Fethryth closes the distance between herself and Tobias without slowing down. When she rounds the corner and sees the bundle on the ground she immediately tries to snatch it up.
Gemma takes a small sip of the liquor. It tastes horrible and feels like liquid fire down her throat. She's never understood how anyone could find the stuff agreeable, but sips it anyway just so that she isn't rude.
"I did what I did with the dailies because I wasn't about to have my picture done with the likes of Carlao Ven. And I'd do it again if I had to."
She takes another small sip before continuing."As for LeMont...the man's put a target on my back since the first briefing. I've done nothing to him and he's been nothing but openly disrespectful. But I guess if he's the prized pony then we all just have to put up with his b%%+@%+#. I, for one, would like to not do that if I had the choice, which apparently I don't."
She takes a slightly larger sip this time. "It comes down to trust. I don't trust him with making sure that I'm not rounded up by whoever it is. I'm being asked to trust someone with my life who's shown me nothing but contempt. My life is, quite literally, on the line here. I'm fine to come up on charges by my own people but not some band of radical hooligans."
Gemma looks to both Emerson and Jesselle.
"I agree. The blood's not right and the crowd doesn't seem to be just regular onlookers."
Despite feeling for the woman's plight, that fact that the whole thing seems off prevents Gemma from running after the baby.
She then looks to the woman, still having a hand on her pistol just in case. "I don't know much about babies, but I would think they would cry a lot after they've been ripped out of their mother's arms."
”Wha?” The thug with the shaking knife in his hand who dropped the baby bundle suddenly looks positively relieved at Tobias Utegg’s friendly question to him. ”Oh that? Nah it’s just a melon and a bunch o’ rags ta make it look like…”
”WHATTDYA DOIN YA STUPID SOD!” shouts the other thug in absolute disbelief at his fellow, slapping him across the back of the head with an open hand even as he has his own knife out in the direction of Tobias. With Fethryth appearing in a headlong bull rush past Tobias towards them, the man shouts ”C’MON!” and hauls the other man down the alleyway’s turn, both thugs now disappearing from view.
Fethryth gets to the corner of the alley’s turn just a few seconds later, snatching up the discarded baby bundle…only to find it merely a collection of wadded up rags and a wrapped wrinkled summer melon for a head. At the corner she can see the fleeing two thugs at the northern end of the alleyway now narrowing between two dilapidated large buildings, one man looking at her briefly before ducking into what appears to be an open doorway leading to a back service entrance of the right-hand building.
Back behind the R.H.C. carriage towards the Elm Route, the smoggy gloom of the street is now lit up with the light of a full lantern on one of Emerson’s coins, illuminating the onlookers there even as they approach the corner to their street from behind them; a soot-stained corner sign they failed to notice before seems to indicated they are currently on ‘Druthers Street’ off the Elm route. Willem and Adison atop the carriage have the best vantage point to see what is behind them where Emerson chucked the light coin – they report down to Emerson and the rest that the two crowds are largely that of men, some two score in number at least, approaching and already having fanned out to block their egress back from where they were on the Elm Route and Bitters Street. Some men seem to be laughing and one larger fellow who leads them seems to be bouncing some type of leather ball on the ground as he approaches Druthers Street.
As for the injured old man and the frantic young mother by the wagon, the pair suddenly stop their respective acts and turn on each other in irritation.
”I told you that wound didn’t look good enough I did, didn’t I say it?” The young woman glares at the old man in accusation as she says this, picking up the discarded hat by the front bench of the wagon and throwing it down at him.
”Oh shaddup Maeve!” retorts the old man hotly as he grabs the hat from where it landed on the ground. He starts to overact a simpering tone while pucking out his lips. ”THEY HAVE MY BABY! PHAH! Told you that was way too much! Could’ve just been heisted and leave it at that but NO you have to go over the top again, just as you ALWAYS do!”
Remarkably, the pair of con artists seem to be wholly unconcerned about the group of five constables arrayed before them, as if the attempt to play them has no repercussions…
"Fethryth don't!" Tobias shouts worried the bundle might be some sort of trap. He breathes a sigh of relief as his spell works and the thug explains what it is, even as Fethryth picks up the bundle itself.
"Might as well let them go. They haven't technically done anything wrong." Tobias shrugs as the two scarved men continue to run away. He waits long enough to see if Fethryth pursues, if she doesn't he turns back to the wagon to see what the rest of his colleagues have discovered.
"That's far enough!" he shouts at the on coming crowd. Emerson has his rifle in a lower ready position but has it unequivocably pointed in the direction of the large man with the ball.
Anneca knew that it was a trap, but the others rushed off half-cocked. "Everyone together! Come on!" She rallies the rest of the constables to gather back-to-back against the hostile 'crowd' with the full awareness that they will probably have to survive long enough for backup to arrive. It takes every effort not to yank out the pyrotechnics scroll to blast a warning sign into the air. She gathers just enough of her fire magic in her hands to light up the grim night as a warning. "Who's first? Death by fire is the worst way to go, since the pain wakes you up when you pass out from the pain. I've got enough here for everybody!"
"What the @*%!$(?" Fethryth stares at the melon for a few seconds before dropping it. She turns to Tobias ”It’s a setup. Of course it’s a setup.”
She hustles back to the end of the alley and looks at the wagon. Seeing the encroaching crowd is disappointing but not surprising. ”C’mon, we need to get back. Trouble’s brewing.” Fethryth starts jogging back to the other constables.
Even as Fethryth jogs back down what is known as 'Druthers Street' towards the wagon and the R.H.C. carriage, a raucous chorus of laughter and cheers erupt from the other side where the street intersects with the Elm Route. Anneca's threat does give more than a few approaching men pause as they fear her fiery display. Yet more than a few of the men - now numbering close to fifty - rally behind a large-muscled man standing well over six feet tall who seems to be largely unconcerned by her threats. This man with dark hair sports a light brown vest over a dark burgundy shirt that is rolled up at the sleeves to display the man's large muscles to a fine degree; he bounces what appears to be a leather "bowlerball" on the ground as one who has played the sport for years. All of them notice the man is ruggedly handsome, despite a nose that has broken and set more than once, and a scar across his cheek and chin which adds to his appearance rather than detracts from it.
