilege. They can force me to reveal nothing. Tell me.¡±


    She was right there. Joe reluctantly put names to characters from his tale of secret dealings. The big players like the cities most prolific Grinder, Sue of the Southside; Bertrand Irons, the chief Lurk; Hadrian Shoreleave, the dockmaster. As he began to name them, a third pouch came out, and his hesitation lessened. He named those on the fringe, like Peter Antler, the young legal clerk; Old Irene, the jeweler and smuggler. Soon the list was almost complete.


    ¡°Any more? Seller, thief, connection?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Joe¡¯s voice stuck in his throat.


    ¡°Mr Lightstep, please do not withhold anything.¡±


    No sense holding back now, he thought. ¡°There was one more. Kat at the Lying Lily. The uuuh, ahem...establishment off of Temple Bridge, in Smokebarrow. She sells.¡± Joe shifted uncomfortably. Kat was a good person, he really hoped he could make that up to her.


    ¡°Excellent. Then if you have nothing more to share?¡± The question hung in the air for a moment.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Then to the matter at hand.¡± The minister reached for the package and beginning to unwrap the outer layers.


    ¡°I should go,¡± Joe blurted out, preparing to stand, ¡°You need nothing else from me.¡±


    ¡°Stay.¡± The minister did not look up from their careful peeling pack of the cloth as she spoke the instruction. Joe reluctantly slumped back into the chair, watching the process.


    ¡°Well, well, well...¡± The minister mused, their voice and pitch rising with each repetition. ¡°Mr Lightstep, you have been busy.¡± For a moment Joe thought he could detect genuine delight in the usually flat voice. One after the other, she removed the tiny paper pouches, each individually wrapped. Six in total. She opened each one, inspected it, and closed the pouch, methodically, without touching the contents.


    ¡°Bring me that candle if you would.¡± The minister didn¡¯t look up from their task. Joe found himself bringing the candle, resigned to observing this strange procedure. The minister took it from him silently, and pulled out a tiny metal spoon like implement. She took it and scooped out a miniscule amount of the dull white powder within.


    ¡°What are you going to do with¡­?¡± Joe started and lurched to his feet, afraid of what would happen. He didn¡¯t have time to finish, as the spoon plunged into the flame of the candle, and the powder caught fire.


    The air around them suddenly felt electric. Joe¡¯s ears buzzed with the sounds, the candle sputtering was loud and clear, his own heartbeat in his chest. In amongst all the new sounds, the minister¡¯s silence went ignored. His eyes could see the grain of the stone altar (and could see now it really was an altar), and the brown residue upon it, how the contents of each pouch were a subtly different colour. For the briefest moment, he could see the features of the minister¡¯s face, and tell finally what she looked like, the candle was suddenly providing enough light for his eyes. He would remember the face. He could taste the remnants of wine in his mouth, feel a few tiny flecks of some sort of sediment, bitter, sticking to the roof of his mouth. His tongue recoiled, they were foul tasting. His clothes itched his skin, he could smell the scent of the powder in the open pouches, and his own sweat. His mind could process it all, his body was telling him everything, he knew what the minister had done, he could even taste the drug in the wine. He was liberated, free to do what he wanted, to live his own life.


    And just as abruptly as it happened, it was over. Colours dulled, sounds faded, his accelerated thoughts crawled forward at a normal pace. Joe staggered slightly, struggling to keep track of all the different parts of his body. Trying to remember the thoughts his mind had started to form.


    ¡°Mr Lightstep, sit down, you will only fall.¡± The minister seemed unfazed, or otherwise unaffected. Joe found himself back in the chair as the pouches were all cleared away and packed up. The table cleared. Altar, Joe corrected himself, recalling his thought. He instinctively reached out to claim his own pouches, filled with silver coins, but felt only stone. He blearily opened his eyes, everything seemed so, unfocused now.


    ¡°My fee...¡± He mumbled, as he reached out.


    ¡°But of course Mr Lightstep, I have your payment right here. It is important to clear the space. Ignore me for a minute, I shall be right with you.¡± The minister''s voice was distant, accompanied by the clanking of something metallic. Joe could hardly tell from where. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling he was missing something, like the rush from the powder had taken him to the edge of a life-changing realisation. If he could only burn another pinch.


    ¡°Now, Mr Lightstep, you really do need the attention of the Chantry. Let me get a good look at you, up on the altar now.¡± The minister still delivered instructions in a flat tone.


    Joe dutifully climbed onto the altar, though he wasn¡¯t sure he needed help. He just needed a little more of that powder. There were tiny particles of it in the air still, he could tell. His eyes darted back and forth trying to catch sight of one, desperate to remember all the realisations. He was on the cusp of recalling.


    ¡°Good. Now take this.¡± Her cold commands were irresistible.


    His hands closed around something hard and cold. Joe looked down at it, startled he hadn¡¯t noticed the minister had approached him. He was holding a metal cylinder of some sort, angled to a point at one end. As he held it, his ears could just catch a slight sound coming from the inside. It was a chime, ringing quietly in his ears.


    ¡°Sit straight, and then lie down.¡±


    He did as instructed, brow furrowed with confusion. The minister spoke some words of liturgy that Joe didn¡¯t attend services often enough to identify, then bent down and whispered softly into his ear. Joe obeyed his final instruction, raising the chime above his chest. Eyes widening in terror, he realised the angled end was sharp. His mouth opened in a silent scream, even as the rest of his body obeyed.


    The minister lead the people in service the next day. She sang with them, she preached to them about mortality, she spoke prepared liturgy. Quietly she listened to others recalling the legacy of ¡®Arthur Viscardi, a man of honour, a loving brother, a curious student¡¯. And when the time came she gave the exhortations of the Immaculate Lady, the chant that was repeated back to her, line by line, as the casket slid through the altar, into the furnace. She closed the hatch and dismissed the mourners, who, as they left could see a trail of smoke spiralling through the vaulted roof and out of the spires atop the cathedral. In the furnace the thin wooden coffin and linen lining quickly burst into flames. The heat was intense, almost melting the wood away. Inside the casket the late Arthur Viscardi burned too, turning to ash like the wood around him. Sharing his furnace was Joe Lightstep, his body purified by the fire, as he finally let go his pouches of silver.

