Aha, so you *did* buy Kat a vacuum cleaner for Christmas and now you're realising that that may not have been a good idea and you're hunting for an escape route!
Escape route Scuffles let go off the man who backed away, staring anxiously at him, until he was several steps out of reach, and then he turned and ran off. The sensation of the ivory whorl was much, much stronger here, and he could feel it tugging gently on him. “Knocking shop?” said War, gesturing to the brothel. “Always conflict in a cathouse.” “Could be the kebab-eria,” said Pestilence. “The Arabic underneath the main sign says ‘Catmeat specials’; that could cause a bit of conflict.” “Behind us,” said Scuffles. He turned; behind them was a small office block, four storeys, with a brightly lit reception desk and a couple of lights burning on the third floor. Otherwise it was dark. A signboard at the front indicated that it was a serviced building occupied by five other firms. “This way,” he said, letting the gentle tug pull him forward. The receptionist looked up when they came in, but when he saw Scuffles he looked back down again, suddenly fascinated by an article in the magazine on his desk about C-list sub-lebrities. “I think you’re expected, li’l bro,” said Pestilence, nudging Scuffles, who nearly tripped over his own feet. “Where to? Third floor?” “Basement,” said Scuffles, for whom the floor was a tightrope stretched over an ivory vortex. “There’s a room down there, three men. A fight about to happen. No escape route.” War snapped his fingers and they sank through the floor, tiles, pipes and electrical conduits passing by their eyes. “Neat trick,” said Pestilence. “Where did you pick that one up?” “Borrowing from him,” said War. “He could do it if he was a bit more confident in his abilities.” “Give him time,” said Pestilence. “I’ve given him to you,” said War. “For training. Remember?” The basement room was a storage facility; concrete walls were lined with metal self-assembly shelves on which were stacked row after row of brown cardboard boxes in varying, but sorted, sizes. A plastic table and some green-and-white chairs that looked like garden furniture were pushed into a corner, and an ashtray with stubbed out cigarettes was balancing precariously on a chair-arm. There was a sweet smell in the air, and a tall glass of orange juice had been knocked over on the table and was pouring the juice onto the floor in a viscous stream. One man, tall, grey-haired, wearing tortoiseshell-framed glasses over hard, gray eyes was leaning with an elbow on the shelving and his other hand in his suit jacket pocket. Two other men, shorter and younger, dressed in tracksuits and trainers, were stood in front of shelving opposite him. One was carrying a briefcase, a slim red leather case that looked very out of place, and the other was holding a hunting knife. None of them looked up, or even indicated they could see the Horsemen. “Wedding rings,” said Scuffles. “The tall man has two wedding rings in his pocket, and the guy with the knife wants to break the deal they have and take the wedding rings without paying for them. He promised his fiancée that he is out of his previous life of crime and that the wedding rings wouldn’t be tainted by illegal money. If he completes this theft he breaks three oaths, all of which were sworn purely, and with the intent to keep them. He’s called Guilliarmo.”
The barn door creaked as Chris pushed it slightly open and he winced. He realized he would be silhouetted against the light if he opened it any more, a perfect target. He flattened himself against the wall and called out.
"I know you're in there. I won't come in, so you'll have to come out."
He felt stupid for a few seconds, calling out to the empty barnyard, but then the door creaked open more, and a man came out.
"Smart move, Chris, not getting trapped without an escape route. Why didn't you run?"
Chris stared.
The man went on, sticking his hand out to shake. "I'm Detective Witt. I've been on your tail a couple years now. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm glad you didn't run from me, because I have news for you. I'm here to warn you -- the people who want you dead are just a couple steps behind me, probably on the next ferry. I think Emily is on her way as well, but I think she won't be here until the evening ferry. I'm a little out of touch since there's no internet here on your farm, but that was the news a few hours ago. You need a plan, and I'm here to help you get one."
3 comments:
Aha, so you *did* buy Kat a vacuum cleaner for Christmas and now you're realising that that may not have been a good idea and you're hunting for an escape route!