"WOAH! Woah now, little lady with the fire!" says the man in a booming voice that carries as much to his surging crowd of hooligans as it does to Anneca and the rest of the constables. "Ain't no reason to get tangled up in a scrum now...just a little fun was being had is all! The big boss wanted to test ya, to see if you were the types to go a' chargin' into the breach as it were with a little drama played out!" He bounces the bowlerball once and nods with something akin to respect even as he catches it. "But it seems you greycloaks are smarter than the black-booted beatsticks that we usually get to deal with, and that's good to know. The name's Rufus...and I'm just here to make sure you get to see Bossman Kell before the curtain call is all! No hurt is gonna come yer way if you don't start none on your end. Isn't that right boys?"
The man who calls himself Rufus looks around at his mates and at least thirty of the fifty give out hoots, cheers and whistles of appreciation to their leader, even as more than a dozen or so men look apprehensively at Anneca's fire and seem to desire the comfort of the seedy taverns they just came from.
Behind them at the wagon, the young woman "Maeve" and the old man stand up and straighten their clothes in anticipation of what comes next, agitated and frowning but seeming to be no threat to the constables.
"Bossman, is it?" Jesselle responds to Rufus as her left brow raises in a noticeable fashion before she looks to the person of authority. She pauses a moment then comments to her companions aloud, "I suppose that does explain a lot of Mr. Hammerton's domination of their league. I had hopped for... better." she says with an audible sigh of disappointment.
She looks back to the man to see if he first understood what she had said and second to see if he was up to the challenge...
"As we were invited, I believe that Mr. Kell has some expectation of no trying to bring harm to us, unless of course that was the intention all along. The test, I thought was beneath someone like Mr. Kell, but I have been known to be wrong before." Jesselle says the last jab and looks about to those assembled.
"Mr. Hammerton, where to next?" she asks.
"What is wrong with you? I could have killed you all, idiots!" Anneca barely draws back the fire, leaving a few embers in her hands. Her mind whirls at the possibility that it is a trap within a trap, disguised as a mere challenge. Still keeping a tight hold of the scroll to alert their backup, Anneca immediately pushes back on the unorthodox nature of the so-called test. "Let's get it on, straight and honest. Why play games, especially when someone could get hurt? Are we children now?"
Gemma looks to Anneca, glad to see her flames are starting to die down, and then looks to Rufus Hammerton.
"You know, it's a shame really, Mr. Hammerton. Either business around these parts is so slow these days or Lorcan Kell has so many lackeys working for him that he can afford the time for this stupidity. One of yours could have gotten seriously hurt. Call your group back and let's get on with it, shall we?"
Rufus Hammerton flashes a brief scowl of warning towards Jesselle Wesmere, but otherwise speaks nothing to her veiled insult at his reputation and instead replies with a smile and jovial laugh to both Anneca and Gemma. ”We play games all the time, constables, we do! Don’t we boys?” A series of cheers and hoots and catcalls erupts from the crowd now all along both sides of the street and completely blocking access out of Druthers Street. Rufus bounces the bowlerball twice more and grips it firmly in his strong hands. ”Some games is more serious than others, true. Some games have consequences…like you all with that traitor duchess and her lot that picked the wrong side, eh? War is games and games is games…it’d be dull if we didn’t have something ta entertain us before the Bleak and the cold grey. Now, if I were you I wouldn’t go about criticizin’ Master Kell for likin’ games and some sport to see who measures up, but that’s between you and he I suppose.”
Shifting the leather ball into the crook of his right arm, he gives a hearty shout to his hooligans with his other hand pointing down Druthers Street. ”CURTAINS UP LADS n’ LASSES! LET’S GET A MOVE ON!” Rufus turns his head to the pair of actors that tried to dupe the constables down the alley, looking at them with an air of disappointment. ”Zedd, Maeve. Best get yerselves on in and see if yer needed backstage…maybe to slop some $%^# for this failed ruse you tried to pull off. Badly, it seems.”
Both Zedd and Maeve answer Rufus curtly with curses back at him and each other, but do as the Kell-lieutenant says and move off from the wagon down towards the alleyway where the two red-scarved thugs had run off previously with the “baby” bundle. A couple of toughs deftly clamber onto the rickety wagon with the old horse and start to steer it down the street; Rufus Hammerton orders Adison to drive the R.H.C. carriage with a couple of his own men on the back posts down to the far end where Druthers Street runs into Lammers Street, where he’ll wait until the constables’ business with Kell has concluded. ”This way, constables,” says Rufus with a casual grin and a nod, walking briskly in their general company towards the alleyway with a full dozen tough-looking men behind them for escort.
Down Druthers Street and turning right into the same alleyway where Tobias and Fethryth were before, the group of constables and criminals filing through the alley and its left corner back towards the north, where they walk most of the way down to an open doorway that marks a back entrance to the large building on the right-hand side: cheers and enthusiastic shouts are clearly heard as they approach, louder and more raucous than any street tavern.
The constables are escorted by Rufus into that back door, quickly finding they stand inside a dirty but well-used serviceway at the ground floor of what appears to be an old playhouse or theatre. They move down a short hallway which opens to a large side staging area on their left that has a large number of men and women walking about – some are normally dressed and handling ropes, lanterns or prop-like furniture, while others are dressed up in various forms of performance costumes, some with clown-like makeup applied. The constables can see past this staging area to a central stage and an old heavy burgundy curtain that is currently closed, with the rustle of someone beyond that is evidently performing in front of it. As the constables are directed to move along and towards a nearby stairwell guarded by two hard-looking men, they catch a glimpse past the edge of the curtain, seeing what must be scores of men and women in the audience taking in the “show” of whatever is being performed. Many of the hooligans that came in behind Rufus and the constables now eagerly rush down other open hallways that seem to lead out towards the audience area, they themselves eager to take in the night’s festivities.