 II - The Lost Sailor

    <h1> </h1>


    A cut-glass necklace span through the air and clinked onto the cobbles. Maggie caught herself just before she hit the floor, palm smarting as it struck the ground. She stumbled forward, catching her foot on the man''s arm. She righted herself, squinting down the street. It lurched and spun into brief focus, then out again. Blinking to clear her eyes, she tried to peer forward. Her head was spinning, her ears were ringing. The whole street tipped sideways and the cobbles rushed up toward her face. Then night seemed to fall all of a sudden, the floor twinkled with stars, and unconsciousness took her.


    She woke to the sound of a shop bell ringing, sparkles still in her eyes, and the reddish light of a sunset. As her head turned to the right she could see the man turning over, waking from his daze. Adrenaline pumped into her body, instinct brought her to her knees, ignoring the pain as they scraped on the cobbles. Unsteady, she rose. She took another step. Another. One more. With an effort, she moved one foot after the other, heading forward. A momentary pause and an emptying of the stomach as she leant on the rough brick wall. She hobbled on, tasting blood and bile. Ahead the sounds of the city were becoming clearer again. Rattling carriages, loud hawkers, busy feet. The sound of steps, getting closer. Behind her perhaps. Her joints ached as she forced them into quicker motion, willing them on. The familiar red light of the Templeton evening sky was a beacon between the two darker red walls of the alley, stained by dirt and ash. Try as she might, her progress was no faster. The uneven gait of a pair of shoes on cobbles rapped out, panicking her further. Her entire body protested, pains and limpness popping up in a new place every few seconds. But she wasn¡¯t going to stop. Round a bend, toward the main street. A pulling on her dress slowed her down to a crawl, then a standstill, and Maggie turned back, not having the energy to fight.


    She was met with nothing immediate, her dress continuing to be pulled. She looked down for the source, and found a small child, with ragged clothes and dirty palms, beggar written all over him. Behind them, clutching his side, her pursuer, an uneven gait, slowly gaining, a cruel smile on his face. She had to move.


    ¡°Not today, sorry.¡± She pushed the child away, and they stumbled back toward her pursuer. The pain in her head was momentarily exchanged for a sick feeling in her stomach. She stepped out from the mouth of the alley, squinted against the sun, trying to pretend she didn¡¯t hear the meaty whack of the cane strike behind her, and the thump of a child hitting the floor. She headed straight across the road, dodging carriages, a tear falling down her cheek. Clearly the man following after her would stop at nothing. A merciless killer, who¡¯d likely do worse to her. She still couldn¡¯t shake the guilt as she heading into the crowds of people crossing the square in every direction. She tried to lose herself in them, forget who she was, and just be another citizen. She couldn¡¯t afford to look back, it¡¯d make her easier to spot. And she would likely walk into someone, lose her balance, trip and draw attention. She narrowly missed someone, a blur of motion. People were already staring. What would he not expect? Maggie wracked her brains. Before she came up with anything she might call a good idea, her ankle started to tremble. She was still on high alert, adrenaline coursing through her veins, heart pumping hard. But the pain was winning through.


    The pain forced her hand. She made the best of what she could, and made it to the Lost Sailor memorial fountain in the middle of the square. Most statues in Templeton were carved in exquisite detail from stone, or were shaped and burnished in bronze. This was probably the only one made of something as impermanent as wood. Maggie looked at it properly for the first time. Usually, on the occasions she stepped into Old Templeton, she wore her best clothes to blend in, and walked with purpose, she had no time for memorials. One of the numerous boats in the fountain at the centre seemed to be new, the wood was practically shining. It floated with all the others, chained to a great anchor in the centre, water pouring out the top like a geyser, and crashing back down amongst the model boats of varying size and design. The boats were rocked back and forth, battered by the falling water like they were weathering a storm. The pool never stayed calm or flat for a second. The ground around it rose up, cut into stairs like an amphitheatre, so the water lapped over the lowest steps. The occasional child might have played in the water, if this weren¡¯t near the centre of Old Templeton, surrounded by the shadows of the Chantry Cathedrals, the Headquarters of the City Watch, the various law offices. More pertinently, several people did sit on the steps, some gazing at the fountain, some resting a moment, others talking.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Maggie chose a spot beside a bulky dark-skinned sailor, judging by the tattooes, his bald head and muscled arms at least. Not that she had the luxury of being able to walk much further anyway. Her hand on the step left a bloody smear. She gingerly turned her foot, pulling up her dress slightly. It was stiff, and she could feel it swelling. She toyed with the idea of removing her heeled shoes, and risking the stoney street in exchange for being able to move her ankle freely. Women¡¯s fashion could be cruel sometimes. And not ideal for getting into fights. Habitually, she pulled out a hand mirror to check her face. Cracked, a thin line ran straight down the centre. She cursed to herself-mirrors were expensive, but essential to her work. She cursed again as she focused on her face, and drew a breath through her teeth. Black eye, split lip, trickle of blood coming from temple and ear, explaining the ringing. Earring missing too. With a wince she wiped away at some her ear, handkerchief coming back bright red and sticky.


    ¡°Ma''am, you alright there? You¡¯re bleeding!¡± the sailor exclaimed, noticing her for the first time. He spoke with an accent that was notably not from Templeton.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine sir, don¡¯t mind me.¡± Maggie tried to brush it off, silence and blending in were her best bets.


    ¡°That''s a real nasty one ma''am. Some fellow looks to have struck you for sure.¡± The sailor was facing her now, a frown on his face as he tried to get a better look. He seemed genuinely concerned, reaching forward with a large hand.


    Maggie, well versed with men''s wandering hands, caught his in her own. ¡°No need, really darling. It¡¯s done now, and it looks worse than it is.¡± She was getting nervous now, she couldn¡¯t afford a scene. The sailor gazed into her eyes, deep brown pools, thoughtful and insightful.


    ¡°Of course ma¡¯am.¡± He nodded his head respectfully, acquiescing to her wishes. For a moment he continued to look, then turned away to face the fountain. ¡°But I can¡¯t well not offer.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s very sweet of you. But really, I don¡¯t want to be trouble.¡± Maggie breathed a sigh of relief.