Escape route
Scuffles let go off the man who backed away, staring anxiously at him, until he was several steps out of reach, and then he turned and ran off. The sensation of the ivory whorl was much, much stronger here, and he could feel it tugging gently on him.
“Knocking shop?” said War, gesturing to the brothel. “Always conflict in a cathouse.”
“Could be the kebab-eria,” said Pestilence. “The Arabic underneath the main sign says ‘Catmeat specials’; that could cause a bit of conflict.”
“Behind us,” said Scuffles. He turned; behind them was a small office block, four storeys, with a brightly lit reception desk and a couple of lights burning on the third floor. Otherwise it was dark. A signboard at the front indicated that it was a serviced building occupied by five other firms. “This way,” he said, letting the gentle tug pull him forward.
The receptionist looked up when they came in, but when he saw Scuffles he looked back down again, suddenly fascinated by an article in the magazine on his desk about C-list sub-lebrities.
“I think you’re expected, li’l bro,” said Pestilence, nudging Scuffles, who nearly tripped over his own feet. “Where to? Third floor?”
“Basement,” said Scuffles, for whom the floor was a tightrope stretched over an ivory vortex. “There’s a room down there, three men. A fight about to happen. No escape route.”
War snapped his fingers and they sank through the floor, tiles, pipes and electrical conduits passing by their eyes. “Neat trick,” said Pestilence. “Where did you pick that one up?”
“Borrowing from him,” said War. “He could do it if he was a bit more confident in his abilities.”
“Give him time,” said Pestilence.
“I’ve given him to you,” said War. “For training. Remember?”
The basement room was a storage facility; concrete walls were lined with metal self-assembly shelves on which were stacked row after row of brown cardboard boxes in varying, but sorted, sizes. A plastic table and some green-and-white chairs that looked like garden furniture were pushed into a corner, and an ashtray with stubbed out cigarettes was balancing precariously on a chair-arm. There was a sweet smell in the air, and a tall glass of orange juice had been knocked over on the table and was pouring the juice onto the floor in a viscous stream.
One man, tall, grey-haired, wearing tortoiseshell-framed glasses over hard, gray eyes was leaning with an elbow on the shelving and his other hand in his suit jacket pocket. Two other men, shorter and younger, dressed in tracksuits and trainers, were stood in front of shelving opposite him. One was carrying a briefcase, a slim red leather case that looked very out of place, and the other was holding a hunting knife. None of them looked up, or even indicated they could see the Horsemen.
“Wedding rings,” said Scuffles. “The tall man has two wedding rings in his pocket, and the guy with the knife wants to break the deal they have and take the wedding rings without paying for them. He promised his fiancée that he is out of his previous life of crime and that the wedding rings wouldn’t be tainted by illegal money. If he completes this theft he breaks three oaths, all of which were sworn purely, and with the intent to keep them. He’s called Guilliarmo.”
The barn door creaked as Chris pushed it slightly open and he winced. He realized he would be silhouetted against the light if he opened it any more, a perfect target. He flattened himself against the wall and called out.
"I know you're in there. I won't come in, so you'll have to come out."
He felt stupid for a few seconds, calling out to the empty barnyard, but then the door creaked open more, and a man came out.
"Smart move, Chris, not getting trapped without an escape route. Why didn't you run?"
Chris stared.
The man went on, sticking his hand out to shake. "I'm Detective Witt. I've been on your tail a couple years now. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm glad you didn't run from me, because I have news for you. I'm here to warn you -- the people who want you dead are just a couple steps behind me, probably on the next ferry. I think Emily is on her way as well, but I think she won't be here until the evening ferry. I'm a little out of touch since there's no internet here on your farm, but that was the news a few hours ago. You need a plan, and I'm here to help you get one."
Greg - hah, I'd need to have already found one, as I'm still posting and, thus, still alive :P
Oh man, the goodness just keeps on coming. I like seeing Scuffles come into his own a bit here.
Morganna - ah, so Chris and Detective Witt meet at last. Curious to see what comes of this!
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