The group marches up the stairwell, past an empty second-story landing and on up to a third-story landing, where a dimly gaslamp lit hallway with peeling paint and musty carpet must have once been a decent sight for patrons some fifty or more years before. Once-gilded doors that are now faded and cracked with woodrot are placed every fifteen feet or so on their left-hand side, with abandoned alcoves opposite them on the right-hand side of the hallway. Three doors down stand another two well-muscled brawler-type men in bowler hats guarding the door itself, a third slim man dressed up in ridiculous-looking garb of a butler or servingman in the opposite alcove, with an old metal serving cart next to him and a short wooden box on it.
”Put yer weapons here on the cart,” says Rufus Hammerton with something akin to a yawn, nodding once at the two burly men and receiving respectful nods by them in return. ”Ain’t no one allowed to carry inside the master’s box, but they’ll be returned to ya right here, just as long as you don’t do anything stupid. Muskets, pistols, blades…anything larger than a paring knife, and don’t get cute about it.”
Delft downs the rest of his brandy in one smooth draught and sets the glass down on his desk, briefly admiring the bottle before continuing. "You're good, Atherton, but you're still green when it comes to judging people and personalities. Which is fine, as I had you selected from the four-double-nine crop for your logic and tactical prowess...plus Instructor Durrance told me you were one of the best natural young talents with the blade she's seen in a long time. But don't you think that, well, given your incident in your youth that you're not the best judge of trust in these situations? I'm asking for you to try and view this outside of yourself, clinically and impartially, as if reviewing someone else's briefing sheet and not your own."
Anneca begrudgingly surrenders her weapons, knowing that her biggest weapon remains accessible at her fingertips. "You might need a bigger box," she spits at the idiots who have dragged them through this stupid game. She starts with her pistol, carefully setting it down at the bottom of the box without removing the loaded cartridge. Next, she places her baton in the box - but keeps the knife, knowing that it might come down to needing it to save her life. She takes off the bandoliers of explosives and potions, one at a time, and puts them in on top of the others. "Be careful. They're a bit volatile, so you don't want to jostle them and set off a chain reaction that will kill us all." The only thing she keeps on her person other than the knife is the scroll of pyrotechnics, which might come in handy. Suitably disarmed but not defenseless, she steps forward into the crime lord's viewing box.
Fethryth pulls out her three long daggers and drops them in the box; they’re probably short enough that she could keep them, but it can’t hurt to make a show of cooperating with these goons. Besides, it’s not like losing the knives actually makes her less of a threat. "We good now?" she questions before following Anneca inside
Gemma lays her sabre across the cart and puts her pistol and daggers in the box. The brass knuckles and tonfa she keeps. "Let's get on with this."
She takes one final sip of the brandy before putting the unfinished glass on Delft's desk.
"And you're correct. I'm not the best judge of people and their personalities. Probably never will be. But I do go by gut feeling and gut feeling tells me not to trust LeMont unless he shows me different. Thanks for the talk and the drink."
Gemma leaves Delft's office, once he's released her, in a far worse mood than she had when she walked in.
Tobias places his crossbow, his falchion, and even his dagger in the box with a shrug.
Not really my primary weapons anyway. He thinks as he fixes his stare on Rufus and follows the rest of the other constables.
"Nice hats boys." He says to the large men flanking the party, tipping his own bowler hat toward each of them in turn.
Emerson follows the others and puts his rifle and both handguns either on the cart or in the box wherever there is room.
The two guards with the hats scowl, but do nothing other than to make sure there are no attempts at deception with the constable’s declared weapons. The slim butler on the other hand seems intimidated and keeps his eyes averted to the cart itself. Rufus seems amused at the sight of so many weapons piled onto the cart, but simply waits until the rest of the constables have gone through the door before following in behind them.
The cacophonous sounds of cheers and yells fills the open air in front of the constables as they enter - they have come into a rather small and dilapidated foyer area with places for hanging cloaks and hats and the like, with an open archway leading to the rest of the room that is open in the front to the once-grand theatre below. They are in a private “lords n’ ladies box” that has prime balcony viewing down to the main theatre stage just off to their left, and a sweeping view of the rest of the “common” audience seating besides. While other private balcony boxes can be seen next to them and across the theatre on the other side, only a few are occupied and seemingly only by those that act as guards instead of patrons. It seems that the Kell Guild has taken over an entire old theatre for their operations and amusement.
Lorcan Kell himself sits in a high-backed burgundy velvet chair that is angled to see both the stage and the rear door to the room, heavily gilded and the wood elaborately engraved. A fine but small mahogany table stands right next to him at armrest level, with an equally large but not quite as grand upholstered chair on the other side of the table. Lorcan is dressed in the fine suit of a new-money elite like what Guy Goodson or Benedict Pemberton would wear, though the fat gold rings on both his hands, one ear and the thick golden medallion necklace across his vest are gaudier than any current fashion style seen in North Shore. Middle-aged and with a hardened, wrinkled face and hawkish nose, it’s quite clear Lorcan Kell doesn’t believe in subtleties. Currently he is nosily chewing as the constables enter, with silver knife and fork in his hands and a somewhat-bloodied prime rib on a heavy silver platter next to him on the fine table, a crystal goblet with gilding on the rim containing some sort of dark wine or port.