    ¡°No trouble maam.¡± Another pause. ¡°He¡¯s close by ain¡¯t he? The man?¡±


    Maggie was taken aback by the sailor''s matter-of-fact statement. ¡°I...really wouldn¡¯t advise further pursuing that line of questioning. It won¡¯t do either of us any good.¡± She rubbed off the worst of the blood and went to stand. She wobbled briefly, and failed. Frustrated, she ripped off her heeled shoes, gritted her teeth and tried again. This time the sailor caught her by the arm and steadied her, rising as she did. ¡°Thank you for the kindness stranger,¡± she scanned around, trying to catch sight of her pursuer, ¡°but I really must be going.¡± Her head swam and the fountain tipped to one side, the sailor¡¯s bulking form loomed over her.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, you can barely stand, please, slow down. We¡¯ll find someone to help.¡± His strong arms held her lightly on her feet.


    ¡°No¡­¡± She feebly attempted to push him away.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t well ma¡¯am. Sorry to impose, but I you need help.¡±


    ¡°No time, better to head back. Please. Over Temple Bridge, take me home.¡± It was all she could muster.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am. Temple Bridge it is. Ummm, kindly could you direct, only just arrived in town.¡±


    She pointed, and grunted assent and encouragement as he half carried her through the crowd. As she slipped the cracked mirror and bloodied handkerchief away, she realised she had nothing else in her pockets. She hadn¡¯t even managed to hold onto the necklace!


    Maggie and the sailor weaved their way through the gleaming streets of Old Templeton, a mismatched couple dancing strange steps. The lamps were being lit, long shadows cast, though the buildings still stood bright and tall, some of them lit from within. Maggie was turning a little pale, but she could hear the sounds of the river getting closer. She was slightly more relaxed when they took their first steps onto Temple Bridge, though catching sight of the moving water made her head spin again. In an alley, already forgotten, a child died, lying beside a gold necklace, the crimson glass catching the last of the sun¡¯s light.

 III - Countess

    <h1> </h1>


    A red haired woman staggered into Lucene¡¯s path. With a graceful effort, she was avoided, a twirl of her tails and Lucene carried on, turning the near accident into a flourish. Avoiding contact with the vast majority of the city populace was a requisite skill of the nobility, preferably by a clear degree of proximity. Certainly physical contact was seen as far worse, and appearances were all important, especially with the hundreds of busy eyes watching. Still, Lucene¡¯s head turned slightly as the woman passed. Appearances did matter, and eyes were watching, many of them on Lucene or the woman. Except the woman did not even register their interaction. And that was unsettling. Everyone noticed Lucene. Far more than she wished they would in fact. And yet, this woman had not even given her a second glance. Like they were equals. Lucene couldn¡¯t help but feel a begrudging respect for a commoner who didn¡¯t defer. Single minded, hobbling but proud. And she parted the crowd like a noblewoman too, Lucene thought, glancing back again. Another day, she¡¯d have followed, intrigued. There was always something pulling her towards people who seemed exceptional, like an itch. Unfortunately she had an appointment to keep, with someone far less exceptional.


    The legal clerk jerked to his feet from behind his name plate and stacks of paper, bowing so quickly his glasses almost fell from his nose. With a stammered, ¡°This way, my Lady.¡± he turned sharply, calling for his employer, and pushing open the door as she followed, straightening her dress. The inside of law offices was always startlingly uniform, each barrister, magistrate or solicitor, for one reason or another that Lucene couldn¡¯t understand, decided that they needed dark wooden bookcases stacked with weighty legal tomes. As if people didn¡¯t know lawyers read dull books. If not covering every wall, the remaining space would have a framed document or two, probably certifying they spent several years reading the books they now kept on shelves, meticulously dusted. Sometimes you¡¯d find a copy of the Templeton constitution, and if you were fortunate, a dour painting of a predecessor in their job, usually an older, retired family member. The painting behind this particular lawyer looked like a disapproving father, glaring down, eyes watching the whole room at once. A woman who appeared to be his daughter, in a dark formal outfit, finished her spidery scribble, and rose to greet Lucene with an obsequious and unnecessary bow.


    Their meeting bored Lucene immensely. Long, meaningless sentences filled with cited statute, dry analogy and failed attempts at humour. They signed papers, called in the clerk to witness them, and sent him away to stamp documents. The magistrate rather stiffly offered Lucene a drink, but the dusty decanter didn¡¯t appeal to her. The two of them gave their perfunctory well wishes and goodbyes to each other, and Lucene finally extricated herself from the office, and back into the corridor, pulling on an itch at her waist.


    The clerk was returning from filing the documents, and started to give her another bow. She returned the gesture, with a shallow dip of a curtsey, causing the boy to stammer even more. For that was what he was to her, just a boy. Lucene stepped closer to him, placing a hand on his upper arm, and speaking in a low voice.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry to trouble you,¡± Lucene began softly, ¡°but I thought while I was here I might check on the inventory of my insurance policy. I¡¯m ever so concerned about my wardrobe you understand. The weather is so ghastly sometimes, and the rain makes fabric shrink so quickly it almost pops off.¡± The boy blushed, the image he couldn¡¯t help but see, and the impropriety of such an thought blustered him even more. Lucene lent in slightly, and squeezed his arm with a small smile. ¡°Please, could we?¡± it was just a little shove, to remind him he was still in the room with her. Like a puppet, he obeyed. Just a boy, Lucene thought. And an eminently suggestible one at that.


    He led her to a different area of the offices, where shelves and cabinets stored hundreds of stacks of documents. Despite the high standard of cleanliness in the building, this room still felt dusty. Dull, dusty and full of valuable information. A treasure trove of legal arrangements. Of course, dress insurance policy was the least of Lucene¡¯s worries. But it would take the clerk a minute to find the document in the family cabinet, hardly significant compared to the trades and deals the rest of the Viscardi¡¯s made. She needed a only a sliver of time to locate the Lekali cabinet, in the light of day the brass plaques were easy to read. She found it, between Lardon and Lester, then paced the distance to the large arched window. Checking over her shoulder, the clerk was fiddling with a lock, facing away from the daylight that poured in. Which reminded her to look for a chance to pilfer the keys to the cabinets, breaking the glass would be a mistake, and picking the lock would mean longer inside the building, a light. She cracked the window slightly, wincing at the grinding sound. A quick look again, the clerk was still busy. That earned her a sigh of relief. Anything she could do to make the night quick and smooth. The clerk returned, presenting her with the document.