The other chair in the viewing box is occupied as well, leaving the constables no room other than to stand behind the chairs. With an opera-style monocle and a more traditional lord’s suit that is often seen in the magistrate circles of Central, this man holds a similar goblet of wine but does not eat. Jesselle knows almost instantly from her barrister connections that this man is none other than Quentin Augst, a highly successful barrister that has the longtime reputation for getting even the most heinous crimes dropped if the accused has great wealth or prime business connections. That he works for Lorcan Kell is not surprising to Jesselle, though his presence here being so open in his associations speaks to how much power the Kell Guild seemingly has in the city.
Lorcan Kell vigorously cuts off another slice of rare meat from the platter and eats it, leaving the seven constables to simply stand there while he chews and dribbles a bit of juice on a white linen napkin. When he does speak, it’s not to them initially.
”So they didn’t fall for it Rufus? Some smart ones here, or did Maeve and Zedd b$@$%+#s it up.”
Rufus Hammerton shrugs and replies, ”A bit of both I’d say boss.”
Kell simply grunts at that as he chews out loud and finishes it with another large gulp of dark wine. ”All right. Go enjoy the show and tell Mickers to bring on the new act.”
”Yes boss.”
As Rufus Hammerton nods and leaves, the seven standing constables can see a hapless lone figure down on the stage, seemingly covered with mud or filth from head to toe, doubled over in a fit of coughing or heaving. A loud cheer erupts as what appears to be a mud pie is thrown at the man from the front of the crowd, hitting him in the face where he’s doubled over. More jeers and cheers erupt as some sort of reply bubbles out from the heaving man, but whatever else is occurring is lost as the leader of the most notorious criminal organization in Flint City speaks to them.
”So. You seven are the big damn heroes that nabbed up the old windbag duchess eh? Went to that Axis Island and scooped her right up and killed all of her flock – killed fifty in that tower from what some of the dailies spoke about ya, eh?” His voice is clearly mocking and his tone incredulous and unimpressed. ”Stone-cold killers you are – seems the Constabulary is tryin’ to lose its lace and perfume these days…course you all did lose Shale and a whole ‘nother lot of ya got bleaked, so maybe you all just got lucky out there.”
Amused with himself and before any of the constables can reply to his words, Lorcan Kell fixes them with a hard-eyed stare and says, ”So now you’re working a dead girl’s case and lookin’ for someone. I happen to know a thing or two about that. So let’s talk.”
Fethryth tries very hard to look impassive when Lorcan doesn’t immediately talk to them. The man is clearly posturing and she finds it obnoxious. While they’re waiting for Lorcan to finish she starts scanning the theater, looking to see if the crowd’s watching the constables...and if there’s another exit out if things go south.
She’s not surprised by Lorcan’s attitude; he’s acting exactly like she suspected he would. She hopes the rest of the constables keep their cool; she’s definitely keeping an eye on Anneca as she speaks.
”And what do you want in return for that information? You’ll forgive me I don’t believe you’re offering out of the kindness of your heart.”
"Good evening Mr. Kell," Jesselle starts off politely. "We are indeed here and are willing to listen to what you have to say on the matter of the thing or two you might know."
Jesselle is polite enough even though she would love to throw the man in some deep dark prison someone where. But just like her undercover case back in the Capital, these types think they are all that, right up to the moment they slip up. It brings a genuine smile to the woman face at that thought.
"Lets talk indeed." Tobias says, tipping his cap by way of hello.
"I suppose it's likely you know our names already, but I'm Constable Utegg. You've called us here, so it seems to me that you should be the one to open negotiations, particularly since we don't even know what we're negotiating for."
Tobias shifts his gaze onto Kell, and keeps a polite smile plastered to his face. This is his house, and we'd best give him the respect he thinks he deserves if we want to get out of here without a fight. He casts a look at Anneca and recalls her threats to burn everyone in the street. Assuming some of us don't want a fight anyway.
As for Lorcan Kell himself, as he speaks she thinks his interest in dealing with them is not a lie...though she suspects there is always more to the story that he's not telling.
"Ehhh? Well now, look how polite all of you fancy constables are. Except for you girl, so watch your mouth." says Kell as he points his steak knife directly at Fethryth before using it to cut off another piece of meat from the silver platter. "As for the rest of you, seems like you know your place near enough, so let's get to it."
Kell finishes his next bite of meat noisily, wiping his mouth with the linen napkin and snapping his fingers, at which point the thin balding butler man comes in from the hallway and refills Lorcan's goblet with what appears to be a fine red burgundy wine from Risur's heartland vineyards. The guild boss directs the man to refill Augst's glass as well before being promptly dismissed. After taking a drink of it, he continues on. "You lot are working that dead girl's murder - the one who thought she could fly and impaled herself on the Danoran consulate's fence yesterday. Eh? What a sight that must've been...serves the young little b$%&^ right. So then there's this northern doctor that got all mixed up in it, this Arrovian fellow. Or maybe he's part of it, I don't really care. Just some self-styled fancy highborn type that thinks he's entitled to the top of the heap, but really he's just full of $#@%. Oh, but now he's starting to understand what's real. Gets on the back streets outta North Shore he does, gets scared from something that was chasing him down he says to my lads and lasses. Comes into Parity here and starts asking around for protection, and says he can pay." Kell chortles mercilessly, enjoying the man's misfortune. "And pay he does! A desperate man, his fancy name and title don't meant $%&# once his life is threatened, like most men come to know."
Lorcan Kell leans forward in his big plush chair and points a finger at the group of constables. "Wolfgang vonsomethingorother...doesn't matter the name to me really. What matters is he's on the run - from something that scared him deep, and from the lot of you fine constables. And now he's got my protection. Unless something better comes along. Which is why I sent for you. So. How bad do you want him?"
"We just want to talk to him about his connections with the girl and what he saw." Emerson takes a slight pause and then continues in the same polite manner as Jesselle and Tobias. "After all, we don't want to deprive you of your bounty in providing Vonsomething protection."
"Just want to talk to him eh? That's nice. Don't want to deprive me of my bounty? You constables like to seem all nice and civil and play with fancy manners, don't ya?"
Lorcan Kell almost sneers in his derision of Emerson Hill's words, shrugging as if something is amusing himself as he takes another drink of his wine, throwing his linen napkin on the silver plate with its fine rare meat. "Fine, you just want to talk to him. That still means I have to oblige it, and that means you all get to do something for me in exchange for being allowed to 'just talk to him' or whatever else you want to do with the good doctor."
" 'Served the b@+$* right?' Sounds like you didn't like the late Miss Hume" Fethryth continues on without pausing "So, what do you want in exchange?"
"That's right I didn't," says Kell in a continuing sneer. "Not my interest in her backwoods cause or laying about with her Docker friends...or stealing finery from the Danorans in some pitiful botched-up heist, but when it comes to making deals for weapons with outsider crappers trying to muscle in on my city, I got a problem with that."
Lorcan Kell seems to muse something for a moment, as if his mind is working to turn an advantage. "And so should you, kingsmen. The Hume girl was bringing in weapons to arm her Docker friends and those bumpkins up in the Cloudwood, and that only spells trouble for you and yours. Think everything's all fine and rosy now that Ethelyn's in a hole? You got another thing comin' if you think that." The crime boss waves a hand as if being generous. "But lucky for you, I'm no lover of rebels or bumpkin causes, being a true Risuri man. You've got foreigners coming into this city, stirring up trouble. Trouble for me and my business dealings...maybe you fine lawkeepers think that's funny or not your problem, but let them take hold and they'll cause you plenty of trouble soon enough."
"So let's do a deal. Take down these rabble-rousers doing this weapons deal tomorrow night, throw them all in the deepest hole you've got and leave 'em to rot and give me the weapons instead of these Cloudwood traitors. You lot can even say it was all your notion and get a big spread in all the dailies if you like - in the name of good old King Aodhan even. Do that, and I'll give up the location of the doctor and make sure my lads don't give any trouble when you go pay him a visit."
"Constable Utegg hands weapon stores over to Lorcan Kell?"" Tobias smirks and shakes his head. "Not quite the name I'd like to make for myself. You want these 'rabble rousers' out of your hands, I can understand that. If there's weapon deals going down, we need to take care of them too. Seems to me though, we're doing you two favors for the price of one. We clear your competition and give you arms, so we can talk to the good doctor?"
"Things seem a little unbalanced from where I'm standing. Either sweeten the deal, or keep it fair, but right now you're getting a bit much for the price of a conversation."
Lorcan Kell gives Tobias a shrewd look and actually nods in some measure of appreciation. "So...not bad, not bad. At least one of you has a mind for understanding value. That's true enough Constable...Utegg you said before? Fine Utegg, I'll do the deal as long as you stop the shipment and take the smugglers down. Confiscate the weapons if that's what you need to stay level with your bosses...or dump the crates into the Avery Sea if you prefer - makes no difference to me. But if you want to make it worth your time and trouble, I'll offer top crowns to have them come my way discreetly. So I'll leave that up to you to mull over."
Gemma almost chokes when Lorcan Kell openly entertains the idea of the constables giving a stolen gun shipment to him.
I suppose there's no harm in the trying...
However, she manages to remain stony-faced and silent. She knows better than to open her mouth and say something provoking when the others have it well in hand.
Emerson smiles at the last exchange. He didn't think they would be able to come to an agreement that quickly.
"Excellent. May we see the good doctor now or do you prefer for us to maintain our side of the bargain first?"
"Oh, no you see he's not here, so you'll just have to take my word that's he's safe and sound. Meet your end of the bargain, complete with a public arrest when you get em, and some of my policeman friends in Pine Island District will let me know about it. Once that happens, I'll send one of my own as a guide to take you to him."
The woman nods in agreement with Tobias. While not handing over the weapons was an option, she also considered handing over 'defective' weapons. After all, Kell did not say in what state they were to be turned over to him. She smiles at the thought of how that would irk the man.
"Can we assume that you know the whereabouts of this weapons deal?" Jesselle asks Kell as she turns to the ask at hand. "And perhaps a time of when it will occur?"
Anneca hates dealing with a criminal, especially one who preys on orphans by recruiting them into a life of crime. But there's something that just doesn't seem right. As she listens to the negotiation, she slowly flexes her fingers back and forth, as if itching to set something aflame. Finally, her paranoia gets to her. "Why not just break up the sale and steal the weapons yourself? You've got a lot of manpower and not much by way of scruples, so there's very little stopping you from simply taking them. What are you not telling us?" She tries her best not to sound too accusatory, but her natural inclinations make it come out harshly.
"Because I've got you in my pocket now to do it for me, don't I?" Lorcan Kell ignores Jesselle for a moment and leers at her up and down, though his eyes are cold and hard. "Look at you now, all spit and venom eh, dressin' like a man, cropped hair like some orphan gettin' a bowl cut from the headmaster, rangy and hard, an' no manners to boot."
He leans forward to stare right at Anneca, unflinching, his eyes full of menace. "Might do some good to have you lashed a time or two on my stage out there for your mouth, girl. Eh? How's that sound? Just maybe we can beat that hardness right out of you, soften ya up a bit, and put some makeup on you real nice like, to be more presentable. Maybe we do that for both 'mouths' here," says Kell with a glance to Fethryth,"as a twofer, since the R.H.C. seems to have fallen short on training manners to their girls." He nods in the direction of Gemma then, all stony-faced and silent. "Could even lump in all three as a fine bargain, to give you a bit of the Kell Guild way on how to show proper respect."
Leaning back once again in his chair, Kell casually picks up the silver cutting knife and starts to pick the dirt from under his fingernails with it, showing calloused hands of one used to hardship. He slyly glances aside to Quentin Augst and asks him for his input in a overly casual conversational tone. "What do you say Quentin?"