    ¡°Your insurance listing my lady.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that was so quick!¡± Lucene gave a theatrical jump followed by a wide beaming smile. She took the sheaf of papers, and glanced over them, nodding sagely, humming to herself. ¡°I really must take this list, update it.¡±


    ¡°I can prepare a copy my lady.¡±Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡°Oh no, that¡¯s so much work for you. It¡¯s just one or two dresses. Let me just take the list back and consult my wardrobe? I¡¯d bring it right back tomorrow, I promise.¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± The clerk shifted uneasily, a dutiful servant of his employer being asked to bend the rules. He needed persuading.


    ¡°Oh come on,¡± Lucene leaned in, touching his chest and whispering in his ear, ¡°It¡¯ll be our little secret. You trust me don¡¯t you, Peter?¡± She dropped his name in at the last moment, pulling out all the stops; her hand moved slowly, her caress suggesting everything but promising nothing. With a nod, he agreed, taking a deep gulp. She sealed their deed with a kiss, light as a feather on his cheek, then strode away, document in hand, throwing him a coy glance as he stood, transfixed, stunned, sure it was a daydream.


    Lucene left the law offices, folder under her arm, passing and respectfully acknowledging the others she met on her way out. A nod to a balding magistrate, a clasping of hands to a bland looking minister, and a formal curtsey to the impeccably dressed Count Varus Saxton. The two nobles had a brief a self-pitying exchange about the chores of legal matters, before parting ways at the threshold. A deep breath, and at last she could drop her mask of expected behaviour. She headed through the wide thoroughfares of Old Templeton, running a finger along one of her more uncomfortable seams, letting her skin breathe. None of the common folk failed to part for her this time, and though she looked for the woman from before, she saw nobody quite so extraordinary on her journey home.


    Back at the Viscardi manor, around her loomed ornate gates, ornamental gardens, ostentatious architecture. Just like all the other noble mansions, it was equal parts imposing and impractical. Aside from her immediate family, an aunt and uncle, half a dozen cousins, an elderly grandmother and some of their respective spouses, Lucene had always thought the place practically uninhabited. Apart from the two dozen permanent servants and another dozen guards. But there were still more rooms on the ground floor than people, and there were four floors above that. It had taken just one visit to Southside as a child, to show her how different her own life was from that of ordinary people. It wasn¡¯t until she¡¯d snuck into other parts of the city as a teenager, that she realised an entire family could sleep in one room the size of her bath. The luxuries, the extravagance of noble life had rung hollow after that. As she strode up to the house, Lucene felt a sense of disdain for the whole place. And distance too. Like she didn¡¯t belong, she hadn¡¯t felt connected to any of it since she realised the rest of the city was nothing like her family. They were dirty, struggling and coarse, but they were much more real. Their lives were authentic, their experiences were not a facade. Lucene longed for something really hers, a life with the rough left in. The decorated walls and fancy doors were alien to her.


    Hearing the voice of her mother in conversation with someone, she avoided the main stairs, heading to a small door. She slipped up the narrow servant corridors and emerged right by her own quarters, without having to risk passing any other family member. She shut the door with a click, and threw the insurance document down on her dresser. She moved immediately to remove her layers, untying her waist, peeling off gloves and stockings. Her shoes landed upside down beside the bed. Lucene stood in her undergarments, and gave a twirl, raising her arms and relishing the flow of air about her body for a moment. Then she meticulously returned her formal wear to their places with a sigh, hanging the dress, finding some space beside the extravagant gown she was going to wear to the Lekali ball tomorrow. Her shoes found themselves in their correct place on the rack. Behind it, she slid aside a wooden panel, and reached a slender hand inside. She pulled out the artisan box she¡¯d stashed there, and brought it to her dresser, flicking it open with one hand, as she flipped the legal document closer with the other.


    The listing was surprisingly detailed. It must have taken hours to catalogue all of the items in this room alone. Every object that her parents had bought, listed. The fabrics of drapes, bedding and clothes; the contents of her dresser, brushes, mirrors and other tools of beauty; the furniture itself, down to the stools and chairs. Jewellery, shoes, and a good number of dresses stood out. Some of them were worth a few thousand coin. But she wasn¡¯t here for her own clothes. There was a logical process to the listings, things were grouped by category, listed in order of value but for a few additions acquired later. The necklace from her uncle on her sixteenth birthday sat near the bottom of one page, priced at three thousand coin. She was his favourite niece, and he had no children of his own. Her eyes ran across the pages, ignoring the legal script, noting only the way the numbers looked. At a glance she could pick out the valuations alongside the descriptions, and began glancing about her quarters, identifying the range of items listed.


    Lucene¡¯s eyes ran over the shelves and marked off item after item. The same ones that had sat there for years. Untouched decorations, unopened books, though none of them gathered dust, the servants saw to that despite her protestations. She rifled through her cabinets, matching more things to the list. It was quite regularly updated, and it took her several minutes to find items of sufficient worth to add. She eventually added a few notes to the miscellaneous list to seal her deception, a one of a kind shawl, another pair of boots with solid silver buckles.


    Beneath the boots sat a chest that she had managed to pilfer the only keys for. One of the only places the servants didn¡¯t invade. The items inside that chest were certainly not listed on her documents, though they were some of the most valuable things she now owned. The clothes that she felt most herself in. The tools she valued most of all. The valuables that she held dear. The ones she had claimed by herself, that nobody had given to her. Small statuettes, rings set with gemstones. All manner of assorted accoutrements of aristocratic arrogance, now removed from their former homes. Hollowed out compartments in every one. She fought the urge to open it and put on the clothes, touch her treasures. Plenty of time later, she reminded herself, just be patient.


    Satisfied with her study, she donned a casual robe and headed down to the kitchen, telling the cook she was famished and would eat immediately if they didn¡¯t mind. Fortunately they¡¯d come to expect this of her during her teenage years, spending much of her time ¡®alone in her chambers¡¯, eating at irregular hours, and they still willingly indulged her now at eighteen. Lucene had learnt early on that keeping the cook on her side was crucial to avoiding family dinners when possible. One of the most valuable lessons her brother had left her with. Not that even he knew what she really got up to. She¡¯d be wearing a very different outfit tonight. And she could hardly wait.

 IV - A Riverside Walk

    <h1> </h1>


    Teddy felt a stiffness starting to form in his left arm. His shoulder was protesting being held at this uncomfortable angle. But he could hardly let the red-haired woman collapse in the middle of the bridge. Besides, he was a strong man, and likely wouldn¡¯t have to strain too hard tomorrow. Temple Bridge itself was unfamiliar to Teddy, he¡¯d entered the central district of Old Templeton from a different side, wandering from the docks to explore the city. When you get a day of shore leave, you make the most of it, and getting out of the Royal Docks seemed savvy. Everyone there knows a sailor, and knows they have money burning a hole in their pocket. Better to explore the other offerings a city like Templeton has to offer. Such a grand place, the capital of the world it seemed like in the tales. Old Templeton was a pearl for sure, but the rest was the modern default. Drab, crooked, grubby, and crowded. With people turning in for the evening, at least the last part was on the turn.


    By the time they made their slow progress to the far bank, dusk had passed, and the night was upon them. The red-haired woman pushed on with a steely determination, though he could feel her frame trembling.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, if I could just rest my arm a moment?¡± Teddy half lied for her sake. She looked back with a hint of a smile, like she heard the deception. But she nodded anyway, and he slid her down onto some riverside seating made of wrought iron, enough to perch, but not be comfortable. Teddy made a show of massaging his elbow and flexing for a moment. The woman just smiled at him. Looking at her from the front he could see the full extent of the injuries, dark marks on her skin, much fairer than his own. Arm swelling, two fingers held stiff, left eye starting to close. Her clothes were ruffled and ripped in a few places, revealing more marks. At least the bleeding seemed to have stopped. Her breathing looked pained, she¡¯d undoubtedly broken a few ribs too, she¡¯d taken quite the beating from whoever it was. Their eyes met for a moment, another pained smile.


    ¡°Why sir, we¡¯ve been together all this time, you¡¯ve practically carried me, and I haven¡¯t even had the decency to introduce myself.¡± She still had that slight hint of upper class in her voice, though to Teddy it seemed like it was slipping. ¡°Maggie Farrington, and eternally grateful.¡±


    Teddy inclined his head and back to her, ¡°Theodore Khayat ma¡¯am, Teddy if you like, most do.¡±


    Another smile. ¡°Teddy it is. And you can drop the ma¡¯am. I¡¯m not a noble woman. ¡®Maggie¡¯ will do fine. My place isn¡¯t far I promise. And I can compensate you of course.¡±


    ¡°No need to pay me...I¡¯m just doing right by you.¡± The suggestion made him feel awkward.


    ¡°You¡¯re too kind. It¡¯s an uncommon thing.¡±


    ¡°Weren¡¯t so where I grew up. Wouldn¡¯t think twice about helping someone in need.¡±


    ¡°You must not be a local then,¡± she replied, raising a cynical eyebrow. ¡°Why, a thousand people must have stepped out of my way before I came across you.¡±


    ¡°Maybe people could learn a lesson from my homeland then.¡±


    She chuckled darkly. ¡°Maybe they could learn not to attack a lady when she¡¯s wearing her weekend¡¯s best too?¡±


    This time he couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°Where I come from, people with fancy clothes don¡¯t do a whole lot of walking. Especially not alone. Mostly they be carried.¡±


    ¡°Sounds nice,¡± Maggie offered weakly.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t so for the ones who are carrying the palanquins.¡±


    ¡°Ah. I¡¯ve heard of those things. Well it¡¯s not so different here, but not so literal.¡± Maggie let out a sigh. ¡°The upper classes still sit on our shoulders and squash us down. Just...it¡¯s a lot more metaphorical, spiritual even.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± Teddy glanced around and caught sight of the cathedral spires looming out of the darkened sky. They were impressive for sure, grand and imposing. He¡¯d never seen religion so visibly present and at work like this, and her words caught his interest.


    ¡°They keep people down with words and laws, not just force. I don¡¯t follow the Chantry myself, but that helps too. Tells people all that matters is the purity of body and mind. Easy to keep your body pure when you don¡¯t live next to a factory, or eat rats for dinner. So of course the nobles are better people.¡± She stood with a groan, shoes in one hand, the other curled up. ¡°But, we shouldn¡¯t waste your valuable time with my petty musings. I¡¯m no philosopher.¡±


    ¡°I know nothing about your religion here. But I would like to know more.¡± He leant on the railing by the side of the river, looking down.


    ¡°I think you could do a little better Teddy,¡± Maggie suggested as she patted him gently on the arm. ¡°It just so happens that I¡­¡± She stopped abruptly, paled, then turned and began to hobble away.


    Teddy caught her face paling, ¡°Ma¡¯am, Maggie? What is it?¡±


    ¡°On the bridge!¡± Maggie hissed. ¡°He saw me.¡±


    ¡°Let me help you!¡± Teddy quickly caught up and went to put his arm around her.


    ¡°No, no! You don¡¯t mess with these people,¡± she spat between pained breaths, shoving his arm away. ¡°Don¡¯t get involved!¡± She stumbled and caught herself on a lamppost, crying out in pain.


    ¡°Maggie please¡­¡± Teddy reached out and almost had hold of her when he felt himself almost thrown backwards. He stood up straight and stepped back from the force. He was shocked by her strength. Her frame had nowhere near his weight, she was injured too...he didn¡¯t have time to finish the thought, her eyes met his, a fire burning low in them, but refusing to go out. A tear fell down her face.


    ¡°Please, it¡¯s not safe. Just leave,¡± she sounded desperate now. Behind them, the sound of footsteps.


    Teddy almost refused. His eyes narrowed and he frowned. He didn¡¯t like this one bit. But her stare drove him back.


    ¡°As you like ma¡¯am.¡± He bowed respectfully and stepped back. The footsteps were getting closer.