The stodgy-looking barrister takes a sip of his wine and adjusts his monocle at the constables before replying blandly, "I think it would not be worth your time and trouble, Master Kell."
"Probably right at that." Lorcan Kell sighs theatrically in an overdone way. He looks then to Jesselle, the look on his face making her decidedly uncomfortable at what he must be appraising about her. "Now you on the other hand, well now aren't you a honeyed one? All nice and soft curves and done up as a woman should be, showin' respect and politeness in a man's house. A real lady. Hmm." The despicable man pauses a moment as if to finish his appraisal of her beauty, tucking it away into his memory. "Since you asked so nice, I'll tell you that I only know this deal with these smugglers n' foreigner upstarts is to take place tomorrow night. Somewhere in the Pine Island District...probably with docks and boats as the whole stinkin' $%&#hole place over there is all docks and boats. Don't know precisely where or who, or else I would take care of it m'self, but I know your bloody fencepost ornament was part of it. You're the fine constable detectives, aren't ya? So go detect and ferret it out for me, and take care of it."
"You're damn right that wouldn't be worth his time!" Emerson all but shouts at the barrister. He steps forward blocking Kell's view of Jesselle and most of the other female constables. He looks back down to Kell with that superior smirk on his face and then starts in on him. "We'll stick to the agreement, but do not think you can speak to them in that manner. Not while I'm standing here."
There is a genuine look of shock on the woman's face for just a moment as Emerson steps in front of her. Why do they always see the need to rescue what they precise a damsel in distress. I have lived with such words and jeering looks all my life. Heck I use that to my advantage.'.
"Hey, hey..." she puts an arm on Emerson, "There is no need to blow this out of proportion. Everything is just fine here..." Jesselle says quickly in an attempt to diffuse the situation.
She looks their host, "Perhaps we should be on our way, to start the task before us?"
For just a moment, everything seems like it will spin off its axis and go horribly wrong. Even if Emerson doesn't realize it, Jesselle understands all too well what he might have started in the decrepit abode of Lorcan Kell. Rumors over the years abound of men...entire families...that have disappeared entirely or only their heads found on bridges for less insult. Logic suggests even Lorcan Kell doesn't want a confrontation with the R.H.C. here when there's something he can get out of them, yet threats are an unpredictable business.
The clicks of two pistols from behind the constables show the two burly guards aiming from beyond melee distance right at Emerson's head. The theatre audience quiets down disturbingly, with more clicks as Kell guildsmen with sighted muskets aim at the constables from boxes both across the theatre and to either side of their own box. Tension fills the box...one more wrong move here and now would mean possible violence that would very well likely end in their deaths.
It's Jesselle that saves them with her quick interjection and polite, reasonable words. Lorcan Kell glares at Emerson with cold eyes of hate and murder, the silver steak knife still in his hand. Quentin Augst remains calm and cool, but even he remains very still in his chair, watching intently on what his boss is going to do next. Slowly, deliberately, he stands.
Well now...a brave pup comes outta his kennel and comes to challenge the alpha, does he now?" Lorcan Kell slowly rises from his plush chair, the movement of his coat showing something like a kukri or shortsword tucked at the right side of his belt before he buttons the jacket are closed, the knife still in his other hand. Though older than Emerson by a score of years, the hardened crime boss is taller than he thought, the brief look at his arms and bulging neck under the tight collar suggesting much greater strength and prowess at arms now. A man used to butchering and maiming for a long time, not just giving orders. He slowly and deliberately steps up to Emerson Hill, looking down at him and Jesselle standing next to him.
"Your honey-lass speaks true, and for that - and for the fact that I need more than your head on my lawn - I'll just tell you what I can speak about in my house and what I'm capable of, and not show you firsthand." With that he leans down and whispers words that only Emerson and Jesselle can hear. The words are...vicious...and obscene...and utterly convey in excruciatingly graphic terms what he will do to every one of the seven of them, should Emerson level another challenge at Lorcan Kell. Yet he's not finished, promising that he will send his people to scour the city to find every friend, lover, family member or friendly acquaintance Emerson Hill has, and put them to such vile slow torture and dismemberment that it will be the "talk" of the dailies for years onwards. The threat is real. It is severe...and at that moment Emerson cannot believe anything other than Lorcan Kell can...and would...carry it out with impunity. He wants to break Kell's gaze, but he can't.
"Do you...get me...badge man?" Kell's eyes are hard and stare right through him, his face nothing but wrinkles and hardness and malice. "I hope you do, as this will be the last time. Now do what your friend says and be on your way." Kell finally breaks the stare from Emerson and looks at the others in disgust. "All of you. Get out. Remember the deal, and you'll have your doctor. Tomorrow night."
The seven constables find their carriage intact and their driver Adison unharmed, with only a few Kell guildsmen watching them from the street corner and nearby alley where they came from. A couple of constables put together the fact that they were in Lammers Theatre - one of a number of old theaters and playhouses on the far edge of Parity Lake that once was a rousing entertainment area for the locals fifty years ago, before factories and industrialization after the Third Yerasol War ruined the district forever.
"Where to now, constables? Back to Flint Branch?" Adison is polite but the tone in his voice suggests that's right where he wants to go.
She froze. They got within an inch of being murdered by Kell and his cronies, and at a critical moment she froze. That’s what goes through Fethryth’s mind as they return to the R.H.C compound, and what nags at her as they make their reports. She’d thought frantically about what to say or do after Emerson made his dumb threat; her first inclination was to tell the truth, that she didn’t give a s~#& what Lorcan Kell thought about her, but her brain was working enough to know saying that would have made it even worse. She hadn’t come up with an alternative when Jesselle jumped in and saved their asses. Thank the spirits for that.
It’s late when she leaves the compound but she doesn’t bother getting a carriage. The walk home gives her a chance to work off the lingering tension from the day, and her R.H.C badge combined with the sour look on her face means other pedestrians give her a wide berth.