    Maggie hauled herself to her feet and began to move again, a hobbling run that would barely make it to the nearest line of buildings before she was caught. Teddy turned to see the source of the footsteps, a tall, lean man with a scruffy beard. Cane in hand, long strides almost breaking into a run, no expression on his face, only staring after her. His clothes seemed fancy to Teddy, but they were a cheap mockery of noble fashion. He recognised the grip the man had on the cane, and it wasn¡¯t one for walking. Their eyes met as he strode into the lamplight, but the tall man tracked Maggie¡¯s figure with his stony gaze. Teddy continued to stare, but received only a flick of the eyes. His path took him right past Teddy. He made no motion to interfere, simply raising an eyebrow, and leaning on the lamppost, his head following the man all the way past. Still, the man didn¡¯t turn back. Teddy watched for several more seconds as the man crossed the street and lengthened his gait after Maggie. There was nothing for it. He pushed himself up, shook the stiffness off, and took two strides after his quarry. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    The man span to his left as soon as his second footstep fell, head turned, cane raised, his eyes fell on the lamppost, clearly he¡¯d been expecting something. He saw nothing but the light flickering over the cobbles. Then Teddy yanked his right arm, throwing him off balance. He tried to bring the cane up, but he was already spinning to his left again, and lurching forward. His feet left the cobbles, the cane left his hand, his shoulder left its socket. His mouth opened, but nothing came out as it was covered by a meaty hand, tearing at his face. The whole scene spun as the street plummeted away from him. His vision soared out of the lamp¡¯s aura, over the railings and toward the water. The surface, almost undisturbed on this still and clear night, hit him like a stone wall.


    Teddy waited, listened for the splash. He sauntered over to the railing, scanning the dark water. Ripples, but nothing else. The current was quick, and would carry the man far away, dead or alive. He rolled his shoulders and wiggled his legs to relieve the stiffness. He could spot a few people moving in the distance, so he focused on them, squinting into the dark. As his vision clarified, he couldn¡¯t see anyone paying particular attention. Nobody staring from high up windows, no cries of dismay. All was quiet. Teddy nodded to himself, flicked a little skin from the man¡¯s cheek from his fingernails, and turned to walk after Maggie, rubbing his forehead, struck with a soreness. His foot caught a slight unevenness on the far side of the road, and he stumbled onto the pavement. Finding his feet he headed into the darker street that Maggie had vanished into. He wanted to peer into the dark but his head still stung around the eyes. He stumbled again as he turned a corner, but this time his outstretched hands caught a slender arm.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡± He recognised the dark, bruised patches, the ripped purple fabric of her dress. The bare feet.


    ¡°Teddy! What in the name of¡­? Where is the man?¡± She looked around frantically, as she pulled him into a dark doorway. ¡°What did you do?¡±


    Teddy blinked a few times, and she was back in focus. Pale and bloody, holding one of her heels wrapped around her hand as a makeshift brass knuckle. He smiled down at her.


    ¡°Nothing to worry about ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°He was right behind me!¡± Maggie''s eyes were still darting about the night.


    ¡°He ain¡¯t there now.¡± Teddy replied matter-of-factly.


    ¡°Where did he go? I¡¯m serious, we¡¯re in a lot of danger here!¡±


    ¡°He went for a little swim. We¡¯re ok ma¡¯am, you can relax now.¡±


    ¡°A what? How? The river?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m very strong ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°You fought him? Why? I told you he was dangerous! You could have died!¡± She struck him with her good hand. ¡°Why would you do that?¡±


    ¡°Fight, not really. Threw.¡±


    Maggie mouthed the word back at him with an incredulous look. Her good eyebrow raised. ¡°What the hells are you saying man? Did he hit you in the head?¡± She suddenly looked concerned.


    Teddy shook his head gently and smiled, showing her his untouched jaw and smooth head. He¡¯d have no way to hide blood there.


    ¡°You threw him in the river?¡± She still seemed sceptical.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, please. I¡¯m good. Let¡¯s be gettin you home.¡± He tried to placate her.


    ¡°I¡­¡± Her exhaustion was beginning to show again. ¡°This isn¡¯t over you know. But fine, for now, I¡¯ll let it go.¡±


    ¡°Right you are ma¡¯am.¡± Teddy reached out to take her arm and prop her up again, careful not to touch her with his still bloody fingernails.


    ¡°Maggie,¡± she corrected in a pained voice, as they headed down the street.


    ¡°Right you are, Maggie.¡±


    Most of the windows in the south of Smokebarrow had their lights dimmed or out for the evening. The lamps became less frequent as you headed north, away from the River. Patches of the streets were almost completely dark, only the echoing of footsteps betraying the presence of anyone. But some areas still have dim light spilling out from establishments. Usually accompanied by sounds of merriment, or bickering. This wasn¡¯t Old Templeton, under the shadow of cathedrals, or even the well watched Southside, drinking was not condemned here. As such the clientele of plenty of the more well to do houses of leisure was mixed, from local merchants and ship captains, to legal clerks and banking assistants. Those with enough money to avoid the worst the city had to offer, but not enough standing that they would be risking their career. Or, they didn¡¯t care.


    It was outside one such source of light that Maggie let him know they had arrived. A tall building, though by no means towering above some of the others they had passed, a mere speck compared to the distant factories, that still spewed grey smoke into the night. The light escaping the windows was dimmed, and tinted by curtains. On the front wall hung a sign, which Teddy could just about make out the lettering on. The Lying Lily. An artful depiction of said flower lay underneath. Unlike the more rowdy public houses, this door never sat open, it would give the wrong impression of this establishment if people staggered in off the street. Teddy hesitated, but opened the door for her, and she thanked him with a smile. However, she did not take his arm again, crossing the threshold on her own two feet, bare and painful though they were. A rosy glow flowed out into the street for a moment, the gentle chorus of laughter and joy following it. Teddy glanced in both directions, hesitating at the doorstep.


    ¡°Come in Teddy, please.¡± Maggie invited him over her shoulder, whilst hobbling forward into the foyer.


    Teddy took a deep breath before he stepped inside, then crossed the threshold a few steps behind.


    He barely had a moment to absorb the fine, tasteful interior. His eyes cast themselves over the dark wooden floor and walls, to a lit desk in front of several doors, landing on a small group clustered around it.


    Voices cried out in concern, ¡°Maggie!¡±


    ¡°Miss Farrington, my goodness!¡±


    Figures moved toward her right away. Another woman in fine clothes had Maggie by the arm, and a older man with a graying beard was striding past her. He accosted Teddy aggressively.


    ¡°What in the Lady¡¯s name happened here? Explain yourself son, or there¡¯ll be hells to pay!¡± His finger was poking Teddy in the chest, the anger on his face turning it red. Teddy took a step back.


    ¡°Woah now sir, I was helping¡­¡± He began.


    ¡°Oh is that right?¡± some of the man¡¯s spittle sprayed onto Teddy¡¯s face.


    ¡°Yes. Sir.¡± Teddy¡¯s voice was a little more pointed. He stopped stepping back and let the man end up close to him, as he stood straight revealing the true width of his shoulders. The angry eyes were staring down at him slightly, from a wrinkling face. He¡¯d snap like a twig, Teddy thought, so I¡¯d better keep him calm. He looked with concern over at Maggie, he could tell she was on the edge of collapsing. She heard the rising volume of their voices, and turned to face the two men.


    ¡°Victor! This is a friend. He...helped me walk back.¡± Her voice caught in her throat, but it cut through the room. Like they¡¯d heard the word of a superior officer, the others immediately fell in line. These were her people, and she commanded respect.


    Immediately Victor backed off, offering an apology and a drink for the ¡®young Master¡¯. He was listing drinks before Teddy had a chance to relax. Names and dates whizzed past his ears faster than he could catch them. Too much.


    ¡°I¡¯ll...uh..I¡¯ll be off now. Be well ma¡¯am.¡± He was backing out, retreating. Almost stumbling over the lintel, he found the cold, hard cobbles of the street. Something familiar. He wasn¡¯t meant for fine places like that. This, the cold air of the night, the slow forming mists. This was something he knew. He¡¯d had enough of people trying to worship him. That wasn¡¯t why he¡¯d come here. Teddy walked the dark streets for a time, stepping between shadows and lamplight.

 V - Docks

    <h1> </h1>


    Teddy drew more than several disparaging glances as he walked circuitously back from The Lying Lily to his ship. His dark skin, shaved head, and visible tattoos set him apart from the crowd. They didn¡¯t bother him much, but they let him know he wasn¡¯t wanted. He didn¡¯t know any other route through the city, so he went back the way he had come, passing the legal offices, banks, and palatial mansions of Old Templeton. A little adrift, he¡¯d opted for familiarity and that meant heading back to his ship.


    Teddy didn¡¯t have to be back at the Royal Docks so soon, but it always worth it to check in. Ports moved fast. Men and carts rushed in and out, he weaved between them making his way to the water. The Bitter Queen sat where he¡¯d left her, moored and static. She was listing a little, the boarding ramps weighed down one side, and her belly was wide open. She was being hollowed out, her precious cargo lifted down with a thin crane. Men strained their muscles lowering the crates of foreign merchandise. The nobility and middle classes would pay inordinate amounts for the contents of some crates, fine fabrics, exotic spices, rare alcohol. Others had things the middle classes could afford, herbs, fruits, wine. Another crate reached the ground as he strolled on, labelled with a marking, coded so thieves, or the crew, couldn¡¯t tell which were most valuable. Teddy could figure out a good number of their wares by smell however, especially when his senses were heightened. He greeted a few of the dock workers he¡¯d met the day before, and headed along the side of the ship, for the boarding ramps. That was where he knew the captain would be, overseeing the operation with his log book. Every crate meticulously tracked.


    The sound of wood grinding and splitting filled his ears. A shout went up, of alarm, of fear. A rope whipped back his head, he felt the air ripple past as he spun. A man lay tangled in a mess of rope, a pulley hanging off one end. The rope that whipped past Teddy writhed and slipped away, the tail end travelling upward fast. And just as the rope soared skyward, a huge crate plummeted toward the dock. A crate it took half a dozen men to lift. Teddy didn¡¯t have time to judge if it would hit the man on the ground, he only had time to move. Hurling his body forward, pushing off the ground and leaping over the tangles of rope, he tensed his whole body and, making sure to toughen it, rammed his shoulder into the wooden crate, just feet from the ground. He was still travelling upward when it struck him. Teddy was a large and heavy man, and was moving fast. The crate had him beaten in both regards. The crate continued to fall, but rotated at an angle, slowed on the side he struck. Boards bent and snapped at the impact point, showering splinters everywhere. Teddy hit the ground at the same time as the crate. It landed corner down, shattering on that side. He landed in a mess of rope and limbs. Leaning against the crate, he flicked his legs back, entangling himself in the rope, pulling some of it away from the crate. He was pulled to the ground, the crate with him, splitting open and spewing out torn bags, bleeding orange powder. As he collapsed to his knees, the spices flowed over him, and the man at his side. The powder found its way up his nose making it sting, and his eyes water. His arms and legs ached fiercely, chest panting.


    After a few long breaths, Teddy¡¯s pain subsided, leaving only a dull throbbing in the shoulder he¡¯d led with. He wiped spice off himself, and looked back at the man on the ground. Dock workers usually had a sun beaten look, but this one was pale faced with fear and shock. He lay, paralysed, no longer struggling with the ropes. Teddy couldn¡¯t tell if he¡¯d dragged the man clear, or the crate would have just missed him. Either way, he¡¯d survived. Teddy smiled softly at the man, trying to brush a little of the spice off, and pull him free from the ropes. He began to shake his head, realising it was pointless, to them it seemed like the whole world was covered with the orange spice. Shouting, running, sounds filled his ears. Hands were reaching out to him, voices surrounding him. An incomprehensible cacophony at first, then rising to a cheer of approval. As the two men were lifted to their feet, hands patted him on the back, men who had abandoned their posts. Teddy tried to ignore them, pulling a forced smile. The still pale dock worker shook his hand, both of them still stained orange. There was something ridiculous about them both, covered in so much spice that you couldn¡¯t tell Teddy¡¯s dark skin from the paler Templeton man. A laugh crept out of Teddy¡¯s mouth, it was nervous, but infectious, and a smile crossed the man¡¯s face too.


    ¡°Geoffrey,¡± The man introduced himself shakily, with a nervous laugh, ¡°You saved me there pal, no doubt.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure it was going to hit you.¡± Teddy replied, brushing it off.


    ¡°Surely it was, with the Lady as my witness!¡±


    ¡°Well, you live my friend, that¡¯s enough.¡± Teddy clapped him on the shoulder. A man brought a bucket, they both washed their faces and hands, sticky orange paste falling to the wooden dock. The cool water was a relief, the spice was starting to sting.


    The crowd began to dissipate, as a yelling overseer moved toward the dripping pair. Geoffrey drew him closer, gripping his hand tight.


    ¡°Surely that crate should have crushed you too friend. I saw what you did...¡±


    Teddy looked him in the eye, not knowing what to say. The man had been right beneath him, he¡¯d seen everything. The strength and power in Teddy¡¯s arms and legs. He¡¯d felt it crack the crate, and shudder the dock.