Her normal routine is simple; eat whatever dinners been offered at the boarding house, bathe, and then it’s either reading or stargazing to finish out the night. It lets her decompress, but tonight it doesn’t seem like enough. She goes to a tavern a few blocks from her house for dinner and a few drinks.
"Yes, yes, back to Flint Branch." Tobias says to Adison, fitting his hat back in place after wiping off beads of sweat.
The violent energy that had burst out of Kells men during the spat with Emerson had overwhelmed him. He'd planned to go out for a drink, maybe find wherever Chip was hanging out this evening and enjoy himself for once, but he couldn't imagine being able to relax now. He needed to just sleep it off and forget the feelings of anger and blood lust.
Once they leave Flint Branch Tobias takes the long way home. Letting the weather cool his head and shake the feelings from the Kell men.
How does a man so vile command that much loyalty? He wonders to himself briefly. He reflects on the number of life threatening events he's been through since joining the R.H.C. and how few of them have affected him as badly as tonight had.
Turning onto his street and making it up to his flat, Tobias stopped just long enough to pick up his post. Among the mail was a letter from his mother, providing a family update and a few poorly written notes from his nieces and nephews who wanted to be a part of it. As he sat down to some dinner and the last bit of one of Roksana's homemade pies, reading his letters, he finally felt his nerves subside.
Two fingers of some Risuri whisky and good book later, and Tobias was finally asleep in his arm chair, the terror of a few hours ago finally passed.
Gemma knows that if she opened her mouth with Kell, nothing good would have come of it. Insults about women knowing their place around men like him weren't new or upsetting. It was to be expected. But she can't help but feel badly for Emerson. Watching him being thrown back on his heels was uncomfortable, and she hopes that every last bit of bad that Lorcan Kell has coming to him he gets back in spades. The only thing she can really think of, on the way back, is sneaking back with Anneca and setting the whole place ablaze.
One day, Kell, one day you'll get yours
She tries to get as much work done as she can when they get back to the compound, to help set her mind straight, but finds it futile. Her mind keeps working on all the ways their meeting could have happened, but didn't. She finally gives up and takes a carriage home. Normally, she wouldn't mind walking, but with her possible trial looming on the horizon, she doesn't feel terribly comfortable with that idea.
Thankfully, the ride home is entirely uneventful, but the storefront is closed with only a gaslight on the street illuminating the front door and no one there to greet her.
Guess Bliss is still out
It wasn't unusual for her sister to stay out late, but after the day she's had, Gemma wishes she were here to talk to. Instead, she fixes herself a cup of tea and a small plate of fruit, cheese and a bit of bread after letting herself in. She doesn't mind having the place to herself and the silence doesn't bother her, but she knows that sleep will not come easy later. Instead of even attempting it, she grabs one of her favorite military strategy books, puts her feet up and reads until Bliss comes home.
Emerson is unusually quiet on the ride back to Flint branch. His smile now replaced with a furrowed brow. The glint in his eye turned into a thousand-yard stare.
Kell’s threats upon himself he could care less about. In his eyes, every day he’s spent alive since the last battle on the Island of Sirai was a blessing. He should have been dead then, so being dead now is of little concern.
But the threats on his family and loved ones rocked him to his core. He could not live with himself if something foul happened to any of them. He realized too late that Kell wasn’t the lucky street tough he thought him to be but a true crime boss that would carry out his threats if provoked.
The carriage stops at the main gate before Emerson realizes where they are. Before Adison pulls through the now open gates, he shoulders his rifle and steps out of the carriage without a word.
He spends the next half hour walking back to his apartment in a semi-haze of worry. At time, in his minds eye, he sees his family butchered in front of him. These scenes then being replaced with real memories of the brutality he witnessed in the last war.
He makes it home, locks the door and collapses onto his bed fully clothed. His only thought before falling into a fitful sleep is ’I’m going to have to kill him….’
Later that night, #9-903 Larimer Lane.
Jesselle entered her apartment feeling rather exhausted. Looking around she could tell that her roommate Jada was not around as there was only the dim glow of a covered crystal orb. She moved across ad uncovered the orb to brighten the apartment as she put her bag down inside the door of her room. Moving slowly back to the small kitchen area she saw a small note.
The note brought a smile to the young woman even before reading it. Jada was a great friend and was always understanding and thoughtful. It was something she needed this night. She glanced over the note and saw that her friend had brought her home some food from the restaurant down the street and left it within the converted ice box.
Jeseselle removed the bag and the food and quickly used her arcane powers within a minor cantrip to reheat the food to an acceptable level. She than took up one of the utensils and moved to small chair by the window of the main living space and stared out into Flint at night. As her thoughts of what was happening out there she gobbled down food and put the bowl aside.
It was sometime later when she felt a hand on her shoulder and kind voice waking her. She looked up at her dwarven friend through sleepy eyes. With little prodding Jada had Jeselle in her room and atop her bed and grabbed a spare blanket to cover her friend who was again asleep.
Fethryth is out much later than she usually finds herself to be, but even she gets drowsy after a few drinks at the local tavern. Just after midnight she leaves as the place starts to close down for the night – unlike the livelier areas of Bosum Strand or Central, the more family-oriented district of The Stray is sleepy by comparison. She heads back to the boarding house, hoping to catch an auspicious glimpse of the sky above her, but predictably the lingering smog mixed with the encroaching fog at night from the Avery Sea makes it all but impossible. Her own mind seems to be in a bit of a fog as well, so she returns to her somewhat sparse room, goes to bed, and dreams.