    ¡°...And I¡¯ll never forget you saved me.¡± Geoffrey gave a reassuring wink as he turned to face a torrent of abuse from the overseer. Red-faced and spit on his lips the man struck Geoffrey across the face, sending him spinning away, blood and teeth scattering across the wood. He began yelling at men to reclaim as much of the powder as he could, then turned to Teddy, veins throbbing, ready to pop.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°And you son, don¡¯t think you¡¯re getting off easy! Fall the fuck in line.¡±


    ¡°Theodore Khayat, sir,¡± Teddy began, recognising the man¡¯s rank at once, you didn¡¯t mess with dock overseers if you were smart. Teddy had learned that particular one the hard way. His remark earned a shake of the head from the overseer, and a hand pushed into his chest, hard.


    ¡°Like I give a fuck. What the fuck were you doing, distracting men at dangerous work like that? You¡¯re lucky I don¡¯t charge you for the whole crate!¡±


    Teddy couldn¡¯t help but tense. The man drove him backward toward the water for a moment.


    ¡°The crane, it broke sir. Man nearly died.¡± He held the glare, trying to seem passive.


    ¡°Oh faulty equipment is it? Well that¡¯s convenient for you!¡± the overseer was having none of it, jabbing at Teddy¡¯s chest again, and stepping up close. Teddy felt the edge of the dock with his heel, knowing the water was right behind him.


    ¡°Yes sir.¡± A little more forceful this time, anchoring his feet, tensing his chest. The next jab from the overseer resulted in a slight cracking noise, his finger bending back, Teddy¡¯s chest hard as a tree trunk. He recoiled, grasping his finger in pain, but unwilling to show it.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± He searched for a moment, jaw clenched, ¡°...straight to the dockmaster then. A proper fucking formal complaint must be dealt with, formally. Come on.¡± He stood up straight, regaining his lost posture. The overseer was like countless others, always spoiling for an excuse to strike out, but the moment he felt the chest that might as well be made of iron, something primal caused them to cower. Teddy walked past, relaxing his chest, taking a deep breath as it loosened.


    The dockmaster¡¯s office was attached at the back of the overseer¡¯s mess. The mess itself was a small, cramped space with little more than a kettle and a few chairs. The overseers might be the authority figures at the docks, but they had little more social standing elsewhere. The office sat ajar, stacks of papers and logs on every available surface. Between them stood the dockmaster, chewing on a pipe, waist threatening to bulge out of his shirt and trousers. His outfit had the semblance of formality to it, buttons and cuffs that only an administrator could afford in such an active place as the royal docks.


    ¡°Broken equipment?¡± the dockmaster scoffed, ¡°And who the hells are you? Where¡¯s your permit?¡±


    Teddy produced his papers, a little damp and stained orange at the corners, and handed them to the dockmaster, his sausage fingers grabbing them, unfolding and peering inside. Teddy didn¡¯t know what to make of him yet, only that the man seemed old enough, and fat enough, that he probably hadn¡¯t worked the docks in at least a decade. Teddy¡¯s eyes flicked over the papers facing away from him on the desk, but he didn¡¯t strain to read them. Not worth the effort.


    ¡°Myrcato sailor huh? Figures.¡± The dockmaster regarded Teddy with an air of disdain, ¡°What would you people know of proper equipment, you¡¯re savages aren¡¯t you?¡± his lips curled in a cruel smile, the sort that relishes in making people squirm. Behind Teddy the overseer chuckled along.


    ¡°This city seems just as savage to me, sir.¡± Teddy replied flatly, arms grasped behind his back. Don¡¯t give them anything, he thought, they¡¯ll just throw it back at you.


    The Dockmaster¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Well colour me surprised, we got a feisty one here. Oh I¡¯m going to enjoy hitting you with the book boy. Wonder if the trained ape can even read¡­¡±


    Teddy didn¡¯t have a chance to answer back, or even have to restrain himself from doing so. The door slammed open behind the men, all three of them turning, surprised, to see the figure standing in the doorway. A woman, wrapped in loose, white robes, hands clasped in front of her, a hood shaded their features. To Teddy it seemed like a funny costume, but the two others stiffened, defensive. Wordlessly she seemed to glide across the room, stopping in front of the overseer, followed by a half dozen meticulously dressed members of the city watch, the Templeton crest on display.


    ¡°Hadrian Shoreleave?¡± Her tone flat, almost without inflection. The overseer seemed flustered, shaking his head and pointing to the dockmaster. The robed woman moved past Teddy, meeting his eyes for a moment. They seemed to linger, flicker for a second, but then she passed, looking at the man she sought.


    ¡°Hadrian Shoreleave?¡± she asked again, flat as before.


    ¡°Yes?¡± The dockmaster hesitated, a bead sweat forming on his forehead. ¡°At your service, Minister.¡±


    ¡°Come with me.¡± She turned, gracefully navigating the clutter of the room. Watchmen flanked the dockmaster, and in a few moments he was leaving, hands wringing crumbled paper as he was encouraged forward by the watchmen. His head turned, his face pleading with each of them, then turning to the two men he¡¯d been speaking to before. Shock and disbelief were written all over the man. He tripped, not looking where he was going, so the watchmen grabbed, shoved him to his feet, towards the door. It creaked closed behind them, and the office was silent. He was gone, just like that.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Teddy began, confused by the whole situation.


    ¡°Bad fucking news.¡± The overseer¡¯s tone was as grim as his face.


    ¡°The dockmaster, he had my papers, my permits.¡± Teddy realised.


    ¡°Gone.¡±


    ¡°What? Surely I can get ¡®em back?¡± a note of panic in Teddy¡¯s voice now.


    ¡°No. You¡¯re gone too. No papers, no work.¡± It was like the man sensed weakness, and it bolstered him, forgetting he had been cowed by the sailor not a few minutes ago.


    ¡°Shit.¡± Teddy cursed, despite himself.


    ¡°Shit indeed. Now get off my dock.¡± The overseer seemed to puff up as he reminded himself he still had some authority.


    Teddy did so, stunned. Had he been a bit more collected, he might have realised the overseer was shaken by the encounter. He might have remembered how easily the bully broke when challenged. He might have made his way to his old ship, to find new papers. But he did not. He stepped from wood to cobbles, looking down at the surface he stood upon. Solid ground had never felt so disorienting. There was no compass or sextant to hand in this city. He was adrift, alone in a sea of stone.