That night, Fethryth dreams of many things, though for the most part she can’t remember much of what she dreamt. Strangely she sees in vivid colors the vision-auras that Skyseer Nevard Sechim saw in each of her fellow constables: Anneca’s orange flame with brighter colors of hot fire blasting up into the sky to Jiese, Gemma’s forest green and crimson red chessboard field with the black rents in the ground, Emerson’s sky blue aura with silver cords stretching up and away, Jesselle’s lavender aura with the bleak grey halo overhead like a foreboding shroud, and Tobias’s spinning coin of gold on one side and iron on the other. Nevard never revealed to Fethryth what he saw of her aura, but he didn’t have to – she knows what he saw because it is distinctly similar for every true skyseer no matter how young or old: jet black with bright white stars to make the quilt of the Heavens, with the brighter planets interspersed throughout and a spring green thread that comes from her stretching up to them. She knows many Skyseers associate themselves with one of the planets that they favor above the others, and their essence links to it, but she hasn’t declared herself yet to any of them, be it Jiese, Avilona, Urim, Mavisha, Vona, Av or one of the others. What does she wait for?
Fethryth wakes well before dawn, remembering the vision-auras that she dreamt of, and longing to see a true dream-vision of the future…and if not for her then at least for Nevard. Suddenly, however, she realizes she only dreamt of six vision-auras, not seven. Willem Muhnee. Willem’s aura was not in her dreams, with the two feet on different patches of earth that was described to him yesterday. Why would that be so?
Tobias wakes up in his comfortable chair, finding that a blanket has been placed upon him somewhere in the middle of the night, the book and glass carefully set aside on the sidetable. Chip. He yawns and looks around the flat, seeing that all is still quiet and the time shows he still has an hour or so left until he needs to get moving. Just another day at the R.H.C., until he remembers the tumultuous events of the past two days, and what they seemingly have to do by tonight. Now that’s done it – he’d like to get some more shuteye but knows his mind is awake and that’s simply not going to happen. With another yawn he pulls himself out of the chair, going to check that Chip is indeed home and asleep, which he is.
Chip and Tobias often leave notes to each other with chalk on a large slateboard near the small pantry they sort of keep foodstuffs from time to time. On it is a note by Chip to Tobias, which gives the man reason to smile and grimace at the same time:
’You missed a fine time at Thinking Man’s last night. Some talk about constables the other night trying to ruff up Jered Lawman but he backed them down – was that you?
Roksana says you owe her large for skipping out on time with her but I told her you were heavy on a case – says to send her a note that you’re all right.
Says folks in the Nettles are getting scared with the quakes, and that she can come into the city if it gets bad enough but doesn't want to leave the shop.
I brought food home so don’t wake me up!
A little more than an hour later, Gemma hears the warm laughter of Bliss coming home to the front door. Only it sounds as if she’s laughing and talking to someone else at the door, which sets Gemma’s hackles up almost immediately. Who is she with? This late? The door opens and Bliss joyfully enters…with the door being held open by none other than Devinn LeMont.
”Oh hiya sis!” exclaims Bliss warmly to Gemma, as if nothing else is amiss other than Gemma once again missing out on a grand time. ”Did you wait up for me? I’m sorry, but Constable LeMont here was so kind to meet me on the way home earlier…told me you had a bit of a scare at work the other night and had some questions he needed to ask me…then we got some food because I was hungry and you were still out…and then we went for a quick set of dancing! Isn’t that marvelous? You never told me how dashing and handsome your compatriots are in the field, sister!”
”Yet I brought you home before midnight as I promised,” intones Devinn with a courteous bow and sophisticated aplomb of a fine gentleman that Gemma knows is simply not him. ”I have all I need from our fine fine talk before, and just know that matters are well in hand with me and my partner. Two of our finest soldiers are also keeping a watch at all times…” Devinn pauses and clearly cannot help but rile Gemma up further with feigned innocence at his question, ”…Gemma…you did happen to notice the two-man detail upon your return to your own flat, did you not? Across the street and in the far alley? They did not see your signal, but assumed you were aware of them – you...were...aware of them I presume?”
Emerson wakes up hard to a solid rapping at his front door. Jolting up with pistol in his hand, he realizes if it was Lorcan Kell sending men after him, they wouldn’t be banging on the door. A mechanical screechy-squawking sound clues him in to who it is a moment later. Talyssa and Skimmer.
”Well helloooo strange…rrr…” Talyssa’s greeting as he opens the door trails off as she looks at his appearance, cocking her head slightly to one side in quizzical examination of him. Unbeknownst to her, Skimmer cocks his head in perfect imitation of his mistress, and lets out a shrill crooning sound. ”Yeah Skimmer, he doesn’t look so good does he. Have you not been sleeping? I thought I’d rouse you up early so we could get a bite to eat at our favorite morning place and talk a bit before briefing…Devinn and Alastair are undercover on that Vekeshi vendetta against Atherton, so I’ve just been tinkering around last night.”
The aroma of fresh-pressed Yerasol coffee wafts in the air as Jesselle awakes in her room, finding herself nearly unmoved from where she laid down to sleep. With a sleepy yawn she opens the door to her bedroom and spies Jada moving about in their small makeshift kitchen area, busy placing some fresh bread on a plate with some honey and choice summertime jam as options to spread on it. A small writing desk with parchment and inkpen scattered about shows that Jada has already been up for a bit, writing for her submission to the daily she works for.
”Well looks who’s up at last!” Jada chuckles and Jesselle grimaces – it was never fair that Jada seemed to almost never require sleep and seemed always refreshed and ready to go, whether day or night...a quality however that made her an excellent scribe for the best daily in town. ”Heard yesterday that the day before that there was a carriage full o’ constables rolling about from North Shore to Parity to Central, dealing with some grisly scene at the Danoran Consulate. High profile by the sound of it – two mayors had it referenced on their agendas for the week with the Governor. Care to comment? You know, on the record…off the record…throw the record out the window…” Jada smiles as Jesselle sticks her tongue at her and adds, ”I’m still working this story up on the latest from The Ragman – heard you have two of yours working with the lead police inspector over there but still no leads – between that and earthquakes the people are growing scared in Parity and Nettles…and things are hard enough already for them as it is.”